Hotel Transylvania is very different from its contemporaries. You just wish that, with so much emphasis on chaos, they could have spent a little more time on character.

The intensity of Burdge’s excellent performance—and Fidell's intense, often claustrophobic filmmaking—carries the picture far, but when she turns away from the camera (and she does often), you can almost feel Fidell reaching for spare ideas.

Headey’s in her element. Gillan is capable. But Papushado’s excesses hold them back from performing at their best.

There is something potentially special in the elements of The Returned, with its allusions to class and social structures, and stigmas held around people with certain afflictions. But it merely nods toward them with no commentary or depth.

For those just looking for bones breaking, faces getting stabbed, assassins delivering perfect headshots, Kate more than delivers. This film is a solid, fun action-thriller in a world filled with subpar ‘Wick’-ian clones.

Every franchise has its blips, but the magic has fizzled here. Lightning hasn’t struck twice, and it’s a real shame.

Franco has finally delivered a side project that does at least some justice to his eclectic artistic ambitions.

There is a little bit of everything in A Brighter Tomorrow as it maneuvers through different narratives, jumping from the film production to Giovanni’s film to his domestic life. There are even moments when characters randomly break into song and dance, transforming it into a quasi-musical that doesn’t quite flow well.

Isn't a bad freshman effort, but it doesn't offer anything to set it apart from dozens of other indie dramedies.

The primary characteristic of Nostalgia is that it’s deathly boring, and difficult to sit through in its entirety.

Therese is almost voyeuristically distant from what's happening on screen, asking the audience to observe, but leaving just enough a gap of being completely engaged, that while everything is very well articulated, the impact is more academic than sensual.

A story that’s specific, but universal in many ways, of family complication and connection, A Country Called Home, bolstered by the excellent score by Bingham, and Poots’ delicate performance, is worth the time.

Black Rock isn't going to become the sort of classic that "Deliverance" was, but if you like your scares smart, and like them to happen to people you actually care about, then Aselton's island of friendship and fury is a nice place to visit.

Featuring a fittingly shallow funk-lite score by Christophe Beck, Gringo, is ultimately like a Taco Bell version of the ‘90s crime genre; tasteless, cheaply made and just as inauthentic.

This is an imperfect, if entirely beautiful, film.

In The Tall Grass proves a solidly spooky film, seeded with some tantalizing moments of terror. But it never grows to outright terrifying.

Despite a “you can see it coming” final baccarat game in the third act, designed to crowd-please, it all somehow feels flat and generic. And, worse, decidedly not fresh.

The film is in fact so busy introducing characters and churning through plot points that there’s not really even time to let animation powerhouse Illumination give it a spin of inspired silliness that made the “Despicable Me” franchise such an unexpected hit.

Unfortunately, there are few screens small enough to properly convey how inessential another deadpan suburbs satire is in 2012.

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.

Here, no one seems capable of envisaging even the most immediate consequences of their increasingly vicious actions, and so where “Ida Red” wants us to thrill to the idea of criminality as almost a genetic inheritance, a trait carried down a bloodline like blue eyes or freckles, in fact, all it really suggests is that this family might be really dumb, and actually quite bad at crime.

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.

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.

Had we been able to witness character growth, perhaps this story would have been more successful at creating emotional connections and gripping sequences. The almost automatic nature with which family secrets are revealed, however, result in a quickly forgettable and emotionally empty experience.

No one should ask Sweet Girl to be something it isn’t, namely an affecting drama about pharmaceutical evils. For one, it’s self-serious enough as is. But there’s a vast difference between self-seriousness and taking the subject matter seriously.

This movie has Jeunet doing “The Jetsons” while ruminating on what a robot uprising might inevitably look like, but that proves to be less exciting than one could ever imagine.

As emblematic of the film’s general indifference as anything is Driver’s central, perfectly fine performance.

Wheatley plays it safe, and throws star power and sumptuous imagery our way as reason enough for his pale, uninventive iteration of the classic gothic horror. It goes down easy enough thanks to Lily James and the already-delicious plot, but Wheatley’s imitation fumbles when it matters most.

Earnest, pulpy fun at the movies is always a welcome sell. Still, it’s hard to settle into the easy rhythms of amusement when looking for answers not to the film’s central mysteries but to the nagging gaps in a story that seems carelessly scribbled together to accommodate a character that, although compelling enough, has very little to chew on.

In building this mystery, and in proving herself as a major entertainer, Joy always has something up her sleeve, including her savvy ways to suddenly spike the plot with a slickly edited fight scene that builds the mystery instead of just taking a break from it.

