The only time Bohemian Rhapsody works is when it finally retreats from not just the standard biopic narrative but from storytelling altogether.

By sanding off all the dark human quirks from their deeply human heroine, the filmmakers have left us a film that’s just filling the space.

This is a movie that should have probably leaned far less on wild hijinks with diminishing returns and more into the smaller moments of what it means to be friends for 40 years. But it’s not without its charms, either.

The dog is, as ever, irresistibly winning.

Despite the admirable ambitions and the prestigious names involved, including stars Keri Russell and Jesse Plemons as well as producer Guillermo Del Toro, it doesn’t really work either as metaphor or engaging, thought-provoking entertainment.

This Hillbilly Elegy has stripped away the most sermonizing, debatable parts of the book, but it’s also denuded it of any deeper purpose, leaving us with a cosplay shell of A-list actors chewing rural scenery.

“Bad Boys” only works when the bickering cops are center stage.

Pearce, sweaty and grungy, steadies Memory; it’s his film as much as Neeson’s.

Whether these Hollywood touches will make the film appealing to the Rambo crowd is doubtful. By all means, read the book first. [24 Sept 1986]

Buzz Kulik has directed some slam-bang chases, but their effectiveness is blunted by a script that meanders between the bounty hunter's missions and a boring relationship with his housemate (Kathryn Harrold), who is heavy with child. [12 Aug 1980]

Next Goal Wins isn’t a tale of “woe” or “woah!” but “meh.”

If the idea was to make something for the moms, “Oh. What. Fun.” is about as thoughtful as a hastily scribbled card on a piece of printer paper the morning of her birthday. We can all do better.

Without spoiling any secrets, the film progresses in horror-film mode before, in its third act, tying things up in a somewhat clever, unexpected way. By then, though, you may have given up on this group.

Golding is simply not the right actor for the part. He’s not exactly bad, just miscast and misused. And despite the novel trimmings and flash around him, his character is woefully generic.

While its ideas are often intriguing, the movie feels like high-concept scaffolding that only thinly conceals it hollowness. It’s a Tesla without electricity.

While Mistress might gnaw a bit at the problems it tries to confront, it never really sinks its teeth into them. [15 Mar 1993]

Power fails, not because it is badly done; Lumet and an exceptional cast do their best to bring it to life. But they are ultimately defeated by an overplotted script that offers few surprises and no real revelations about today's politics. [17 Feb 1986]

Besides the muddled story, the script is burdened with some of the clunkiest dialogue for a major film in recent memory. [3 Aug 1996]

To both the movie’s benefit and detriment, the seas here are choppier than in the predictably (and sometimes boringly) smooth sailing of a Marvel movie. But the bright spots (Momoa, that octopus) can be difficult to really relish amid the oceans of exposition and a typically pulverizing, overelaborate screenplay.

Food, family, a big karaoke scene … and a spotlight on an immigrant community underrepresented in Hollywood. There are worse ways to spend 96 minutes.

Great Balls of Fire is fun to watch, especially Quaid's gymnastics and clownish grimaces. But the movie lacks authenticity; it seems to be laughing at itself and at the era it purports to chronicle. [29 June 1989]

A calculatedly combustible concoction, designed, like its chaos-creating character, to cause a stir. To provoke and distort. I wish it was as radical as it thinks it is.

Visually and storytelling-wise it’s not a cut above much of what kids can watch on TV these days. This is a franchise that looks like it’s slowly going the way of the dinos, while we drool.

The only real heroes in this lumbering, over-inflated epic are the army of special effects coordinators and technicians who create a fantastic, otherworldly environment peopled by creatures more weird and threatening than Jabba The Hut. Freddie Francis' photography is constantly impressive. But technical wizardry alone cannot save Dune from a crash landing. [3 Jan 1985]

It would be easy to hail The Naked Gun as something better than it is, since it simply existing is cause for celebration. But like most reboots, particularly comedy ones, the best thing about the new “Naked Gun” is that it might send you back to the original.

Monday has an artsy, improvised feel, but also falls prey to some pretty standard rom-com tropes.

The script by Tracey Scott Wilson (Fosse/Verdon) is a collection of scenes that don’t add up to much, never really building and interrupted — by necessity, of course — with overly long music sequences. This film needed someone to sharpen and clarify.

McCarthy’s visual style is too fragmented, happy to capture his scrambling camera and sound operators in the frame and changing up his shots from guerilla-style jerky iPhone images to tasteful, polished portraits.