Director Boaz Yakin (“Remember the Titans”) indulges in an awful lot of gunplay for a PG-rated family film, but sure knows how to stage a dirt-bike race. The Belgian malinoises who play Max way out-act the humans.

Burying the Ex is missing the key ingredient every good zombie movie needs: brains.

Director Marc Silver expertly interweaves the courtroom drama and its larger social and human connotations.

As a comedy, the film isn’t especially funny, and as a screwball drug caper a la “Go,” it’s raggedly plotted, with ridiculous coincidences popping up everywhere.

Schwartzman is perfect as Kurt, simultaneously compelling, ridiculous and creepy.

Cam (based on the director’s real-life father) is so charming and gifted in various ways that it’s easy to enjoy this fanciful look at a bohemian mixed-race family.

The swooping shots and the way the lack of dialogue amplifies ambient sounds are stunning. Story-wise, The Tribe is yet another art-film wallow in cruelty, not nearly as unique as its looks and its world.

The tone and focus of David Gordon Green’s Manglehorn careens around so much it’s hard not to end up as irritable as its title character.

A hilarious and touching animated masterpiece that takes a gloriously imaginative, sometimes scary leap into the mind of a girl on the cusp of adolescence.

Andy Goddard’s feature debut is shot stylishly in black and white, but deals in themes that feel equally retro.

A funny, hip, touching and utterly irresistible comedy-drama.

The seething passions of Flaubert’s characters are absent, except when Rhys Ifans (as a greedy merchant) or the splendidly ruthless Marshall-Green are in the room.

Don’t expect the real dirt on “Saturday Night Live” from the doc Live From New York! The movie is fun, but it’s a cinematic coffee-table book.

It’s a tiresome, preachy, repetitive, disorganized and dismally unfunny attempt to appeal to Michael Moore fans. The overall temperature of their efforts is strictly room: Call this “Fahrenheit 68.”

None of this is ever quite as great as it is in Spielberg’s work, but it’s reasonably close; the worst you can say about the movie is that it sticks to a highly potent formula.

Tedious, amateurish and hilariously ill-timed film.

The film is elegantly done, mainly because it wisely expends most of its energy on Alicia Vikander’s face.

Beginning as an adorable romcom, Hungry Hearts morphs into a disturbing but not particularly illuminating story of mental illness.

Pigeon, in its deadpan, hyper-composed way, is often paralyzingly funny, and there is compassion for the gray-faced souls wandering through it.

Grim but worthwhile.

Alas, “sad case” is not how we want to see McCarthy; it’s frustrating to see her spend more than half the movie being the pathetic target of jokes rather than the dominating figure she was in “Bridesmaids” and “The Heat,” both of which are far funnier than this one.

Worth seeing just for the dramatization of the making of “Good Vibrations” alone. But there’s much more to savor in this biopic — a rare high note in the drone of so much summer dreck.

The Entourage formula feels warmed-over, played-out, spent.

The film alternates between shoving its confusing plot forward and dropping dialogue bombs that fizzle.

The wry situational humor leaves less of an impression than the near-perfect sense of the heat-drenched wistfulness of summer.

Laden with witty ironies, the film by Anne Fontaine suggests men may not play exactly the roles they think they do in women’s lives.

The movie can be mildly amusing. But I couldn’t figure out which of the three principals I least wanted to know.

The awkwardly titled Unfreedom clearly waves the flag for acceptance and nonviolence — but it would be more effective if it invested as much in some cinematic nuance.