Worse than offering no especially fresh angles on its cliched material, however, are the trite characterizations of the two lead female characters.

Witty, observational, and hilarious, Maggie’s Plan is the kind of richly complex dramedy that proves to be the rare picture that serves both halves of that genre description fully, equally, and satisfyingly.

The film's MVPs are Bryan Cranston's dedicated performance as the title character, and, appropriately, John McNamara's jocular screenplay, with a terrific ensemble of supporters also along for the ride back to Hollywood's notorious past

Vanderbilt chooses to present the tale with a lighter comic touch in the early stages, and it’s a tone the picture can’t overcome in its final third.

Heart Of A Dog is at turns a haunting, hilarious, muddled, disparate, and deeply emotional film about a woman, her dog, their bond, and the deaths that continue that haunt her.

screenwriter Amy Jump and director Ben Wheatley are less concerned with the message than with the madness, and their resulting picture is heavier on style than substance.

While it’s hard to indict the movie for wanting to admire and honor this extraordinary girl, the movie loses its own inherent potency with a haphazard structure that jumps around far too much in time and a monotonous narrative about Malala overcoming oppressors to bravely speak out and inspire the world.

A would-be but not-actually-inspiring movie about a landmark LGBT rights case that loses sight of the flesh and blood people at its heart, gets bogged down in tedious municipal politics and fails to find a way to compellingly dramatize an important story.

While certainly imperfect, there is something to admire about the film’s attempt to present the tangled logistics of a single military operation, where it seems everyone wants success but none of the responsibility of the tough decision making involved.

Director Wes Ball’s adaptation of the second book in author James Dashner’s popular series is the exact opposite of its predecessor, presenting a sprawling adventure that, when not liberally cribbing from more illustrious sci-fi forefathers, spends plentiful time fleshing out the dull details of its oppressed-youth scenario.

A couple of exhilarating cycling scenes, and a pretty solid lead performance, does not a good movie make.

That The Dressmaker remains watchable in any sense is thanks in large part to a cast who give the material that’s way beneath them far better treatment than it deserves.

A dysfunctional structure and some bizarre plotting stop the film from reaching greatness, but never from being endearingly satisfying.

On the whole, Born to Be Blue does right by its central subject. Hawke especially flourishes as the afflicted artist, desperate to put the pieces of his life back together.

Completely forgettable, Hellions is far less cool, smart, and scary than it thinks it is.

Trying something different and playing around with convention is always commendable, but if The Reflektor Tapes proves anything, it's that the result can sometimes fail miserably.

Ultimately, Dellal’s film is never as brave or courageous as Ray, and in spending more time on Maggie than her son, misses the opportunity to jump from informational to insightful.

Prophet’s Prey is a skin-crawling chronicle of one of America’s biggest criminals and the community that allowed him to flourish.

While the game Chevalier keeps evolving into something darker, the movie Chevalier is fairly static. The style’s unchanging throughout, holding to a slow pace and a muted sense of humor.

Meet the Patels is a fascinating window into the cultural practice of arranged marriages through a contemporary lens and anyone who’s been through the trials and tribulations of dating (or parenting those who are) can relate.

Its few saving graces are some decent shot-making, a rather great score and the loveliness of its lead actors' faces.

De Palma is a joy: a hit of garrulous cinephile cocaine so pure you want to do a Tony Montana, fall face-first into it and inhale it all in one go.

Its very wonkiness is one of the things that makes A Bigger Splash a good time — the sense of a filmmaker, perhaps aware that the story he's telling is not terribly deep or philosophically provocative, allowing himself to go off the rails every now and then in how he's telling it.

It has all the makings for Green to find that sweet-spot between drama and comedy, and make something special. Instead, we're left with something exasperatingly bland and almost claustrophobically generic.

Kaufman and fellow director Duke Johnson strike the right balance here, deftly mixing spiritual crisis and despondency with moments of painful awkwardness and biting hilarity.

Abraham the writer lets down Abraham the director, and ultimately lets down his stars and Spinotti, too.

The Martian is the most purely enjoyable picture Scott has made in years. The streamlined narrative and the film’s consistent pacing, aided by a cast who don’t make a wrongfooted move, makes for easy popcorn entertainment.

Moore has made his best film in over a decade, and one that clarifies exactly what his strengths are.

The film’s attempted cathartic payoff is inauthentic and unearned, and it’s a shame considering that Gyllenhaal once again gives a committed turn.

Portman wants to articulate something beyond the ordinary, and while she hasn’t found it in this picture, perhaps there are lessons here to be learned before she mounts her next effort.

It may not be a complete return to form for the once-revered auteur, but as an unexpectedly chilling horror concoction defined by skillful scares, it’s a significant step in the right direction.

It’s worth the price of admission just to see Hardy’s Reggie performance, which is up among his best work. Still, the story could have perhaps used a more inspired hand at the helm.

Right up until the film’s very closing moments, in which the carefully maintained tension and tone snaps under the ratchet of one melodramatic turn too many, it is not just an absorbing performance piece, but a film of real directorial confidence and flair.

