Neeson used his newfound box-office clout to get A Walk Among the Tombstones made, and he's the best reason to see it.

The Drop reminded me of "Killing Them Softly," based on a novel by another Boston crime master, George V. Higgins.

The actual video footage of some of the incidents recreated in the film, which play with the end credits, makes it clear that sometimes reality can be as hokey as fiction.

The resulting documentary is a fascinating meditation on the different ways nature can be experienced, as well as a fatalistic take on the process of our planet's seemingly inevitable change in climate.

The period details are unconvincing, the cinematography is flat, and the performances are surprisingly one note considering the talent involved.

Everyone on screen looks like they'd rather be anywhere else than under the control of novice director Dustin Marcellino, whose first (and hopefully last) feature this is.

It's not a five star film, but it's no Motel 6 either.

As is, it's a pleasant but unremarkable retelling of a story as old as the Dead Sea itself.

There's nothing very serious to it, perhaps. But it takes its fun very seriously indeed and – after a long summer of big-budget extravaganzas -- ends up providing a small, end-of-season delight.

A second helping of a satisfying dish.

Makes good, unobtrusive use of its European locations, and has a couple of well-orchestrated urban chase scenes. But, even in these days of renewed U.S.-Russian tensions, its Cold War demeanor feels anachronistic, and its simple cynicism comes off as recycled and cheap.

Israeli director Ari Forman, whose 2009 "Waltz with Bashir" earned a Best Foreign Film Oscar nomination, is a master at exploiting diverse animated styles, and draws a brave starring performance from a performer who, in her mid-40s, seems to be just hitting her stride.

The movie's biggest flaw, from a local perspective, is its unconvincing use of Vancouver, B.C., to represent Portland, Oregon.

William Shatner, it must be said, comes off as an insufferable, pompous jerk. Maybe he's jealous. After all, at age 75, Takei is an openly gay Asian American with an overwhelming social media fan base, making him the one who has really gone where no man has gone before.

First-time director Jeff Baena struggles with framing, editing, tone and casting, leading to an unimpressive entry in the ever-burgeoning zombie comedy genre.

There's an all-the-scenery-you-can-eat appearance by the deliciously mad Eva Green, too, who spends most of the movie even more naked (and nuttier) than she was in "300: Rise of an Empire." The ever-wry Joseph Gordon-Levitt also shows up as a cocky gambler, while a simian Josh Brolin takes over from Clive Owen as Dwight.

I liked The One I Love but if I had to choose between it and "Third Person," the Paul Haggis relationship movie that flirts with narrative in unconventional ways, I'd go back and watch "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." Now that's how it's done.

It's well-acted and works as a cautionary tale for young dope dealers but beats any hint of subtlety into a bloody pulp.

Katz, who has been saddled with the deadly label "mumblecore" in the past, and Stephens ("Pilgrim Song") combine sensibilities of dry wit and warm earnestness in precise proportions. It's also further proof, if it were needed, that smart, funny, entertaining films are always around, even in the dog days of summer. You just have to know where to look.

The actions of both these vilified parties are so seemingly irrational that you're left feeling there must be some explanation, one that director Todd Douglas Miller either couldn't or wouldn't ferret out.

The Giver has taken a slow route to the screen, passed by newer, sleecker dystopian novels for young adults. "The Hunger Games" and "Divergent" owe much to Lowry's worldview and style while lacking her depth. What they have is strong female leads and plenty of action, elements absent in the spare parable of The Giver.

He's an engaging, profane interview subject, and a complex guy, self-described as both a "pervert" and a "romantic," sexually omnivorous, a Goldwater Republican before being drafted and sent to Vietnam, a McCarthyite peacenik afterward.

Tries to pretend that its premise isn't timeworn, and thanks to charming lead performances, it almost succeeds. But not quite.

The Hundred-Foot Journey fails to replicate the sensation of sharing a quality meal. Movies of this kind should leave you feeling hungry. Compare the Indian love story "The Lunchbox" from earlier this year. You'd swear you could smell the tandoori chicken while watching it.

A good test of a movie like this is whether it would be more or less stimulating to hang out with people you really know for 82 minutes. If Happy Christmas is the time better spent, it might be time to find a new crowd.

If the film had been trimmed to 45 minutes of crazed storm-chasing and storm-fleeing, it might've been worth a matinee ticket. But as is, it's the sort of lazy late-summer idiocy you'd be wise to huddle beneath an overpass to avoid.

Canadian director Richie Mehta ("Amal") based Siddharth on his own random encounter with a father searching for his missing son, and the film never feels less than utterly real in its depiction of both everyday Indian life and the hopelessness that comes so naturally in this sort of tragic situation.

Stage magicians often depend on sleight of hand to succeed at their art, but Woody Allen's new movie, Magic in the Moonlight, is just plain slight.