This sequel to the 2004 movie is an impressive feat of animation, particularly in its action sequences.

Like a cubic zirconia knockoff of a priceless diamond necklace, this female “Ocean’s” update looks the part but just ain’t got that sparkle.

“Fallen Kingdom” is a more interesting, and less obvious, story than the usual Tyrannosaurus romps, which tend to be death-defying games of hide-and-seek.

Danes and Parsons are a weird pairing, who carry their TV personas with them like tote bags. Their “Homeland” and “Big Bang Theory” shticks don’t quite click. Even so, when Danes’ mother comes to realize that her sweet kid is more than just a talking point, she’ll have you wiping away tears.

Adrift is paced like its title, and the story’s momentum is slowed somewhat by constant toggling between past and present.

American Animals takes an appropriately wild approach to its subject, biting off a little more than it can chew, but nevertheless coming up with a truly novel entry in the overcrowded heist genre.

Unlike previous glossy docs such as “The September Issue,” Gospel is far more than a dressed-up Vogue infomercial.

That this exercise in vulgarity was made at all is shameful. Dark Crimes is punishing to watch.

While the film is best for fans of the cloth, non-Catholics, too, will gain insight into one of the most prominent leaders in the world.

“Solo,” sadly, should be frozen forever in carbonite.

If you’ve got comics-movie fatigue, with frequent fourth-wall breaks to point out lazy writing, blatant foreshadowing or heavy reliance on CGI for fight scenes, Deadpool 2 is here for you. That doesn’t mean those things aren’t there (they are) — but the eagerness of Deadpool to call out its own shortcomings earns this trash-talking franchise a lot of goodwill.

Though both Tierney and Bomer’s characters also veer into stereotype — her uptight disapproval, his sassiness — writer-director Timothy McNeil still crafts a fairly moving tribute to the notion, as Lin-Manuel Miranda once put it, that “love is love is love.”

More perplexing than any of the supposed mysteries of Terminal is what Mike Myers, of all people, is doing here, playing a train-station janitor with a creepy “Danny Boy” whistle.

Life of the Party is undeniably at its best when Falcone is showcasing McCarthy’s aptitude for physical comedy.

Hollywood isn’t just churning out crummy remakes of great films anymore — now it’s doing awful remakes of mediocre films. For evidence, see Overboard. Or, rather, don’t.

Bad Samaritan plays like an unambitious episode of “Black Mirror,” low on techno-savvy but enhanced by the always-compelling David Tennant and Robert Sheehan, an Irish actor best known for his role on the British series “Misfits.”

Reitman directs with an empathy for mothering that never shies away from its darker side.

McAdams gives one of the best performances of her career as her character wrestles with the enormous question of whether, and how, to give up everything she’s ever known.

All the past decade’s Marvel movies have been heading toward this showdown. Turns out the payoff was worth the wait.

With seemingly no understanding of how tone-deaf it might be to cast a straight, white, able-bodied blonde like Schumer as victimized by society’s judgment, the lazily written I Feel Pretty takes a talented comic and casts her in the worst possible light (and I don’t mean that literally — she looks fine).

Their clashing on the court has steam heat. For well over 10 minutes, the electrifying finals match is re-created realistically and with unexpected suspense, even though we’ve known the result for 38 years.

Despite Franco’s laudable desire to shake up a stodgy genre, his film could have done with more life, and less art.

A supernatural “What’s Happening to My Body?” parable in company with “Carrie,” “Ginger Snaps” and last year’s “Thelma,” Wildling is low-key with an undertone of menace, skillfully directed by Fritz Böhm in his feature debut (though some of his nighttime scenes are so dark it’s genuinely hard to tell what’s going on).

It’s big, bloated, and, if you give in to the familiar charms of its jacked leading man, not unenjoyable. (Alternately, you could easily just let it induce a little nap.)

Chappaquiddick is far from a love letter to the famous family. It paints them as a hollow dynasty of pretty faces hiding behind a powerful name, while real men of intellect and influence puppeteer their every move. Camelot, it’s not. And, as this terrific movie suggests, the American people fall for their polished BS every time.

A jalapeño popper of a movie — fast, filling and punchy — and a likable throwback to the films of M. Night Shyamalan. The good ones, anyway.

Blockers is the latest example of the millennium’s most dispiriting film trend: Stupid drunk people making stupid drunk decisions for two stupid hours.

The Scottish director’s short, blunt thriller is so violently nerve-jangling that it feels like a stretch to recommend it, exactly.