If only Carey Mulligan had been inspired to protest for the right to a better script for Suffragette, an overly schematic look at the struggle for women’s voting rights in 1910s Britain that almost gets by on the strength of a great slow burn of a lead performance.

A deliriously quick-footed and orchestrally pitched character study, Steve Jobs is an ambitious, deeply captivating portrait of the high cost of genius.

Room has unforgettable, must-witness performances, and its soulful mother and son narrative is one of the most touching dynamics you’ll see in theaters this year.

The fact is that both actors are very good, even if trapped in the amber of Hooper's overweeningly tasteful direction.

There is nothing underneath the glossy surface and no real insight into what made this man tick — and despite how creepy he looks here, Bulger was a man, not a devil.

Chloe And Theo should have been a film about Theo: a complex man taking on an unfamiliar world he is not particularly fond of, with little more than conviction and principle to help him along. Instead, we get another film where a hapless foreigner teaches white people how to better themselves.

Meru is a flawed but deeply riveting account of what happens when men walk right up to the edge of madness.

It’s clear that the Panther legacy lives on, and Nelson’s film is a necessary primer for understanding the party — in it’s own words.

Amidst this goofiness, Skrein proves a serviceable Statham replacement, capable of executing elaborate martial arts-inspired fight moves, glowering behind the wheel of his car, and generally acting like a cold, detached thug-for-hire who, deep down, has a heart of gold.

It's the best film McCarthy has ever made: restrained, intelligent and grown-up, but unfolding with the pacing and rhythm of a thriller.

Matching Fukunaga's proven storytelling grace with a story truly worth the telling, the result is explosively authentic and yet lyrical, making an utterly inhumane and alien situation both completely real and completely abstract.

Salvatore Totino's crisp 3D photography and Kormakur's way with a clear, fluid, thrilling action sequence show off the mountain in immensely impressive ways. But the humans involved get short shrift.

It’s a narrative vacuum big enough to make you mad at this melancholy werewolf drama for not being, at the very least, good.

Creep is a tiny movie whose uniqueness feels positively seismic. If there's one thing Creep has, it's an abundance of personality, and that cannot be understated.

A monologue delivered by a senator played by Richard Dreyfuss is so clunky, that he might as well have broken the fourth wall in order to make sure the audience understood that his speech was supposed to represent the a major theme in the story.

Ultimately, the main source of power behind The Second Mother is found in its effortless skips between character study, family drama, and silent socioeconomic warfare. The final result is a gleaming cinematic treasure as heartwarming as the film's final reassuring smile.

When the script isn't working, Evans turns towards the soundtrack and leans on indie rock when he can (and when the low-budget picture can afford it) to attempt to do some of the emotional lifting.

At its heart, Welcome to Leith is about change and how toxic decisions and beliefs can irreparably ruin bystanders’ lives.

Finders Keepers tries to find the humanity in the absurd, and while it surely has its share of moving moments, the conciliation of the sensational and profound is hard to reconcile.

McNamara attempts to keep the movie ticking right along, and for all its half-cocked plotlines, Ashby is able to maintain a consistently humorous and light tone.

It's a wonderful thing to experience a film unshackled from Hollywood conventionality and unburdened by the necessity for simplistic storytelling.

Return to Sender proves to be nothing but dead air, an entirely too predictable, slow-paced, and misguided genre effort.

Chris Farley deserves a film that can see him for his gifts and his flaws. So, while I Am Chris Farley is an interesting portrait of a comedian, here’s to holding out for something more.

Cary Bell’s Butterfly Girl is no reality TV show segment, it’s painstaking reality itself, told in confident style.

Ultimately too busy fracturing his story’s focus and indulging in gimmicky textual graphics to really tap into either Hollywood’s or electronica’s magnetic appeal, Joseph’s debut proves to be a film with mood to spare but nothing much to say.

A preposterous, monotonous action saga primarily notable for boasting a miscast lead and advancing a less-than-tolerant geopolitical fantasy.

The seeds of a sequel sprout in the film’s lasting final shot, but perhaps with a look further into Ted’s future, a narrative to match the mood will emerge as well.

Best of Enemies succeeds on utilitarian terms: it does what it’s supposed to.

The documentary, like its subject, is unapologetically dazzling.

Ill-defined, overlong and wandering with unlikable leads (even Alan is too feeble and useless to sympathize with), The Mend would be a disaster if it weren't for the fact that the lack of vision is marginally absorbing in a kind train wreck, “will this movie ever reveal what the hell it’s about?”-like manner.

Featuring none of its predecessor’s sumptuous pitch-black visuals and sense of creeping dread, Ciaran Foy’s follow-up is a misbegotten venture at every turn, in large part because it follows the horror sophomore rulebook so closely.

It’s the first feature film for director Aleksander Bach, and he shares the blame with the pair of screenwriters. His creation is a muddled mess that is briefly lifted by some fun set pieces, but never is more impressive than a 108-minute Audi commercial.

