Champions, feels overly familiar. But that doesn’t make this sure-to-be crowd-pleaser any less winning, especially with the endlessly likable Harrelson at its center.

The playful sparring that Strathairn does with both Olmos and Sheen feels like everything you want to see from seasoned actors at this stage in their careers, and the dialogue always rings truest when Strathairn, Olmos and Sheen get to play against one another. The significant acting chops of this trio of leads is the primary reason the film is worth seeing.

While leads Will Ferrell and Zach Galifianakis are amusingly on point as a pair of mud-slinging contenders for Congress, the platform is a wobbly political satire that flip-flops chaotically between clever and crass, never finding a sturdy comedic footing.

Nyswaner and Grandage here let the lads get nude and sweaty, rolling around in a golden haze — lots of arched backs, hungry hands and eyes dilated in rapturous transport — that should at least set Styles fans’ hearts aflutter, albeit while remaining fairly decorous. But stodgy storytelling and clunky shifts between the drama’s two time periods dim the afterglow.

Thinly scripted rom-com Ticket to Paradise puffs its way through 104 minutes mostly on the vapors of its lead actors gassing around together, albeit with an assist from spectacular Australian scenery standing in for Bali.

Bland, predictable picture, whose sole assets are a cute premise, the Italian countryside and the dignity Vanessa Redgrave brings to a part that, on the page, is quite beneath her.

A handsome period piece that plays more like a scant-clues mystery than like the psychological thriller it intends to be, Andy Goddard's A Kind of Murder turns to the work of Patricia Highsmith but finds little of what made Strangers on a Train and The Talented Mr. Ripley such nail-biters.

As a sympathetic look at two likeable lovers who don't know what's good for them, it's enough to give us a rooting interest — even if we're rooting for the two protagonists to accept the consequences of their mistakes and move on.

Starts off an aggressively derivative sci-fi thriller, then morphs into an above-average chase melodrama.

No one on the creative side has his eyes on the characters, so they flounder in a sea of misguided energy.

The potency of It Lives Inside — and why it might be worth checking out even if it isn’t wholly satisfying — lies in how it introduces Sam and Tamira’s relationship and links it to Hindu lore.

It comes on like gangbusters and keeps generating belly laughs well past the halfway point, slowing down then to take a GPS-directed turn into familiar romance territory.

The winning performances by its two leads elevate this contrived Israeli import.

Dramatically, Child of God is hit or miss; some scenes are ferociously captivating while others are given clumsy handling, almost to the point of indifference.

The main issue with the film's screenplay, written by the director, is that it is trying to cover too much ground and yet be tonally light on its feet.

Sour, joyless affair.

The wall-to-wall soundtrack naturally features plenty of today's leading hip-hop and R&B artists, including Flo Rida, T-Pain, Missy Elliott and Trey Songz.

The movie never overcomes the triteness of its premise.

Franco, employing diverse cinematic techniques from split screen (mostly early on) to direct-to-camera address, makes the Bundrens’ time of trial more immediately coherent than it is on the page without disrespecting Faulkner’s oblique style.

This amiable, Western-themed animated effort from the Walt Disney Co. is a clear attempt to return to the more lighthearted cartoon style that was so prevalent before its onslaught of stately musical epics.

Wastes its promising premise with a wavering tone that veers uneasily between camp humor and, pardon the expression, straightness.

Unfortunately, despite some fine performances and enjoyable moments, the film never manages to make its quirkiness engaging.

This religious-themed drama earns points for proselytizing in more narratively compelling form than usual. But while the film is watchable and features some effective performances, suffice it to say that it isn’t exactly All the President’s Men.

Among the willing cast, only Jacinda Barrett and topliners Josh Lucas, Kurt Russell and Richard Dreyfuss manage, just barely, to suggest a third dimension to the script's cursory character sketches. But that won't matter to audiences craving a disaster thrill ride.

A superficially diverting but substance-free concoction, a would-be thriller as evanescent as a magic trick and one that develops no suspense or rooting interest because the characters possess all the substance of invisible ink.

Wildly episodic in structure and violent in the extreme, Dreamland doesn't fully succeed in sustaining its outlandish conceits. The pacing also drags significantly despite its brief running time, lapsing into a talkiness that provides too much opportunity to pick apart its absurdities.

Although the impressively acted ensemble piece occasionally gets tripped up by Peter Elkoff's overtly literate script, it travels in some unexpected, thoughtful directions.

Shot in high definition and filmed at many historic locations, the film somehow still lacks the splendor of an epic, and its urgency to get on with the next plot point leaves much unexplained while context goes out the window.

A handsome, fast-paced and innocuous adventure that's easy to take but lacks epic scale.

Approaching the first half of the film fairly conventionally, Stewart then misses the opportunity to capitalize on shifting to more full-on genre mode.

Ultimately, The American Society of Magical Negroes is a film bogged down by its filmmaker’s inability to make the central joke work. The film simply is what it is satirizing: way too concerned with how white people perceive Blackness to the detriment of every single Black character in the film.

