Neither resting on formula nor audience goodwill, the “X-Men” series is going deeper and getting better as it goes along.

In a way it’s just another well-made thriller, but there are things here — currents captured, ideas frozen in time — that might make it more interesting as the years pass. For the time being, it’s good entertainment and deserves to be seen now.

The lively setting helps, but the main attration here is the familiar story, which has been around forever and yet never gets old.

So there’s talent on view here, but in service of a questionable proposition, with the whole thing tiptoeing toward the exploitative. It would be nice to see Mascaro try his hand at less volatile material.

L’Attesa — also known as “The Wait” — is atmospheric and moody, serious and full of portent; and if it weren’t so good, it would probably be unbearable.

Robert Downey Jr. gets to remind everybody that before this blockbuster turn he was actually a serious actor and may still be again. Stark’s frustration at the rigidity and short-sightedness of his confreres and his anguish at where it all leads are vivid and felt.

A remarkable treat. It contains information about the writer heretofore unknown, and though it’s a dramatic feature and not a documentary, it claims to tell the truth, without embellishment. Even better, it was written by someone who saw the events depicted firsthand.

Writer-director Lorene Scafaria based the movie on her own mother, and the clothes that Sarandon wears in the film actually belong to Scafaria’s mother. They fit Sarandon well, and so does the role.

Math buffs will appreciate the inclusion of a brief and witty anecdote they may already know involving Ramanujan and the number 1,729. Well done.

The overall aura is kind of ... welcoming. It’s impossible to take seriously, but easy to take.

It gives fans what they want, while also working most of the time as pulse-pounding escapism. Even though he has almost nothing to do with the actual movie, the spirit of a “Speed”-era Keanu Reeves is present throughout.

It’s competently made but boring — and desperate.

A powerful cinematic essay.

This kind of psychological mystery, with its suggestion of fugue states, needs to work by hints and whispers, but Pali Road has pretty low expectations of its audience. It ought to be light on its feet, but it lumbers.

10 stories are just way too many. Had producers cut it down to, say, the five most promising stories and fleshed them out a bit, the results might have been better. Instead, it feels just as you might be sucked into a story, it’s over.

The cinematography and direction are particularly compelling; the complicated sequences on the tight sets must have forced camera operators to play cinematic Twister in impossibly small corners.

Shannon is worth seeing, and so is Spacey — hunched over, doing a funny impression of Nixon’s voice and body language. But this time the actors are better than the material.

A Hologram for the King has great energy, and also a languorous, lived-in quality.

Joachim Trier is a Norwegian filmmaker who made a strong debut in 2011, with his film, “Oslo, August 31.” Louder Than Bombs is his first English-language effort, and it’s disappointing.

Delirious, over-the-top, gorgeous to look at and with comic timing delivered at a machine-gun pace, Spain’s My Big Night is not only the fastest-moving film of the year so far this side of “Hardcore Henry,” but one of the most entertaining as well.

A resoundingly unlovable movie that almost resists being watched.

The director’s skill pushes what could have been the same old song into a likable testament to the saving powers of young love and rock ’n’ roll.

Colorful and visually pleasing, although there is nothing surprising in the rather predictable story.

A funny movie, but also a serious movie, and — who knows? — maybe an important one.

It’s a preening piece of work, aiming to flatter and please, while masquerading as something hard-hitting and daring. And because of all that, it’s a bore.

Criminal depicts a compelling situation, made rich and entertaining through its extreme characters.

This may be Favreau’s best achievement — taking a beloved film guided by Walt Disney himself and crafting something distinct and memorable.

Jacob Bernstein’s documentary about his mother, Nora Ephron, is unbearably funny for much of the way, and then it is sad, but bearably so because Everything Is Copy is about one woman’s realization that some things in life are more than material for her writing.