Slickly executed with glossy, neon-drenched cinematography and a throbbing techno-music score, Paris Countdown sacrifices substance for stylishness, as has become the distressing tendency of so many recent crime dramas. But its fast pacing, compelling lead performances and frequent doses of action prevent boredom from settling in.

In the meaty bad guy role, Harrelson entertainingly goes all the way, putting him way out there on the ledge with any of your favorite loonies, psychos and unhinged nutjobs.

Xue’s second feature is an exemplar of commercial filmmaking, and production help from a handful of Hong Kong pros (in editing, costume design, cinematography) give it the polished finish the fluffy material demands.

Using the plight of the hapless team and its troubled young players as a microcosm of American society in decline, Medora, inevitably bound to be compared to the more ambitious and accomplished Hoop Dreams, nonetheless scores some winning points in powerful fashion.

Ill-advised and amateurishly executed, Ass Backwards begins with a passably funny concept and runs it into the ground within 20 minutes.

You may come away more impressed by the intentions than by the achievements.

Energetic, humorous and not too cloying, as well as the first Hollywood film in many years to warn of global cooling rather than warming, this tuneful toon upgrades what has been a lackluster year for big studio animated fare.

Although Gregorini is very clear on where her lead characters are coming from, it’s where they’re headed that remains entirely vague, an oversight that leaves them unfortunately adrift.

The connection between art and technology is explored in an entertaining and accessible way in Tim's Vermeer, a documentary that demonstrates how a savvy and dedicated amateur with sufficient resources was able to create a remarkable likeness of a great 17th century painting.

Craig Lahiff’s feisty genre outing is a neat surprise.

There’s uncustomary warmth here and a sensitivity to the characters’ vulnerabilities that often is missing from this director’s work.

Crucially, Jung and Boileau manage to convey the bonds of affection and love that hold this unusual family together, in a manner that will ring a moving chord with many who have experienced similar circumstances.

While nothing in The Nun feels inspiring or truly groundbreaking, it’s certainly a well-handled package, and the strong performances are abetted by superb technical contributions.

Enjoyable but incomplete-feeling bio-doc both celebrates the Milius myth and tries to undo the damage it did to his reputation.

Jillian Schlesinger’s first feature, made in collaboration with Dekker and composed largely of footage that the hardy adventurer shot herself, is both low-key and lyrical as it focuses on the mundane and the magnificent.

This is far from a dull, academic work and the fast-paced talk is matched by swiftly changing scenes full of vibrant visuals. Life bubbles out of each frame in a grungy, foul-smelling rush.

Liz Marshall's Ghosts in Our Machine trades didacticism for first-person atmospherics.

A return to form for John Sayles.

Van Dormael's intriguing script is more than matched in his flamboyant direction of this 2-hour-plus tale, heroically edited by Matyas Veress and Susan Shipton into a fluid, generally understandable narrative.

This is an illuminating close-up on a vital cog in the moviemaking machine and a fresh perspective on key episodes in the birth of the New Hollywood.

The earnest doc offers enough spirit-lifting moments to prove its thesis and leave viewers inspired.

Comes up so short it effectively demonstrates that there are actually a few rungs below Z-grade fare.

The film is more impressionistic than informative, lacking the necessary dramatic structure to make it truly compelling.

The film delivers a compelling portrait of the complicated issues involved.

Aftermath's avoidance of Holocaust-film tropes lets the picture address weighty historical and moral issues while fitting into the genre shoes of a small-town thriller.

Although a rather self-congratulatory air intermittently hangs over the film, the accomplishments of the participants and the popularity of motorcycling speak for themselves, without the need for superfluous commentary.

Sweet Dreams delivers a rare uplifting story from a country that has seen more than its share of brutality and heartache.

[A] small-scale but deeply moving documentary.

A mournful testament to a vibrant piece of global film history almost entirely wiped out of existence.

This static, talky effort ultimately doesn’t justify its feature-length running time despite some strong performances and the occasional moving moment.

Although it seldom approaches the inspiration of its plucky premise... Free Birds nevertheless manages to avoid being branded a holiday turkey.

A pleasing walk in the park for all involved, not exactly profound, but appealing to both long term fans of the franchise and accessible to newcomers.