It wants to be cute, it wants to cool, and it also wants to be thoughtful and engaging, but Sam de Jong is unable to make the story feel tight and focused enough to allow it to succeed on all those levels.

American Ultra hopes to leave you both shellshocked and blissfully stoned, but as perfect storm of aggressively repulsive choices, it’s a queasy bad trip worth avoiding at all costs.

It has warmth, it has flashes of insight, it even has moments of wit, all it really lacks is edge — which it lacks in large, whopping, huge amounts.

The silent scenes, which hold so much power in the first act, feel emptier and emptier, as the conclusion nears. Moments where Halpern’s score felt like it was adding to what was on screen, turn to moments where it’s compensating for the lack of interest.

Ritchie manages a promising first act. But at the whim of the action movie formula, and ostensibly nothing else, priorities shift as the story carries forward. When we’re asked later on to attend to escalating stakes and a dimming tone, we’re simply left wondering what happened to all the fun.

Hayek's passion project is a stimulating success for the senses.

A contemplative look into one man’s life, Homme Less has resonance beyond just Mark Reay.

Every time the picture opens a fascinating door, you're held back from going through by a naff filmmaking choice or a rote story move.

In turning his back on the familiar tropes of blockbuster comic book movies, Trank doesn't have a clear new identity for Fantastic Four to distinguish itself with, and the result is a movie rich with possibilities, but trapped in the basic structure of a superhero movie, with no idea of how to wholly circumvent traditional expectations.

The true star of The Gift is Edgerton as director. His deft, controlled maneuvering of plot, character, style, and tone is damn near perfect for his feature debut — even if it is in service of a very standard genre piece.

Ricki And the Flash is about mistakes, regrets, and of course, redemption, but all of it feels a little too neat, familiar and convenient even if no one’s quite belting out “Kumbaya” by the end.

Peace Officer creates an extremely timely narrative around a volatile issue and manages to not get lost in unproductive hyperbole.

Ghost Protocol is a fun but mostly empty adventure story that operates with the rote predictability of a middling ‘90s James Bond movie rather than a benchmark-setting actioner or even seasonal “event movie.”

Straight Outta Compton, while often entertaining and dynamic, ultimately feels as if its meant to act as a kind of cinematic trophy to rest on a pedestal that celebrates not only N.W.A., but the successful and trailblazing members who helped define hip hop outside of the group.

There's a kind of helpless humility to the presentation of these urban impressions, almost a kind of democracy, that allows you to engage as much or as little as you like with them.

The Kindergarten Teacher is too lackadaisical in its execution to be as profound as it thinks it is.

Extinction is far from a horror masterpiece and doesn’t really bring anything entirely new to the genre, but it’s a solid zombie survival flick that takes its characters seriously and doesn’t condescend to the audience.

Without the performances and splash of style as support, the film would collapse, because the story is indisputably boxed inside a square of standard dimensions.

Devolving into clodhopping heavyhandedness...Stations of the Cross tackles a weighty, complex subject in simple-minded fashion.

Carelessly crass, and yet enthusiastically performed, the film does at least offer the curious spectacle of witnessing strings of jokes energetically thud in a movie that's not worth the commute to your nearest multiplex.

Dark was the Night had the potential to engender scares, but the movie suffers from trying too hard.

The documentary feels more like a mystery and almost like fiction itself as it unravels the multiple layers behind Amina’s real identity. The revelation is jaw-dropping and infuriating, and the outrage only increases as each additional detail is uncovered.

Ultimately, as inconsequential as it all is, Rogue Nation is not pretending to be anything it isn’t. And as a sensory escapist experience with laughs, pleasures, and excitement, Rogue Nation will likely be a most satisfying mission audiences choose to accept repeatedly.

Manufactured and manicured to appeal to the teenage fans of Green's book, Paper Towns is so polished and edgeless, that even Margo herself would look at the finished product, and question its authenticity.

Well-drawn and intimate, Miller’s best observations come incidentally; Five Star explores ideas and relationships rather than spelling them out.

Deeply human, full of dread simmering just beneath the surface and quietly unsettling.

When it reveals its true colors late on, as less of an examination of a rarefied lifestyle and more of an ancient story of brotherhood broken and remade, the cumulative power of all those observed moments comes through.

Court acquires its power through its thoughtful depiction of the mundane and the ordinary.

It's a resonant, atmospheric horror film that treats its genre and its audience with unusual respect, before escalating in its last moments to a brilliantly uncompromised finale.

It’s a love story set in a contemporary world brimming with immigration issues, but it manages to be neither political drama, nor bubbly romance, somehow getting away with being labeled as a comedy.

A very routine twelve rounds of tragedy, resilience and redemption, the boxing film Southpaw is a conventionally told dramaturgy high on intensity, but low on human insight or novel ways to tell a familiar story.

Despite the valiant efforts from the two leads, the only thing of value that gets robbed in American Heist is our time.

The engaging opening third of Cooties is enough to make the rest of the 96-minute film a mildly amusing diversion, but as the minutes roll by, you'll wish the brains of the film had remained intact.