While it’s worth watching, what clearly aspires to be the definitive telling of the story ultimately isn’t.

Given the frequent weeping captured from her die-hard, singing-along fans, 4DX would really be the killer app, approximating the spray of their abundant tears of joy.

It feels ready-made fodder for streaming’s “You might like” tier.

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

In what amounts to damnation with the faintest of praise, Tron: Ares is slightly less incoherent than its most recent predecessor (granted, not a particularly high bar), while taking advantage of the passage of time to improve on the visuals, since “Legacy’s” de-aging process involving original star Jeff Bridges served as a lifeless distraction.

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

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

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.

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

Deftly serves old wine in an equally old bottle.