As a piece of filmmaking, Torn is slightly above TV-movie quality.

Two Jacks is finally more of a curiosity than a viable dramatic event, but its bringing together of Danny and Jack Huston in a pair of tales related to their filmic legacy makes it a pungent if small addition to the legend of the Huston family.

The makers of this high-concept comedy lack the courage of their gross-out convictions. Being loud, and tasteless can also be funny, but if all you've got to offer is bad racial humor, and dopey sex jokes, then you are the F@4k-You Man Eddie Murphy jokes about in "Raw," the guy who cluelessly tries to make people laugh by cursing a lot. Ghost Team One also panders to viewers, and does a lousy job of it, too.

One of those films that expends so much time and effort in trying to become the next big cult sensation that it never gets around to simply being a good movie.

Once Haunter's story snaps into focus, and its creators pull you towards its inevitable conclusion, the film's flaws become that much more apparent.

Yeah, it's a mishmash of good, strange ideas and generic nonsense, barely held together by Sly and Arnie.

Kill Your Darlings presents a minor prelude to a major literary movement.

For a movie about a larger-than-life personality who shook up the world with his brazenness—and since has had to seek political asylum because of it — The Fifth Estate feels unfortunately small and safe.

Here is a formidable opus whose real spiritual relative is Tennyson's "Ulysses". Yes. All is Lost is that good.

For all the psychological realism of Carrie and Margaret's relationship, however, this remake has a comic book feeling.

A somber, meditative, almost poetic film that delivers the horrors of bondage stripped down and head-on.

Zero Charisma is a movie about emotionally inert people who labor mightily to change their lives in small ways, and whose efforts at self-improvement are thwarted by emotional feedback loops that cause them to make the same mistakes over and over. If it were possible to roll your way out of real world crises, these guys would do just fine, but there are no saving throws in life.

This one is especially obsessed with grisly details that contribute nothing to our fear or excitement.

I love this kind of backstage documentary, which is not surprising for someone who has "All That Jazz" and "All About Eve" on his all-time top ten list.

The end result proves to be as awkward as its title thanks to its uneven screenplay and tone, and questionable casting in supporting parts.

The balcony scene takes a tumble. This is movie's greatest disappointment. Really, if you can't get this right, then why even do Romeo and Juliet?

While some of the kills are sufficiently clever and gnarly, "Mandy Lane" is never particularly frightening.

Does not quite make the grade. For every great joke, hilarious anecdote, and keen insight, there are cringe-worthy dramatizations, narrative groaners.

A dark, weird, smutty, fitfully amusing comedy that ultimately wears out its welcome. As a provocation, it's aces, especially if — like the film's writer-director, Randy Moore — you hate Disney and everything it stands for.

The picture is assembled with energy and a smidgen of style, but it's tiresome and slight.

It's a lovely way to open a film that is at its best when it is displaying dancers in motion and exploring the complex dynamics of a rehearsal space.

CBGB ain't no party, it ain't no disco, it ain't no foolin' around. It also isn't authentic for a second, and it provides zero insight into the birth of the New York City punk scene in the 1970s.

It's one of the most emotionally draining climaxes of the year.

Rarely goes so far over the top that it loses you completely. It is, to put it mildly, not subtle. But if you watch it expecting to see a dumb idea executed with appreciable skill, you'll have a blast.

Mitchell’s documentary is modest and rambling, too — perhaps too much so.

The kind of meat-and-potatoes genre picture that might be passable if the people involved in making it had given the same thought and concentration to the development of the plot and the ending as they did to the fairly involving set-up.

Parkland expends lots of energy and expertise on re-creating these infamous events, yet it is so lacking in narrative purpose that many viewers are likely to leave muttering, "Okay…but so what?"

Watching Campbell over her shoulder or in a mirror is frustrating because it consistently limits our view of her character. Porterfield's people can't give anything away beyond their immediate aggression, frustration, and sadness. But it's hard to appreciate an intentionally blurry portrait of a family that's so impressionistic that all you can see of its already-withdrawn characters are their shadows.

The oddest thing about Besharam, in a litany of incredibly perplexing elements, is how cheap and small it seems.

A.C.O.D. is a sharp, dark-ish character comedy, settling for a dry tolerance in its point of view that is very appealing and even admirable.

At least a bit of an improvement over the embarrassment of "Giallo", but no matter how promising the idea of him tackling Bram Stoker's classic might sound in theory, the result cannot be regarded as anything but a disappointment.

It's not a pretty picture, but it's a compelling one.