It's a meaty film, filled with ideas unobscured by any generic narrative string, a move that shows not only the confidence of the director but his respect of the audience. This is one that'll have people talking.

If you’re not looking for reinvention and loved the first "Sin City," then you'll probably love this one too. It's a gorgeous-to-look-at, brain-splattered case of "more of the same."

There are nuggets of potential underneath, but they’re ultimately buried in a loud, monotonous experience that plays out like a bad haunted corn maze and you just want to cut through the cornstalks for a faster way out.

Moretz is great here, able to rise above the voiceover and dialogue she’s given. And thank goodness, because she's in almost every frame.

The picture is hobbled by the bland, lifeless color palette of too much contemporary genre filmmaking, as well as a buffet of unintentionally hilarious dialogue, and when the big third act reveal arrives, it’s comically dopey. And once that turn is taken, well, you can pretty much predict every beat that follows.

The heroine of the film may not be in distress, but oh boy, is this movie in desperate need of saving.

Ultimately, Fifty Shades Of Grey is embarrassing and depressing, especially when considering the picture as a reflection of the quality of mainstream modern romance today.

The worst aspect of ‘Rebel’ is that Strong seems to have no vision as a filmmaker. The movie thinks it’s throwing in some wise words about the art of writing, but they are superficial at best.

Unfortunately, memorable moments are few and far between here, and those are mostly spoiled by the film’s trailer.

Rather than focusing on the specific aspects that make the film unique, Centigrade turns into a mishmash of genres.

Capone is little more than a collection of tangents and diversions that never coheres into any kind of compelling narrative. The only real propulsion the film sustains is the sheer force of Hardy’s performance as his character further loses control of his mind and bowels.

When Horns thankfully concludes, relief sets in; this hellishly misguided effort concludes with an inferno and sequels are never sprung from the equivalent of a mouthful of ash.

While there are some missteps in the story, there’s a lot to admire in The Free World, particularly in what is sure to be a breakout role for Holbrook.

It’s a ponderous work in every meaning of the term.

While the cinematic moments and winks at French pop culture history will be nostalgic for many, it’s the bond between Deneuve and this new Marcello that resonates the most.

Of all the things Phillips does better in Joker: Folie à Deux than he did in Joker, the best is by far his course correction in catering to radical misogynists. The director isn’t subtle in his nods to the controversy stirred by the original.

Ultimately, American Mary simply reveals itself as a film with little on its mind, content to scare rubberneckers into contemplating the backstory of the more outlandish body manipulation jobs they’ve seen in public. A documentary would have sufficed.

Though anchored by strong performances that ultimately make it watchable, the surrounding film stumbles along thanks to a bumbling script that’s devoid of any originality.

Even though The Public ultimately doesn’t come together as a dramatic piece, particularly in the hammy climax, it does take some impressive chances. Just making a story about the invisible homeless is a brave move to start—audiences tend not to like stories about intractable issues, after all.

Together with the firm confidence of its execution, perhaps it is this sincerity that marks Dark Glasses as a touching late work from a master.

There’s something fresh in Detour, but it’s buried underneath a largely unremarkable movie.

The pleasures of Hotel Transylvania: Transformania are both visual and script-based, as they revolve around the writers’ ability to come up with more fish-out-of-water material.

Every Secret Thing is not built to satisfy, and so its sour ending doesn’t help its uneven experience. Every Secret Thing is not unlike last autumn's abduction drama "Prisoners." Both demonstrate an excellent level of craft and are handsomely shot and composed, but both suffer from narrative issues.

They/Them lacks an overarching perspective on the very nature of conversion therapy practitioners, perhaps because it is so straight-jacketed by the Blumhouse house style. In search of topicality for its audience, it sacrifices authenticity to itself.

Destination Wedding is bitter, bubbly and ultimately refreshing, the Aperol Spritz to your sickly sweet Amaretto Sour.

While Trauki’s film may not go down in the pantheon of killer creature features, like the similarly themed “47 Meters Down: Uncaged,” it’s a lean and effective B movie.

Maybe if the film had dwelled on its more off-color scenes instead of falling back on typical comedy fodder, it would be truly magnetic. Unfortunately, it’s more like a sloppy friend who, despite starting the night off full of joie de vivre, you now have to help stumble home.

The Devil and Father Amorth will polarize audiences, and while a good portion of Friedkin’s documentary will fail to change anyone’s minds, it will keep viewers gravitated to its sales pitch—the exorcism itself.

