Loyalists should be there for the premiere, but after that, one suspects it’s game over.

A near-irresistible and highly emotional adaptation of Shelby Van Pelt’s bestselling novel.

Those involved are smart enough to recognize what people really want is the warm tidings of a stylish reunion, and in terms of navigating that narrow runway, the movie mostly delivers.

A 90-some-odd-minute adrenaline rush that gets stretched out a bit beyond its weight even with its modest running time.

A coming-of-age tale that, without breaking new ground, ranks high among recent entries in its well-worn genre.

"Michael" conveys the feeling of a slickly produced licensed product.

The basic premise could have been called “Lee Cronin’s The Exorcist,” although that probably wouldn’t have cleared legal.

Unlike its protagonist, there’s a refreshing lack of guile or pretense here about what this modest but breezy movie is and wants to be.

Frankly, I’d begin with having future me warn the present-day version to skip this.

An absurdly stylized action-horror-comedy mashup that somehow makes a satanic cult, wanton violence, and buckets of blood boring.

Ryan Gosling and a faceless rock creature forge an unlikely bromance in an adaptation of Andy Weir’s novel that manages to be alternately touching, stirring and silly.

The movie rises and falls on Monroe and Withers’ workmanlike performances, leaving it to the heart-tugging subject matter, mostly, to carry it across the finish line.

The stitched-together concept proves too bizarre and disjointed to catch lightning in a bottle.

Hoppers certainly has the vibrant feel of a plush-toy merchandising bonanza waiting to happen.

Deftly serves old wine in an equally old bottle.

An extremely down-to-earth, character-driven heist movie that in the best ways resembles similar fare from the 1990s.

Fennell ratchets up the volume to 11, with more emphasis on smoldering and sexuality than literature, at the risk of bastardizing Bronte’s tale beyond recognition.

At times the film feels like “Black Mirror” on peyote.

Melania fails to yield almost any unguarded moments, so intently focusing on its subject as she walks through venues in high heels as to approximate the feeling of a 104-minute perfume commercial.

Whatever the A.I. judge’s verdict, this human one says to wait for streaming.

Landing on Netflix, it’s not terrible, but by the time the credits roll it’s pretty clear why it landed directly on Netflix.

The latest installment is insanely weird, gruesomely violent, and features incredibly hammy roles for Ralph Fiennes and “Sinners’” Jack O’Connell.

“Uncut Gems” gets a spiritual sequel.

A 197-minute epic that piles on breathless rescues and battles in a manner whose ultimate goal seems to be exhaustion as an artistic choice, if not outright “Kneel before Zod” submission.

James L. Brooks has no creative mountains left to climb, but watching the ill-conceived “Ella McCay” it’s hard not to wish he had quit while he was ahead.

The third installment in Rian Johnson’s still-entertaining spin on Agatha Christie for our times exhibits signs of yielding diminishing returns.

Think of “Jay Kelly” as a taller and better-looking version of Woody Allen’s “Stardust Memories."

"Wicked” should be considered as one sweeping, five-hour canvas. And if the slightly shorter second half doesn’t fully measure up to the original, that does little to detract from director Jon M. Chu’s overall accomplishment.