The story of the rescue of these priceless artifacts is absolutely worthy of as much attention as Hollywood can provide. But by the final, self-congratulatory, groan-inducing scene, it's more than clear that this telling of it is a monumental mess.

The film's final scene, which manages to recontextualize everything we've seen so far with a brilliant simplicity that, if further proof were needed, establishes Farhadi as one of the best storytellers in cinema today.

Apart from its sociological interest, though, Nathan's film offers the pleasure of some really impressive stunt driving.

While it's nice to see Reitman try to branch out from the hip, acerbic humor of "Juno" and "Young Adult," his clumsiness with this more earnest material is an unpleasant surprise.

It has some good actors, and some quick dialogue, which also has the feel of real-life. But the plot forces things a bit, and the direction is uncertain; just when it seems willing to take some risks, it retreats.

While it's an effective memoriam for the well-meaning Germans whose lives were ruined by Hitler's mad dream, the refusal of Generation War to focus on any other sort of German makes it both dramatically and historically suspect.

It's the sort of movie that would have starred Valerie Bertinelli or Kristy McNichol back in the 1980s, tricked out with PG-13 grittiness and religious wholesomeness. It's the sort of story that ignores unpleasant social implications in favor of programmed sentiment.

Fiennes and screenwriter Abi Morgan deserve credit for crafting something more nuanced than a mere scandal-airing demonization.

Rush gives everything he has and manages to make Oldman (such an obvious name) into more than an automaton. Not so Sylvia Hoeks, who struggles to make Claire any more alluring than oil dripped on canvas.

For 100 minutes, I didn't think about anything else at all. And sometimes that small relief is the best thing a movie can give.

Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit though, gets the international-espionage ingredients almost exactly right.

August: Osage County goes to some heavy places, upturning long-buried resentments and secrets. It can be a lot to take at times, but Letts’ knack for dark humor, and Streep’s flawless delivery of the same, allows for levity when the tale is at its most bleak.

As the relationship between Theodore and Samantha evolves, it hews too closely to the expected arc of a romantic drama. In a desire to show how such a pairing could produce the same joys, sorrows, jealousies and insecurities as a human-to-human one, the movie edges close to parody, which it doesn't want to be.

The surprisingly thoughtful third act both introduces complexity to its portrayal of the Afghan people, and subtly reminds us that, despite Luttrell's astonishing constitution and self-surgery skills, as well as the ultimate sacrifices made by his comrades in arms, it was all for naught.

British-born director Justin Chadwick might not seem the most logical choice to bring Mandela’s life to the screen, but he handles the historical sweep and the intimate moments with equal steadiness.

It's not pretty. In fact, it's downright scary when the two of them, after an hour-and-a-half of insults, finally drop the robes and get into the ring. It's like two old leather handbags come to life and slapping each other around in slow-motion.

The movie is beautifully shot, and some of the scenes have a real exuberance, but it's also a blatantly manipulative piece of smarm.

At a full three hours, the movie flirts with wearing out its welcome about two-thirds through, but recovers to end up an exhausting, operatic black comedy that leaves you wanting more.

There’s plenty of fun to be had, but in the long term, American Hustle may be remembered more for its superficial pleasures than the depth of its impact. Kind of like the 1970s.

As flawless as any film this year and rock-solid confirmation that Joel and Ethan Coen are the greatest filmmakers working in America (and perhaps anywhere else) today.

A fascinating blend of brand extension and corporate history.

Sayles has always had a gift for female characters, and Go for Sisters features a couple of good ones.

Purists may still quail at the little bit of anthropomorphism going on, but it seems a small price to pay to broaden the audience for a family film that seeks to do more than just entertain.

Not every gag works, and McKay's directing style could best be described as loose, but the last 30 minutes, when Burgundy goes blind, recovers, and leads a cameo-studded throwdown in Central Park, are worth an hour of Durango commercials.

Overall, though, the combination of Gondry’s whimsicality and Chomsky’s stoicism creates fascinating oil-and-water patterns that reveal more the longer they’re contemplated.

All of Gibney's movies are worth watching. The best ones – "We Steal Secrets" (about WikiLeaks), "Client 9" (about Spitzer) and "Taxi to the Dark Side" (about Afghanistan) – speak truth to power in daring, unexpected ways. The Armstrong Lie feels like wheel-spinning, outraged that Armstrong lied not only to millions of people but to Gibney and then not pushing the evidence to the finish line.

Some of the dwarves have nice individual moments, namely Balin (Ken Stott), Bofur (James Nesbitt), and Kili (Aidan Turner), and Gandalf gets to throw some potent magic around at Dol Guldur. But other than that (and the dragon itself), The Desolation of Smaug turns to be more of too much of a good thing.

Director Sini Anderson compiles interviews with Hanna and her husband, Beastie Boy Adam Horovitz, as well as archival footage, into an admiring portrait of a sometimes combative figure.