Neeson is as earnest as ever, but the movie’s tone is arch. Neeson doesn’t think he’s funny, but the director thinks everything is funny, or at the very least, absurd.

An unusually cheerful depiction of prostitution. You've never seen such wholesome hookers.

Fascinating in its own strange way, not as entertainment but as a cultural document.

For all of its dazzlingly rendered cityscapes and nonstop action, this revamped Total Recall is a bland thing - bloodless, airless, humorless, featureless. With or without the triple-bosomed prostitute.

This is a movie in search of a finale.

Unfortunately, we've seen this before.

Builds up comic force in its first half. But then it blows it, leaving the audience feeling unsatisfied.

A canny buyer will beware the blandishments of car salesmen, but it's a mystery why Robin Williams bought the inane script for Cadillac Man. [18 May 1990, p.E3]

A mostly entertaining movie with built-in appeal to young audiences. The good news for parents is that it won't put them to sleep.

If the ultra-slow pacing, sparse dialogue and depressingly gray pallette don’t get you, perhaps that super big close-up of a toe-clipping session will.

The tense, stylish thriller turns into soft-core, slapdash psychodrama.

Sly, stylishly cynical dark farce.

It’s such a pure delight to see Erivo and Grande just standing around when they finally duet on “For Good” that we will take that scene over a hundred where their characters dance, preen or ride a broom on their own.

By the time the sex actually starts, any sense of tension or anticipation is gone. It's the rare orgy that feels like an anticlimax.

Starts out OK, but then almost seems to be intentionally going for humor.

Overlong, overplotted and underdrawn.

A melancholy Spanish drama that’s competently made and checks off all the boxes defining a contemporary art-house movie. But it lacks the spark that separates top-of-the-line films from the pack, and watching it becomes something of a slog.

About Endlessness is like a bunch of Debbie Downer skits directed by Ingmar Begman, just not as entertaining.

As a piece of filmmaking, Where to Invade Next gets off to a strong start and then sags in the last half hour, but it makes a lot of interesting points and, in the way it shows other countries, conveys something about the United States.

This is a slacker comedy with "festival" stamped all over it, so you can bet the consequences will be quirky.

Has to be one of the least charming French romances to find American distribution in recent years.

It’s a mix of comedy that isn’t especially funny — offering something more like general high spirits, rather than laughs — and drama that isn’t really dramatic, except to the people on screen.

Disappointingly mediocre.

What “The Grab” doesn’t do quite well is sell its argument or weave its many disparate, admirably reported discoveries into a graspable whole.

Crush is that strange mixed bag -- an otherwise wretched movie in which an actress gets to do some of her best work.

The careful camera work, beautifully dank cinematography and the quietly nuanced performance by Darín keep our attention, but in the end, the film's bigger challenge isn't its length, or its deliberate pace: It's that it's overly freighted with symbolism and meaning.

The characters are mostly likable, and despite some comic sallies the film takes a compassionate stance toward them. But it feels like a glossy, overly neat take on what should be an explosive topic.

The movie is achingly slow, and by the time it's over, the story is about where it should have been after about 45 minutes. Then it ends just as it gets good, or as it's starting to.