Although more than a little familiar in its road movie-style romantic banter and bickering, the film is easy to take for a number of reasons, including the witty and frequently caustic dialogue. Modest in its aspirations, "Race You" succeeds by not trying to do too much.

Feels surprisingly tame, coming off more like an extended advertisement for Grecco's coffee table book of the same name.

Will charm many arthouse patrons, though some highbrow-leaning art lovers will find the subject unworthy of such attention.

The film pretty much packs every canine cliché imaginable into its running time, but one look into the soulful eyes of its four-legged star will melt all but the coldest of hearts.

Fortunately, the new actioner directed by the prolific Steven C. Miller (First Kill, Arsenal, Marauders) proves fast-paced enough to overcome its more ludicrous plot elements.

The result is a somewhat uneasy mix of social critique and bizarre sex drama in which Guiraudie seems to be spitballing different ideas without making all of them stick.

Yuzna appears to be searching for jokes in every scene. The high-key lighting and bright sets also seem geared to comedy. But since he lacks a true comic script, he comes up with mostly dead air. [28 Feb 1992]

The key to its success lies in the determination by everyone involved to play the damn thing straight. Even the slightest goofiness, the tiniest touch of camp, and the whole thing would blow sky high. But it doesn't.

It’s an intriguing premise. ... But The Greatest Hits is the kind of film that should sweep you away with its charm and emotion. Instead, it’s too transparently button-pushing to go beyond the stale tropes of the weepy drama.

The Purge: Anarchy efficiently exploits its high-concept premise while delivering far more visceral thrills than its predecessor.

There is plenty to admire technically in his drama . . . But its substance is a mashup of ill-fitting parts, indebted to both Romeo and Juliet and Douglas Sirk.

The tragic dimension of a woman adored by the world, devoured by Hollywood and ultimately abandoned to her own despair in an ordinary little house in Brentwood resonates because we know Marilyn’s sad story. But it’s hard to ignore the queasy feeling that Dominik is getting off on the tawdry spectacle. De Armas holds nothing back in connecting with the character’s pain. She deserves better.

Alas, this is a remake without a reason. Alfie can no longer shock us.

In the end, the most remarkable thing about Against the Ice is that a real-life story of two men at the mercy of the unforgiving elements, of hunger and illness, possible attack and encroaching madness, can be so curiously deprived of tension.

The directors and screenwriter Karen Croner are attuned to the different ways that Phil and Sandy selfishly draw their kids deeper into the domestic mess.

It's an odd match of a screenplay (adapted by Berman and Pulcini) that's too obvious, telegraphing rather than teasing out its twists, and direction that's overly timid; one gets the sense that the filmmakers are checking off genre tropes and tricks from a list instead of finding ways to invest them with fresh chills or shivers.

Talkington indulges in a lot of directorial flourishes, some of which work and some of which don't, but they definitely lift the proceedings above the mundane. [28 Nov 1994]

A static and awkward effort that never quite comes to life.

The movie does say a lot about female athletes and the changing role of women in American society, but in aggressively pursuing the formula, writer-director-producer Tim Chambers is prone to exaggeration and a moralizing tone.

Though it doesn't quite hit the target, Plotnick's vision of the future of the past is peculiar enough to resist quick dismissal.

Initially a sluggish stalker flick whose undergraduate moral debates are tiresome instead of provocative, it eventually transforms into a patriarchy metaphor as obvious as, well, all those Greek-lettered paddles that decorate both the frat's and the sorority's clubhouses.

As writer, Allen offers lazy plotting, poor characterization, dull scenes and flat dialogue.

Moore and Neeson beautifully underplay their roles, lending screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson's ("Secretary") dialogue an unexpected, palpable poignancy.

Despite its appealing performers and some tasty comic moments, Wilson overestimates our affection for a grating antihero only mildly warmed by Harrelson's ambling charm.

Boasts an undeniable technical proficiency and historical authenticity, but this docudrama detailing assassin Mark David Chapman's obsession, stalking and eventual murder of the beloved Beatle nonetheless has an unavoidably exploitative feel.

Shock doc The Blackout Experiments augurs to be an experiment in audience walk-out.... it is neither scary nor shocking.

While the pic proves too frivolous to make its satirical and social points fully register, it offers diverting pleasures along the way.

Estes finds a way to twist things up, organically adding a Groundhog Day element. Time's still moving forward toward Ashley's death, but the detective work gets more interesting.

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

Words can't do justice to the truly lavish sets and costumes on display here which are so dazzling, intricate and bizarre they serve as a useful distraction from the awkward dialogue and plot holes.

The result is a stylishly executed but punishing ultra-realistic thriller that might be classified as family torture porn.

The filmmaker's attempt to explore the outer boundaries of erotic and violent obsession are undone by the murkiness of the execution, and only the highly committed and forceful performances by the two leads give the aptly titled Bad Guy any distinction.

