This is in many ways a companion piece to Haynes’ “Far From Heaven” (2002), which remains one of my favorite films so far this century.

My All American would have done better to dig deeper in its portrayal of a man who set such a high bar for the intrinsic character of a football player. Because he’s actually the kind of example the sport could really use right now.

It’s never a good sign when the real people behind a movie’s story appear in the end credits and you’re stumped as to who’s who.

A decade later, these tabloid hall-of-famers are finally back to share the screen in By the Sea — glumly emoting in a pretentiously arty, humorless vanity production that drags along for two hours that feel like at least four.

There isn’t a lot here about her films, or great performances, but this is two hours of Ingrid Bergman, much of it rarely seen before. I’m not about to complain.

Somewhere on the axis where David Lynch, Paul Thomas Anderson and Joey Bishop intersect, a man in a Salvation Army tuxedo wanders the Mojave Desert supplying anti-comedy to every cocktail lounge and prison in his path. This is Entertainment.

This featherweight comedy from director Ben Palmer (“The Inbetweeners Movie”) is a lot more fun than many heftier, supposed rom-coms, thanks to the timing and chemistry of its leads.

An indie exercise in macho posturing disguised as a tale of grief, reminds us that losing one’s parents is psychically debilitating. But that’s about as useful as knowing that rain is wet.

Unfortunately, director Jessie Nelson (“I Am Sam”) gradually turns the script into marzipan.

Don’t expect too much of Heist — it’s a cheesy formula picture all the way — but it has solid character foundations, the occasional bright line of dialogue (“Cops, this is robbers,” Morgan says on a phone call) and a neat final twist. As throwbacks go, it’s more bearable than shoulder pads.

A likably gushy celebration of female friendship, sometimes feels like a throwback to the Drew Barrymore of the mid-’90s: At times you wonder if she and co-star Toni Collette might actually break out into a lip-sync-with-hairbrushes routine.

“A license to kill is also a license to not kill,” M lectures his new boss in the 24th James Bond film, Spectre. Well, it’s not a license to bore as much as this bloated drag manages to do.

Good grief! This painfully sincere animated feature seems aimed less at contemporary kids than nostalgic adults who might buy toys marketed for what is being billed as the 50th anniversary of the Peanuts gang for their children and grandchildren.

In the film’s most visceral scene, as the trio stands on the site of a mass grave in Lviv, Ukraine, von Wächter still can’t bring himself to admit his father’s direct culpability.

Bryan Cranston finally translates his critical acclaim for “Breaking Bad” into an Oscar-caliber performance in darkly comic Trumbo, playing an eloquent, witty screenwriter who bucked the Hollywood blacklist and triumphed.

Brilliantly acted by the year’s most carefully assembled cast, Spotlight is one of the year’s best films, showing just how hard it is to uncover painful truths.

It’s the sweet sincerity of Brooklyn that stamps it as both refreshing and nostalgic. The film is as welcome as a photo you just discovered of your mother before you were born, in which she looks prettier than you ever imagined.

A horror-comedy that takes a weak premise (do high school boys even go scouting anymore?) and barely uses it, anyway.

For all of its in-your-face, full-frontal sex scenes and threesomes (one involving a transsexual), this autobiographical story is almost sweet.

Its tactile feel for the dirt and labor of a farm, and tender regard for the young protagonist, are immensely endearing.

Watching Schenck and McBath campaign to fellow Christians for a dissociation between God and guns, you suspect their words are falling on deaf ears.

Both Adam and the stakes are so low, it’s like watching 100 minutes of a slug trying to crawl over a twig.

A slapdash, sporadically funny cross between the infamous “Ishtar’’ and the mercifully forgotten “American Dreamz.’’

Fans of the cartoon should stick around for Lewis’ after-credits sequence, which introduces a dastardly rival band. It’s the movie’s best scene, setting up a sequel we’ll never see.

The movie left me amazed — amazed that Nicolas Cage wasn’t in it.

Despite Mulligan bringing her A-game, the film falls short of its potential.

Wiig and Adebimpe give appealing, naturalistic performances — it’s Silva’s character who grate.

Bridge of Spies, Steven Spielberg’s best film since “Saving Private Ryan,” stars a flawless Tom Hanks in the smart, old-school thriller as James Donovan.