The main problem of Mr. Morgan’s Last Love is a structural one, as it is really two films in one.

The film manages to generate only mild shocks and surprises.

Without a strong thematic throughline, Levy relies on a highly episodic structure, letting the subject matter lead him along, rather than shaping the material into a compelling package.

The arc and uplift of the story might be familiar, but thanks to DaSilva’s magnetism and skillful direction, this is way more than a conventional weeper.

Although formulaic in design and programmed to meet its quota of laughs, the film makes a point of going beyond basic expectations into some legitimate aspects of mature friendships without getting soggy about it.

There is much here of interest to aficionados of the great author as well as to those curious about the complicated relationship between sisters Mariel and the late Margaux.

If only adapter-director Gavin Hood's movie had been tempered with craft and care and wasn't such a blunt instrument, one that seems designed as a delivery system for CGI derring-do instead of the heartbreaker it should be.

Despite its scaldingly hot cast and formidable writer/director combination, The Counselor is simply not a very likable or gratifying film. In fact, it's a bummer.

Some of these gags are hilarious.

Gloria is a work of maturity, depth and emotional insight. There’s not a single false note here.

Any sense of narrative momentum or intellectual focus quickly unravels as the film evolves into an almost wordless symphony of disconnected images, sounds and music. But the nature-heavy montages are mostly beautiful and bizarre enough to excuse the film’s pretentious excesses.

Although director Alan Taylor manages to get things going properly for the final battle in London, the long stretches before that on Asgard and the other branches of Yggdrasil are a drag.

The film will frustrate viewers who insist on knowing which interviewees are recounting real experiences and which are perpetuating fictions hatched by the game's creator, Jeff Hull. But mystery is part of the appeal.

Torn approaches its incendiary topical issues with intelligent modesty.

Handsome and weighty-feeling but less substantial than it seems.

Ultimately, it’s little more than a trifle that’s enlivened by the older Huston’s inevitably referential performance.

Mike Mendez's shamelessly Corman-esque Big Ass Spider! does almost everything just a tiny bit better than it needs to.

American Promise shows the emotional toll that each boy endures, not only from the image that their privileged peers have of minority males but, accordingly, their own lack of confidence.

Less twisted than Natali's last film, Splice, it's sufficiently novel to uphold his reputation as a filmmaker not content telling conventional fanboy stories.

Taken strictly on its own terms, Saving Mr. Banks works exceedingly well as mainstream entertainment.

Directors Sean Fine and Andrea Nix Fine have fashioned an informative, emotionally uplifting saga of the powers of optimism and persistence in the face of the cruelest odds.

Toback does a great job introducing the non-initiated to the sticky job of getting a film funded outside the studio system.

The kind of mindless, silly romp the multi-hyphenate has become known for.

Glossier and more lavishly produced than most faith-based films, the film directed by Steve Race is ultimately undone by a relentless preachiness that gives it the feel of a two-hour sermon.

An utterly formulaic but sweet movie that does what a crowd-pleaser is meant to do.

If De Palma’s version was one part adolescent dream, three parts nightmare, with a sly streak of satire running through it, Peirce’s is a more earnest yet still engrossing take on the story that should connect with contemporary teens. At the very least it might send fledgling horror buffs scurrying to their Netflix queues to watch a vintage masterpiece of the genre.

They just don't make 'em like this anymore, and it's a good thing, too.

None of the characters,--whether human, fantastical, or anthropomorphically animal—prove remotely engaging. And the cheap animation, the sort of low-grade CGI endemic to endless direct-to-video efforts, proves visually unappealing.

Our Day Will Come speeds along for a while on the fumes of its own audacity until it can no longer hide the lack of coherent ideas in the tank.

An enjoyably naughty trip through Divine's career that happily makes time to introduce us to Glenn Milstead, the sweet kid and fledgling hairdresser who transformed himself so daringly.

The doc is slickly packaged, but it suffers from the pat reality-TV feel of manicured sound bites where greater candor and fly-on-the-wall observation might have been welcome.

The Old West is portrayed as a venal loony bin in Sweetwater, a handsomely designed, occasionally funny but ultimately empty female vengeance yarn.