For all its stunning exteriors, it's really concerned with emotional interiors, and it goes about exploring them with simplicity and directness.

Wisely, Kornbluth strives to put a human face on the situation, focusing on several families who represent hard-working citizens who are barely making ends meet with their shrinking paychecks—let alone building up any savings.

Bills itself as the first-ever Asian-American romantic comedy. But it's so chock full of the usual clichés and conventions of the genre, it could have been any movie over the past 20 years that you've seen and then promptly forgotten that starred Julia Roberts. Or Kate Hudson. Or Jennifer Aniston. Or Renee Zellweger.

Baggage Claim is so archaic in its depiction of feminine self-worth — and, frankly, so insulting — it's amazing that it's coming out in 2013, not 1963.

With such great music coming, one hit after after another, it's always a joy to watch.

A sex comedy that just lays there and expects you to do all the work. Gordon-Levitt's direction is repetitive and dry, and his screenplay is a collage of badly cut out pieces from other movies.

An odd mix of beautifully bleak atmosphere and hammily mannered performances, A Single Shot is simultaneously understated and overpowering.

The director was smart enough to take a trait that often caused an actor to be be typecast as a menacing figure and turn it into a strength.

The problem is that the filmmakers' aversion to any hint of storytelling originality means that the main impression The Colony leaves is one of almost stupefying over-familiarity.

People going to C.O.G. expecting a re-creation of one of Sedaris's reliably uproarious readings of his own material will be disappointed. People who approach it as a film in its own right, with its own rhythms and goals and pleasures, will be amply rewarded.

The tone of Thanks for Sharing is somewhat similar to the tone of "The Kids Are All Right": earnest, modestly exploratory, definitely smart, but extremely judgmental toward some of its people.

After Tiller takes the politically divisive, emotionally charged issue of late-term abortions and portrays it with grace, understatement and humanity.

The filmmakers fall over themselves trying to respect Man's outlook on life, and this makes their subject seem more like a hyper-disciplined saint than a world-reknowned, ass-kicking hermit.

Aspects of Prisoners are effective, but for the most part it's rather ridiculous (despite the fact that it clearly wants to be taken super-seriously), and there's an overwrought quality to much of the acting.

I might have tolerated the film much more with the sound off. With the volume on, this movie feels like a mucho-macho Saturday morning cartoon—specifically Bugs Bunny toying with his eternal pursuer, Elmer Fudd.

To put in Clichénese, the only language Battle of the Year knows: the creator's hearts just weren't in this thing.

All the artistry and absurdity, glamour and the grit of the fashion industry are on display in the documentary Mademoiselle C.

All of this should have been more darkly funny, more knowingly campy, something. As it is, Plush awkwardly tries to shock and frighten us while also trying to tease and amuse us.

The story is so stripped down it feels like minimalist theater.

Harry Dean Stanton: Party Fiction takes a dreamy and philosophical approach, reflecting the personality of the man who is its subject.

You could get mad at Seifert for being so bad at being so nakedly manipulative. Or you could just give up all hope, and counter-intuitively root for Monsanto. This is a David-vs.-Goliath movie, but David's aim is so spotty that Goliath has nothing to fear.

As the saying goes, I may not know art, but I know what I like. I like this movie.

The result is a work in which style and story unite to create a singularly mesmerizing look at a culture within a culture.

Even if you lack a wealth of rap knowledge, Sample This is still worth seeing. Like "20 Feet from Stardom" and "Standing in the Shadows of Motown," it focuses on the studio musicians whose contributions are well-known but whose identities are not.

Feels more like a collection of interrelated short stories cobbled into an flavorful but ultimately unwieldy narrative.

A puzzle movie with too many unnecessary pieces and not enough essential ones, but it's superior to its predecessor in a few basic ways.

A pretty uneven film, lurching from comedy to violence to sentiment, but it's best when it sticks in the realm of flat-out farce.

In the days since, I have found myself thinking about these characters at unexpected moments. Maybe the film, like its characters, just needs a little time to grow on you.

The footage of Bordeaux is awe-inspiring, with aerial shots of the great chateaux and the vineyards. Closeups of the labels from the different chateaux abound, along with luscious shots of glimmering wine being poured. The obsessive nature of the entire industry is reflected in these shots, a good marriage of theme and form.

Are you consumed by an overwhelming desire to fork over the price of a movie ticket in order to see the kind of meagerly funded nonsense that the SyFy network provides for the price of a basic cable package? If the answer is yes, then Bounty Killer is right up your alley.

Like bad houseguests, the creators of Hell Baby overstay their welcome.

