The film is a deeply heartfelt experience that addresses the struggles of everyday people in a strange land most of us know nothing about. You will not go away unmoved. See it, and learn something.

Every once in a while a movie comes along that is so bad it makes you feel terrible for everyone involved. Flypaper, a new indie that's little more than a haphazard assemblage of clichés, clunky camera tricks and cringe-worthy dialogue, is just such a film.

The remarkably expressive Mr. Siddig is sympathetic and true as the tortured father, communicating reams of emotion with his eyes, and Ms. Tomei is totally charismatic as his discarded lover who helps him out of a sense of humanity.

It’s not for the squeamish, but thanks to a riveting central performance by Vanessa Hudgens and a compassionate screenplay by Ron Krauss, who also directed, this is a far more sobering and substantial exposé of homeless teenage girls on the dangerous edge of society than you might expect.

The director is Joe Dante, a protégé of B-movie producer Roger Corman, who makes cheesy horror spoofs like "Gremlins" and "Piranha," along with a few good ones like "The Howling." This is not one of the good ones.

The new year is not even a month old, but a hunk of junk called Serenity already qualifies as the worst film of 2019. Both moronically written and directed with shocking, amateurish ineptitude by Stephen Knight.

One thing that defies debate: Zac Efron is going places as an actor of value. But he deserves better movies than Charlie St. Cloud.

All Nighter is an alleged comedy that doesn’t know how to be funny. But at 80 minutes long, it does know how to be merciful.

Has brief moments of levity and charm, but mostly it's depressing.

Dirty Girl is a bad movie with no insights that is broadly drawn and genuinely plagued by filthy dialogue. You don't laugh. You just wince, and wonder how the whole thing ever got financed.

Even Helen Mirren on a bad day is better than nine out of ten American film queens polluting movie screens on any given Sunday, but really, this is one time she should have stayed in bed.

It’s sexy, violent and creepy, but damn if it didn’t keep me glued to my chair with tension.

Rarely has Mr. Gere walked through any movie with so little energy and so much indifference. I've seen more fervor on the face of a man parking a car.

In Cannes, one wag described it as “cinematic defecation” in print. I’d like to top that one, but as James Agee used to say, I know when I’m licked.

A vague and forgettable crime thriller that would have benefited from more character development or at least a grounding of the narrative in one central protagonist.

The actors are fine, but the roles they are forced to play are so deadly they might as well have stayed home reading screenplays for better films.

The Out-Laws may not be for everyone, but two things are for sure: DeVine has the potential to be a major comedy star and Brosnan needs more roles where he doesn’t have to play serious. The rest is a welcome distraction for a Friday night at home.

Admirable and respectable, it engages you while you’re watching it, then leaves you empty and wanting more.

After.Life, with a pretentious point between the two words in the title for no explainable reason, is a horror film with a macabre style but few of the creepy chills of cheaper, cliché-riddled thrillers that are a dime a dozen these days.

It’s a real pleasure to share some quality time with Mr. Caine as an old man wise enough to know there’s rarely any such thing as a second time around but brave enough to take a chance anyway. But the writing and direction by Sandra Nettelbeck barely support his forceful presence.

At least Gong is ravishing, which occasionally takes your mind off the gibberish that is going full tilt around her.

Has more charm and wit than most of its J.D. Salinger-inspired cousins in the same genre, and is undeniably engaging.

Gifted and sincere as she always is, there's not much Ms. Seyfried can do with this tripe.

It’s not about Peter Pan, but about what happened before Peter Pan. The noise you hear is J. M. Barrie turning over in his grave.

It’s the witless script by Shane Atkinson and the petrified direction by Zara Hayes that lands everyone in traction.

This is an unfortunate next step for Mr. Cooper, while Ms. Lawrence, who co-starred with him memorably in "Silver Linings Playbook" and "American Hustle," finds the third time far from a charm, more like a curse.

Red Lights goes astray on so many levels that I gave up trying to figure it out before the end of the second reel.

Portman’s delicate and damaged portrayal is mesmerizing.