Packs plenty of crowd-pleasing appeal.

Less sex comedy and more Seth comedy would have made for a much livelier excursion.

Daddy's Little Girls may be heavy-handed and drearily predictable, but it also should connect with its core audience as solidly as Perry's previous efforts did, even if the drama is frequently just as over the top as its predecessors.

With neither great insight nor any sign of wit, the film is not likely to capture interest outside France.

A lovable underachiever unwittingly spawns his own village in Starbuck, Ken Scott's crowd-pleasing comedy exploring various meanings of fatherhood in the modern age.

It would be difficult to convince anybody without a pre-existing interest that this constitutes compelling storytelling on any level.

Even though the movie poses questions worth pondering, it's self-inoculated against doing the pondering. With all the long, loving glances at the orderly pastel interiors of Jean's home, and the constant nudging reassurance of the score, the narrative has been too padded against sharp angles to register a seismic jolt.

As convincing as the manipulated footage of the President's death in Chicago in October 2007 is, the movie itself cannot be more unconvincing in its approach.

Poker has proven itself a popular spectator sport on television -- at least in the short run -- but as scripted drama, where you can pretty much guess the winner of a given hand, it's dull, dull, dull.

The doc is so eager to tell you who's visited the hotel and eaten at the restaurant (JFK allegedly trysted here, which didn't keep his widow from enjoying the Cobb salad) that it shares very little about the hotel's origins and operations.

The latest example of a distressing wave of undistinguished theatrical versions of Saturday-morning kid shows.

It's the kind of serious but broadly appealing, modestly scaled picture that people love to say doesn't exist any more.

Blanchett gets everything right -- the accent, her German dialogue, the weary sexuality (deliberately reminiscent of Marlene Dietrich) and the amorality her character has embraced.

Only the luminous presence of Sharon Stone, delivering one of the most charming performances in her career, manages to rescue the otherwise hopelessly awkward proceedings that make you wish that All I Wish had been better.

While Malcolm Venville's Henry's Crime is billed as a comedy it's more funny odd than funny ha-ha.

The film is lively and detailed enough so it is never boring, but it never takes off dramatically or realizes its intriguing possibilities either.

It’s a unique take on what could otherwise be a morbidly depressing tale of loss and grief, dishing out tons of energy and spats of devilish humor, though not always fitting its numerous parts into a succinct whole.

Vacation Friends is a droll and mildly salacious flick that revels in subverting the expectations of its central characters and, eventually, its viewers.

Eye-popping special effects ensure that this movie will be a smash hit, and while it's entertaining for most of its excessive running time, the cheesy script fails to live up to the grandeur of the physical production.

Has an impressive visual style that reveals its director's music-video experience. Unfortunately, that's about all it has going for it because its sluggish pacing and confusing story line will prevent it from appealing to all but the most rabid J-horror fans.

Diehard fashionistas will likely want to see it, but few others will take notice.

With her considerable musical talent, it falls to Ash to convince Calloway to emerge from self-imposed retirement. It’s in these few scenes between Johansson and Bono that writer-director Jennings’ script achieves a new level of emotionally driven storytelling for the franchise.

A beguiling, multilayered drama.

There’s a story worth telling here, a snapshot within a sprawling tragedy, but Avrich can’t make a bigger statement that doesn’t feel oversimplified.

The pic works best when it's least self-referential, focusing on romantic attractions in many stages of development. Though it won't do for its authors what Swingers and Good Will Hunting did for theirs, Loitering is smartly written enough to further their off-camera careers; thanks to predictably winning performances from Marisa Tomei and Sam Rockwell.

If Porcupine doesn’t cut as deeply as it could, it’s still an intriguing window into the lives of two characters who, thanks to Cahill’s precision, feel almost not like characters at all.

Overall, film hits the right tone, and its brief but fascinating glimpses into Goodall's private life distinguishes it from the many TV docs on the lady.

It makes savvy use of the well-worn found-footage format, modulating its creepy scenario with considerable skill.

A cynical, insufferably smug satire stuffed to the gills with stars that purports to comment on political and media inattention to the climate crisis but really just trivializes it. Dr. Strangelove it ain’t.

The film relies heavily on the charm of its lead performers, and both rise to the occasion.

The movie is fast, funny and light on its feet, dipping less into politics or religion than into cultural quirks and characteristics.

As tenderly observed as it is laugh-out-loud funny.

The filmmakers’ intent to depict them as “normal guys” mostly succeeds, primarily due to their not inconsiderable charm.

Out of Blue is one of those films you're not sure if you really enjoyed viewing, but you're immensely glad that it exists, cheered to know the film industry still has room for maverick, boundary-smudging work like this.

Faced with an ungainly scenario in which vigilante cops go from bad to worse and involving far too many twists and surprise revelations to sustain credibility, the viewer has little interest in the fates of cold-blooded but vaguely idealistic killers in writer-director Jim Kouf's murky, overlong "Gang Related." [6 Oct 1997]