As lovely as Jimmy’s Hall is, Paul Laverty’s script is not so much talky as speech-y. Some conversations play like bullet points about Irish politics and the iron grip of the Catholic Church.

What a trippy delight it is.

Two of Winehouse’s oldest friends also contribute, giving deeply sad accounts of watching their goofy, fearless pal disappear into a haze of flashbulbs and self-destruction.

The dance routines are so hilariously spectacular — and the film is such good-naturedly inclusive fun — that you may not miss the absence of anything resembling dramatic conflict in what’s close to a feature-length concert film.

[JK Simmons] provides a little comic relief, and sums up my feelings on this whole outing: “Goddamn time-travelin’ robots!”

Ted 2 has so many mo–ments of crazy brilliance that I laughed a lot, if infrequently. Is a ballplayer who whiffs four balls but knocks the fifth one 500 feet worth watching? I say yes.

Hutcherson isn’t particularly adept at playing moral anguish, but the film maintains an electrifying tension for its first half as we wonder just how far his character will go. In the second half, though, the film degenerates into a desultory action movie as everybody starts creeping around trying to shoot one another.

Sex comedies work best with light touch, and as the ponderous title (a literal translation of the French term for orgasm) indicates, Australian writer-director Josh Lawson mostly doesn’t have it.

The romance between Winslet and Schoenaerts — billed as the film’s centerpiece — is, regrettably, never really allowed to bloom.

Big Game is goofy fun, whether Jackson is rolling down a hill in a freezer, the kid is trying to stop a bazooka with an arrow, or we’re witnessing other stunts that are just too preposterous to describe.

The facts (including Protess’ eventual resignation) still make this a worthwhile examination of a narrative that actually may have been too good to be true.

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.