Saint Laurent’s designs and working life take a backseat to scenes of him stuffing his face with pills, accidentally poisoning his dog and sleepwalking through sex with a variety of lovers. Two and a half hours of this. Bonello might as well have shown him sleeping eight hours or using the toilet for all that says about the man and his work.

Spinney owns the character, down to the last feather.

As of today, this is the most delightful movie out there.

Yet all this wit and effort and occasional beauty is in the service of a movie that is little more than a two-hour chase scene, one that seems founded on the assumption that if you show one set of people chasing another, that’s enough to get an audience excited: Oh, no, let’s hope they don’t get caught!

Abigail Breslin (“Little Miss Sunshine”) plays the infected daughter. Her performance seems unsettled at first, but it doesn’t take long for Breslin to sink into Maggie’s (rotting) skin, aided by some fine makeup work. Her most effective moments come when the teen faces the inescapability of her death.

If there’s a weakness to The D Train, it’s only in the filmmakers’ ultimate choice to stop the pain right before the finish, as if any good might really come to the characters they’ve created. Perhaps the assumption was that, by then, audiences will have suffered enough. But some misery you really can’t get enough of, especially when it’s happening to other people.

The chief virtue of Iris is its amiability — it’s a delight to spend time in Apfel’s company, and thanks to Albert Maysles, we can.

The alliances of the characters are a tad confusing at the beginning, but you don’t have to be an expert in geopolitics to appreciate the finer points of director Zaza Urushadze’s intimate film, which was nominated for a best foreign film Oscar.

So there’s nothing here to see, except maybe the white dress that Vergara wears in her first scene.

Félix and Meira appears to be a simple movie about fitting in, acceptance and sacrifice. Yet it’s so elegant and poses so many sides that it’s actually a very complex film with very complex characters.

An adaptation not firing on all cylinders.

Supercharged and lifeless, frenetic and stone-cold dead, a barrage of action scenes that look fake, yet make you wonder if fake is the new real.

An odd duck, a Southern melodrama that aspires to be a sensitive coming-of-age story, with some humor mixed in. Sometimes it doesn’t soar the way it should, though it remains engaging most of the way.

The Road Within is never good. The presentation of Tourette’s syndrome may be authentic, but everything else about the movie — the emotions, the characters, the situations — rings false.

Someone should steal this concept and make a decent movie out of it.

Kung Fu Killer is like a roundhouse kick from the past, a satisfying, old-school martial arts film that has a ’90s feel to it.

For people already interested in fashion, the film’s appeal will be obvious, but Dior and I deserves to go beyond a small target audience.

Crowe is not messing around here, not trying to dream up opportunities to throw himself another close-up. He’s a genuine director.

The film has a good cast, and is competently made in a plain-vanilla way, but its greatest appeal will be to those who share its endorsement of traditional religious values.

Original, winning entertainment, and well executed. No pun intended.

The real problem with True Story is contained in its title. The story isn’t too good to be true, but rather too true to be good.

There’s no one to root for, not even the dead girl. Nothing seems important enough.

A sci-fi movie that actually has intelligent things to say about science — that’s all too rare. It’s what we get in Ex Machina.

The flat-out awful ending, though, deflates much of the goodwill built up by the rest of the film.

It’s not a combination most of us would’ve thought of, but Stewart and Binoche bring out the best in each other.

The role of Arielle was originally supposed to go to Diane Kruger, whose tough-minded realism would have been interesting here. But Marlohe, earthier yet more ethereal, is ideal.

There’s already a small library of films about the Who and its music, but this is the first I know of that examines the men who almost accidentally wound up managing one of the most incendiary of ’60s rock groups.

In the end, it’s hard to know whether to see the Iran of Desert Dancer in optimistic or pessimistic terms. Young people, especially, want to be free, but the other side has all the power. Having YouTube on your side certainly helps, but an army and some tanks can come in handy, too.