Like Cam, Tracers is fun to look at, if not too bright, and even includes a line I can only assume is a winking reference to Lautner’s claim to fame: “There can only be one alpha in every pack.”

This Cinderella is all dressed up with nowhere very interesting to go.

Run All Night is routine in its contours, occasionally sloppy in its editing and filled with the usual implausibilities.

Yet the film is marred by Hawke’s blundering intrusions as he keeps changing the subject to Hawke: He tells us he often wonders “why it is I do what I do,” as if anyone but he is interested in the answer.

Unlike many working in this genre, Mitchell doesn’t punish young women for having sex: This is a gender-blind demonic delivery vehicle.

Dreadful, misogynist slog of a film.

The documentary was filmed in the 1990s by Denny Tedesco, whose father Tommy is credited as the most recorded guitarist in history, including the instantly identifiable themes to “Bonanza” and “Mission: Impossible.”

In the last half-hour, themes start to gel. The final scenes are so good, even moving, that they make the earlier stuff look better. But a film concerned with the nature of emotion needs human engagement throughout.

A painfully earnest and totally unfunny magic-realist fable set on the Lower East Side that works in no way whatsoever.

“Short Circuit” meets “RoboCop” — with asides to “WALL-E,” “E.T.,” “The Road Warrior” and many other better movies — in Chappie, an interminable, violent, incoherent and wearying R-rated sci-fi action comedy.

Mostly Unfinished Business is a tale of unfinished jokes.

A dull, trite thriller.

Only in his early 20s, Zephyr Benson makes a remarkably assured debut as writer, director and star of Straight Outta Tompkins, his tongue-in-cheek title for his past as a middle-class drug dealer in lower Manhattan.

This sequel sorely misses the presence of Tom Wilkinson, whose out-of-the-closet character grounded the first film (but died at the end).

As they’re akin to spectators at a magic show, viewers ought to keep an eye out for what the Merchants of Doubt don’t want us to see.

There’s a superficial resemblance to the Dardenne brothers’ “Two Days, One Night,” and like that film it has a strong lead; Gosheva’s Nade is prickly, and no suffering saint.

There should be a word for the friendly rudeness of deli waiters: In the documentary Deli Man, they’re described as being as brusque and familiar with you as if you’re there three times a day — even if they’ve never seen you before.

Preposterous, slipshod, unfunny and emotionally null.

There’s no doubt at all that the schlocky The Lazarus Effect should have been euthanized and shipped directly to video rather than haunting movie theaters, however briefly.

This is nothing but nasty, misogynist torture porn.

A horror movie with an anti-globalist bent that’s more interesting than its halfhearted scares.

A few university officials talk on camera, but not many do, and it will be fascinating to watch the fallout from this scathing indictment of a system that, the movie claims, has all but encouraged sexual predators to do their worst.

It’s a rare film that locates viciousness and kindness on both sides of Northern Ireland’s Troubles.

While Campillo does graceful work — the way he draws focus in a scene is a pleasure — the script drags and the pseudo-romance is hard to believe, especially when one plot point concerns Daniel asking for a bulk-purchase sex rate. Eastern Boys never quite fulfills the promise of those first few minutes.

Hard-core Hollywood haters will best appreciate Maps to the Stars, a campy poison-pen letter to Tinseltown that makes “Sunset Boulevard’’ look like a tourism infomercial by comparison.

Within five minutes you’ll guess why John Cusack, not overly encumbered with big film roles these days, didn’t return for the sequel: The script is monotonous, meandering and witless.

The film is nominated for this year’s Best Foreign Film Oscar, and it doesn’t deserve to snatch the prize from the towering likes of “Ida,” “Timbuktu” or “Leviathan.” Yet in its gaudy, predictable way, Wild Tales is enormous fun, and the consistent wit of the quiet stretches shows there’s more to Szifrón than shock tactics.

Director Niki Caro, whose 2005 film “North Country” gave creative life to another true story, doesn’t allow this one enough narrative twists; it starts off at point A and heads straight for point B, much like one of its many racing scenes.