For what it is, Summerland is solidly made, but don’t expect anything extraordinary from the production.

Although it does an adequate job of illustrating the reasons why history remembers Curie, it feels more like a Victorian/Edwardian era soap opera than the chronicle of a scientific pioneer.

Hanks’ script is an example of economical storytelling and the end result is a thrilling 75 minutes of the kinds of things one expects from well-made submarine movies.

While Palm Springs doesn’t stray too far from the idea introduced by "Groundhog Day," it’s the first derivative film to be more deserving of a commendation than derision. Or, to put another way, it feels more like an homage than a rip-off.

The Old Guard blends the intelligence of a well-written dramatic sci-fi/fantasy tale with the action/adventure of a big budget motion picture.

The Beach House is a middling horror film with aspirations of recalling The Fog or The Mist but lacking the screenplay to come close to either.

It’s no surprise that this is one of the best films of the year (and would have retained that distinction in any year it was released, not just this one).

For those who appreciate the genre, this is a better-than-average merging of technical craftsmanship, narrative coherence, and competent acting.

The Truth is layered and offers a treat for those who savor acting on the highest level, but it is a step down from his best films and may hold its strongest appeal for those who label themselves cineastes and art house movie-lovers.

Wages of Fear is the kind of motion picture for which commonplace phrases like "white-knuckle tension ride" have been coined.

A high-concept, low-brow romantic comedy that overstays its welcome by at least a half-hour and can’t decide whether it wants to buy into or satirize the incomprehensibly popular European singing contest.

This isn’t a hard-edged or particularly nasty film. Its political satire is even-keeled, attacking the system as an entity rather than either party in particular.

The movie does an effective job with all the expected horror movie tropes – things that go bump in the night, shadows that don’t move the way they should, images in mirrors, etc. – but the basic narrative loses its way around the time that Amanda Seyfried is sent packing.

Unfortunately, following a key narrative inflection point, the suspense starts to leak out like the air from a slightly punctured balloon as the screenplay stumbles through minefield of hostage movie clichés on its way to a predictable and moderately unsatisfying conclusion.

Is Lee preaching to the choir? Perhaps but those not already in the fold who give the film a chance may discover that the things Lee is saying are hard to disagree with regardless of your race, creed, or color.

Although the problem lies primarily in the difficulties associated with condensing an epic tale into a short-ish movie, the lack of elegance with which that is accomplished makes Artemis Fowl a failure for anyone hoping for the next great fantasy film.

Simultaneously funny and touching with elements of pathos to go along with the raunchiness. However, The King of Staten Island runs too long and, as result, it loses steam while chugging toward the ending.

Put this one squarely in the “guilty pleasure” category. And keep in mind that if you can’t be entertained by a thirteen-year old girl ruthlessly dispatching evil-doers in ways that will make a horror film fans tingle with glee, this may not be your cup of tea.

Although the narrative trajectory may be familiar, the specific path taken by director Andrew Patterson feels fresh.

Playing the love interest, Kelvin Harrison Jr. does as much as he can with an underwritten character. Ice Cube, as is increasingly the case for the veteran musician-turned-actor, steals every scene in which he appears.

The Lovebirds stands out as a worthy opportunity for home entertainment.

Despite a few effective “gotcha!” moments and Pegg’s performance, the movie is too artificial and undercooked to work. Logic and consistency are often overlooked qualities in today’s cinema but when they’re ignored to this degree, their absence is noticed.

There are some jokes no one under 10 will get (a few of which are pretty funny) to go along with the visual diarrhea that clutters the screen with needless “action” sequences. The resolution to the emotional component of the climax feels like an unearned cheat, but I suppose it’s okay when one considers it will probably work for children.

Everything about director Rachel Lee Goldenberg’s film is bright, garish, and peppy. Although watchable as a sort of mindless flashback, it doesn’t work as a movie.

Those who enjoy gritty, angry Westerns (especially those set in the Australian bush rather than along the American frontier) will find much here to their taste, none of which is in need of additional seasoning.

There’s a tiny problem, though: Clementine is neither erotic nor a thriller.

Without question, Extraction is the best action-oriented film released during the first third of 2020. One could argue that such a statement is damning with faint praise.

Robert the Bruce is too long by at least a half-hour for the surprisingly slight tale it has to tell.