Circumstances that might have been static in less skilled hands are given tantalizing life by Young, the actors and the deft camerawork of cinematographer Ryan Balas.

The Scent of Rain and Lightning is a well-acted, intelligent thriller that ultimately rewards the viewer's patience even if it too often sacrifices narrative clarity in favor of atmosphere.

City of Tiny Lights exerts tension throughout and remains intriguing in its use of terrorism anxiety and anti-Muslim prejudice as fodder for hasty conclusions.

It takes some time for the action sequences to fully engage, but from about the movie’s midpoint, Peyton delivers a succession of staggering set pieces.

There is no denying the cumulative power of the material, in large part due the protagonists’ endless reservoirs of humanity, dignity and selflessness in the face of one of the world’s worst biggest current and most incomprehensible tragedies. Light on background and contextual facts, Last Men in Aleppo speaks very loudly from the heart.

Baumbach’s film for Netflix is more conventionally conceived than some of his best work but benefits from sterling turns from a wonderful cast, most notably Dustin Hoffman and, no kidding, Adam Sandler.

Alex Strangelove is much more affecting whenever Johnson steps out of genre comfort zones.

This playfully made exposé should be required viewing for anyone wondering what they could do to pitch in and save the planet.

This affectionate portrait includes extensive interviews with Wertmuller, who remains vital in her late 80s, as well as performance footage of her singing her original compositions.

Bezmozgis, whose previous feature was 2009's Victoria Day, is more assured as a writer than filmmaker, with Natasha featuring a bland visual and editing style. But he's elicited fine performances from the ensemble.

Buoyed by Andre Horta’s often documentary-style camerawork, the script is respectful of the truth, refusing to exaggerate for the sake of the drama even when there are multiple opportunities to do so.

The action is lively and quick-paced, and then suddenly over — at which point the film gets to hammer down some of its more wholesome messages.

To the filmmakers' credit, and even though they don't entirely avoid the clunky factoid-itis that often plagues the genre, this is a biopic that favors sensory experience over exposition. It understands what pure, electrifying fun rock 'n' roll can be.

While the sense of closure that the film seeks to provide perhaps inevitably remains elusive, it covers another vital chapter in queer history, sadly still relevant in the ongoing frequency of violence against trans women.

Fashionistas will obviously appreciate this undishy but intimate doc, which is especially strong in its account of the designer's flowering as a creative teen.

Combining guardedness and openheartedness in unpredictable ways, Kronerova and Novy deliver exceptional performances, turning the crystal-clear metaphor of ice swimming into a full-blooded emotional experience.

His new film acquires considerable urgency and raw emotional power in the closing stretch. But at just under two-and-a-half talky hours it's almost maddeningly protracted, maintaining a somewhat cold intellectual approach that might have been improved by greater emphasis on the beautiful scenes of intimacy, tenderness, naked fear and helplessness that punctuate the action.

Hong, who again wrote as well as directed, hasn’t suddenly become someone interested in things such as densely plotted narratives and surprise twists, with the few events that happen only excuses to dig a little deeper into the behavior and feelings of his protagonists.

Even admitting that films like Cache (Hidden), The White Ribbon and Amour have raised the bar higher and higher, Happy End feels like it’s pulling its punches and not in their league. For one thing, it’s hard to pin down the theme of the piece.

The story's knotty aspects reverberate under its sentimental-cum-inspirational surface. In the guise of a glossy entertainment, Welcome to Marwen gets at some unnervingly irresolvable truths about humanity.

A useful primer for those who haven't paid enough attention and a synthesis for those who've been overwhelmed by years of upsetting news reports, the film explains cause-and-effect relationships that, while hardly unexplored, merit continued attention.

The Divine Order (Die Goettliche Ordnung) is an entertaining, if largely predictable, story of an individual swept up in the tide of history.

It’s possible to enjoy the film as pure entertainment even without being privy to the superlatives surrounding it.

Keep the Change acknowledges that people with disabilities can sometimes be largely responsible for the biggest problems they face, just like the rest of us — and it doesn't need to be Pollyannaish to believe those problems are solvable.

[A] comprehensive documentary adding context and a modern-day update to the tale.

Though it doesn't address all of their complaints, the movie makes an excellent case against those who seek blanket prohibitions against genetically modified organisms — and, maybe more importantly, against those of us who support such bans just because we assume it's the eco-conscious thing to do.

Even while gesturing toward a redemptive sacred altar, a default mode for parenthood in many mainstream movies, the director lets the messy realities stand. And his fine cast makes them ring true — the selfishness and neglect, the confrontations brutal and tender, the pained silences and, not least, the gusts of pure, jagged joy.

It’s definitely treacly in places and not exactly reinventing the wheel, but the two fine performances at its heart are more than worth it.