Some of the film’s acerbic touches are welcome, but Snitch doesn’t offer nearly enough fresh variations on the Scarface formula.

While only sporadically effective in its attempt at creating a modern-day Psycho, Forgetting the Girl does manage to sustain a sufficiently disturbing mood that is not easily forgotten.

This is a probing, inquisitive work of a very high order, although it goes a bit slack in the final third and concludes rather conventionally compared to much that has come before.

What starts out as a reasonably effective ghost story devolves into familiar torture porn in Cassadaga, Anthony DiBlasi’s muddled horror film ineffectively blending two genre styles.

A slight but sweet effort that serves as an excellent showcase for its Mexican star, Jaime Camil. The effortlessly charismatic performer delivers a winning performance in this romantic comedy that somehow manages to work despite its endless contrivances.

Alan Rickman's lead performance highlights a sincere but insubstantial rock pic.

Fredrik Bond makes a promising feature debut with this fanciful crime-drama romance that gratifyingly eschews strict genre classification.

Which Way is the Front Line is more than a chronicle of a life and a brilliant ten-year career cut short at age 40. It’s also a strangely beautiful insight into one man’s distinctive way of looking at and experiencing war.

The older the actors here the better they are, as pros like Paul Giamatti and Damian Lewis have it all over low-voltage young leads Douglas Booth and Hailee Steinfeld. Relativity will be lucky to milk anything more than a moderate take from this pretty but unexciting enactment.

It ultimately devolves into yet another rote horror film that in this case lives up to its name by also being seriously underlit.

There certainly are moving moments in this inspiring if necessarily somewhat morbid travelogue... but they’re buried in the sloppiness and self-indulgence that too often marks this vanity project.

The gorgeous physicality is more impressive than the sketchy storyline of this dance-centric drama.

Addressing the heartrending issue of children living with HIV and AIDS is enormously complex, but Blood Brother accomplishes the challenge with sufficient grace and empathy to give hope to anyone concerned with this global affliction.

Juliette Binoche’s portrayal of the ill-fated artist is a study of restraint peppered with brief outbursts of emotion -- a riveting performance in an imposing, at times off-putting micro-biopic.

A thrill-stuffed sports doc whose daredevil subject will quickly endear himself even to viewers who've never heard his name.

Williams is to be commended not only for his filmmaking skill, but also for pulling back the curtain on a most disturbing situation.

Honest and well made but lacking a strong hook.

The doc could benefit from more information about what led up to that day.

More scares are induced by the creepy soundtrack composed by Slash and Nicholas O'Toole than by the perfunctory special effects.

Although laughs do come... the film is happy to observe wryly as boredom and failure threaten to overwhelm the men.

The Dirties is as provocative as it is sloppily messy in its themes.

The cinematic axiom of diminishing returns appears to be catching up with Robert Rodriguez’s Machete franchise in only the second installment, as the series’ engagingly lowbrow concept gets overwhelmed by episodic plotting and uninspired, rote performances.

Hubbell lays the groundwork for a nuts-and-bolts examination of changes over the decades in treatment and teaching techniques. In the present tense, however, the first-person aspect of his documentary can veer toward the cutesy.

The fight sequences are staged with admirable proficiency despite the often cheesy special effects.

The film’s reluctance to fully explore its provocative moral conflict renders it terminally bland.

An appealing documentary about one of the American West’s unique cowboy conservationists.

A film that lingers in the memory in spite of being rather irritating to watch.

A deliberately distanced but often harrowing vision of a living hell.

The level of socially accepted discrimination exposed here provokes both heartbreak and anger.

It offers scant insight to go along with its simplistic homilies about the power of faith and the reassuring presence of God.

Far from being overkill, the well-conceived drama featuring A-listers Reese Witherspoon and Colin Firth in key roles, will bring this infuriating tale of injustice to many mainstream moviegoers for the first time.

This intense, painful movie lingers in the memory.

Shamelessly contrived in the manner of most jukebox musicals, and more than a wee bit precious, the movie has little use for emotional shadings as it flogs its feel-good charms.

Utterly lacking in imagination or suspense, this inane effort is strictly for hardcore Argento cultists.