The plot goes nowhere glacially. Underdeveloped side characters are so far to the side, they’re out of frame.

The timeless classic, a groundbreaking achievement for animation, has been turned into another pointless and awkward live-action automaton that vanishes from your mind the second it’s over.

The plot is a watered-down grab-bag of old, tired ideas.

It’s far from terrible and a pleasure to look at. But, perhaps inevitably, after such a raging success, Bong’s latest movie is a disappointment.

Nothing’s wrong with a few buckets of blood, but Perkins’ movie waters them down with its repetitious plot and weak attempts at humor. “The Monkey” strains to be a comedy as much as a horror film and effectively works as neither.

If you thought Marvel Studios was committed to getting back on track by making fewer movies of higher quality, wait till you see Captain America: Brave New World...The situation over there is so dire, they’ve brought back a plotline from “Eternals.” “Eternals”!

Ultimately “Mad About the Boy” is much like Bridget herself: endearing, silly, messy, wacky, kind. I like it… just as it is.

You’d be hard-pressed not to enjoy the jolly jaunt. Clumsy Paddington, as always, makes an adorable mess of things.

“Love Hurts” is only 83 minutes long. “Hurrah!,” you say before it starts. But the film feels endless because the story is such a chore to follow.

This film should be reliably filling as pizza for dinner. But the deliveryman is an hour late and has dropped the box.

Directed by James Griffiths, this is the sort of hilarious heart-warmer that only comes around once or twice a year to offer a blessed break from darkness, snobbery and streaming schlock. It’s so easy to love, even if love doesn’t come easy for its characters.

The overlong and too-steady movie tries to say so much — about the struggles of being gay in the ‘80s, gender identity, nontraditional relationship structures — that it all comes off as white noise. Albeit white noise that has a borderline oppressive desire to make us cry.

Writer-director Mary Bronstein’s absorbing psychological drama about a mother at her breaking point is two hours of mounting anxiety and nervousness.

It’s one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen at Sundance.

Exploring pain in novel ways in film is a good thing. Next time, though, pick a different novel.

Dreamgirls director Bill Condon’s off-putting movie is a visual and narrative mess: polished where it should be gritty and ugly where it must be glamorous. Bland, almost always.

You’ll begin “Twinless” with basic expectations, and you’ll end it with your mouth agape. And then you’ll ask the most satisfying question there is after first encountering an exciting young filmmaker’s work: When’s the next one?

To say I was never bored wouldn’t be quite right. Rather, I was always transfixed.

What’s different from the previous entry is that humor here, despite a formulaic plot, is balanced with surprising dramatic heft.

On this overstuffed ride, we also learn where wise Rafiki, royal aide Zazu, evil Scar and even Pride Rock come from. Who cares? The backstories only make us crave the peerless 2D original.

It is one that sweeps you up, though, in its beautifully detailed vision of an analog New York where stars eat at greasy spoons below 14th and future music legends pass the hat in basement clubs. Scrounging for their next meal.

The treacly trifle is just more of the same Hallmark-inspired Christmas white noise for people who defend these terrible, sappy movies as chicken soup for the couch potato’s soul.

Skarsgård’s the ace though. Without going overboard, and never being anything less than terrifying, he fleshes out Orlok into a richer character than bat-like Schreck was able to. His tragic, albeit disturbing, final scene almost puts a stake right through our hearts.

As Callas so devastatingly starts to lose it, “Maria” satisfyingly stirs our insides in the mysterious way an opera does.

Although a quick summary would suggest that Our Little Secret is the simplest and most domestic of Lohan’s trilogy of terror, the devices that lead to its wrap-up are anything but Hallmark happy.

The studio’s latest likable musical is nicely animated, has nice characters and a few nice songs. At risk of repeating myself: It’s nice.

McQueen’s script at times reeks of obviousness, even as it nurtures understated and heartfelt performances from Ronan and Heffernan. We always know where the film is going, and it dutifully goes there. Visually, though, the work’s a stunner.

Even after nearly three hours of sitting, I didn’t feel as though I’d gotten to know the characters very well.