A solid, genially retro entertainment.

An earnest and important film. It deserves to be seen by anyone who is interested in documentaries and anyone who is interested in the simple human stories movies too often overlook.

Adore is, as my late mother would say in describing Sidney Sheldon novels, "good trash."

If this particular kind of performance is not your cup of tea (and, admittedly, it is not mine), you might find yourself resisting the journey of female empowerment and the uplift that's ultimately in store.

The ultimate invasion of its subject's privacy.

Ultimately, Winnie is a woman who seems to embody the paradoxes of her country's turbulent history.

Twohy's script contains macho dialogue so ripe it's embarrassing to hear it.

It's not the most original of concepts, and writer-director Liz W. Garcia struggles with the tone throughout, but The Lifeguard is often saved by Kristen Bell's sensitive and complex performance.

The result is a dreary and derivative thriller that is nowhere near as smart or controversial as it clearly believes itself to be.

Someday, we may get the true story of One Direction behind the scenes, full of fears and fights, egos and eccentricities. But today is not that day, and Spurlock is clearly not that storyteller.

I Declare War is like high school English class, rife with confusing symbolism and full of sound and fury that ultimately signifies nothing.

This cannot end well—we know this—but the major turn Afternoon Delight takes is jarring and irreparable.

Our Nixon seems to be more interested in evoking emotional than intellectual responses.

The car chase thriller Getaway has a wild premise and few good moments, and if there were an Oscar for wrecking police cars, it would absolutely win.

Despite the bleak-ness of the situation, the film vibrates with color, noise, music, ferocious arguments (both serious and teasing), and eye-catching snapshots of everyday life in Havana.

Thérèse never goes beyond that level of psychological complexity because after a point, Miller and Carter aren't interested in exploring the murky depths of Thérèse 's feelings.

Crazy, violent and shocking events go down in Paradise: Faith — events that will startle the devout and non-believers alike — but Austrian director Ulrich Seidl depicts them all with same sort of monotone detachment he uses in the film's more mundane moments.

The Grandmaster is a drunken love letter to experience, which helps us survive, and wisdom, which helps us face aging, loss and, ultimately, the abyss. Wong, who was called the coolest director in the world when he was much younger, is now 57. This film is about a man like him, who has proven himself in the world and enters mid-life exuding a new, sage kind of cool.

These kids have to contrive magical pretexts just to lay hands on each other, and boy, are their excuses rotten.

Watching Drinking Buddies is like being the designated driver for a most uninteresting bunch of drinkers.

Wright is a brilliant director of turbocharged exposition, elegant but bruising action sequences, and graphically bold comedic overkill.

Cretton shows as much care and kindness with the minutiae of the daily routine — as he does with the larger issues that plague these lives in flux. He also infuses his story with unexpected humor as the kids hassle each other — and their supervisors — on the road to healing.

All this sounds eminently promising. But it would need a wordsmith as witty and wise as Emma Thompson, who won an Oscar for adapting the big-screen version of 1995's "Sense and Sensibility," to pull it off and do Austen herself justice.

Although presumably meant to be a modern-day version of the classic conspiracy thriller "The Conversation," Paranoia is so vapid that it plays like "Antitrust" sans the food allergies.

We the Parents, one-sided and promotional as it often feels, presents a possible solution, as well as the difficulties in achieving it.

Daniels delights in his actors, all of whom accept the challenge of bringing something true and vibrant to their various sketchily written characters with the enthusiasm of celebrity competition-show contestants.

One of the year's worst films.

Standing Up is mainly an exercise in personality development for Grace, raising her self-esteem, and giving her confidence.

Ain't Them Bodies Saints is a film that will reward you for seeking it out.

Save for a few references of being abandoned by his birth parents and adopted later, the source of Jobs's jerky behavior never is revealed.

The cast is terrific, and there are a couple of sequences that made me laugh out loud, but the movie as a whole is baffling.

Planes modestly succeeds. Very modestly.

At times, Blood, feels like a slightly-filled-out television police procedural with better cinematography, but the performances have an almost Shakespearean grandeur.

Whether it's the wealth of meta-cinematic references to both Shetty's and Khan's other work, or the evolving romance between Khan and Padukone, or the handsomely mounted action, or the occasionally excellent songs, Chennai Express always has something up its sleeve.

After all the thrills, chills, and jumped up machinery in both big and little films these days, there's not too much that can shake us up; show me something I can't get anywhere else, like Jug Face's rare joyful hillbilly dance sequence, with heels-tapping and spoons clanking.