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

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

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

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.

This middling movie, intriguing but oddly incomplete, plays at best like Spielberg Lite.

Feels profound while still delivering the requisite laughs and fun.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

It has the feel of a filmed play—transparently intended to land Allison Janney a 16th Emmy nomination and potentially an eighth win.

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 brutal and bloody (for a while, anyway) showcase for Hugh Jackman hidden beneath a shaggy beard, with not much more to recommend it.

It’s a very different spotlight that falls on The Boss with “Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere,” a deeply personal film about both his artistic integrity and inner demons.

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

"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.

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

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.

There’s a Saturday-matinee-type unpretentiousness about the film that doesn’t really aspire to much more than letting the audience have a good time.

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.

This Netflix movie actually rises above most of the herd, thanks largely to co-writer and co-star Brett Goldstein.