Pain & Gain fails at being an entertaining and ridiculously fun Michael Bay movie and curdles into something much more tone deaf and obnoxious.

Ultimately, Driver’s Ed does win you over, and you can always watch it the way its protagonists would—while scrolling through your phone.

Woefully misguided, Black And White is at times painfully quaint and obtuse about contemporary issues surrounding race and class.

Odd Thomas is a much better film than it's non-release would suggest. Hopefully one day it'll find it's audience and people will appreciate it for something other than just being better than "Phantoms."

For a first time feature outing, Coldwater is a fine effort from Grashaw, and the setting feels fresh and new. It's an original take on a coming of age, young masculinity tale, but ultimately, it doesn't quite live up to all of its potential.

Blockbuster movies are often as loud and action-based as The Tomorrow War, but they’re rarely as diverse in tone or so delightfully wild when it comes to in-your-face entertainment.

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.

If The Protector 2 was dour, then it would also become totally unconvincing. Sure, it's silly, but it's also wildly entertaining and sprinkled with some nice emotional beats. As long as Tony Jaa keeps losing his elephant, we'll keep showing up to watch him track it down.

There’s enough humanity from the story and performers alike that cuts to the soul and mostly offsets the uninspired direction. But “The Son” should shine at least a little brighter through the dark material given these participants and their previous triumphs.

The inescapably precious Still Life doesn’t deal in anything as truthful, complex and difficult as empathy; its only currency is pity, and that is the basest coin of all.

Fleischer channels the tenor of the influences his film wears on its sleeve: the manipulative music demanding awe, the lighthearted spirit of the action, the smirking star-power needed to sell quippy banter. But his tonal fidelity cannot entirely cover the seams of this sloppily assembled script.

Trained to precision and cute to the bone, the four-legged cast serves as a much-needed distraction from the trainwreck labeled by many as Besson’s return to the limelight. If this is all he’s got, then I guess the director will deservedly remain in the murky limbo of mediocrity.

By time Justice League gets to the finish line and credits — stick around, there is an abysmal mid-credits scene, and a decent enough post-credits scene — exhaustion has long set in.

For 100 minutes, Kill Your Friends apes a myriad of styles, trying to pass off imitation as innovation.

Bolstered by a damn fine turn by Dorff, who carries most of the film, there’s more to like than dislike with this one.

Noyer needs to go back to the drawing board. Even Alexis’ disability comes in a distant second to buckets of guts. His talent for making a mess is obvious. The rest leaves a few too many notes to be desired.

Here everything feels limp – simultaneously over and undercooked. It doesn't leave much of an impression and every scare seems to be either some lame jump scare or a fright inflicted by the shrill score.

Jolie Pitt’s insistence on creating a piece that reflects the harsh inner state of a person suffering to understand herself as a wife and as a woman in the world is commendable, and fascinating in her growth as a filmmaker.

A lurid, florid, humid, flaccid and insipid waste of time and money for the audience and for everyone who made it.

It’s straightforward when it should be subversive and only owns up to its silliness when it’s too late.

Digging Up the Marrow could have been an effective riff on Barker's "Nightbreed," but instead becomes just another found footage horror lark, with occasionally nifty effects and an overriding sense that Green's ego, and not a wonderful Ray Wise performance, is what the movie is really about.

There are a handful of genuinely chilling compositions, copious buckets of blood, and while I know we’re all tired of throwback synth-heavy scores in horror, this is a pretty good throwback synth-heavy score. Unfortunately, There’s Someone Inside Your House otherwise rarely feels like this is more than a job for hire.

A couple of shootouts and chases are impressive, giving the film a little bit of momentum it sorely lacks, but it’s heartbreaking that ultimately the film doesn’t work.

Sturgess and Dunst are two actors who have the potential to excel; “Heartless” and “Melancholia” both hold notable performances from them that serve the story and its themes well. Here though, Solanas does the pair no favors.

It's not a surprise that he most resembles an older Charles Bronson in Taken 2, as both found the enthusiasm to soldier on in the action genre well into their old age. Bronson had a bit more patience with these films: after this, it's doubtful Neeson will.

Our House, doesn’t set its ambitions much higher than the VOD market, and its haunting is passable if not all that spooky.

In a way it’s a shame that film builds backwards, because while it adds layers of tricksy narrative intrigue, that trajectory somewhat simplifies the thematic texture as the movie wears on.

Flower is hilarious one moment, tender the next and takes some surprising turns. And it certainly doesn’t hurt to have a dynamic lead who steadily navigates the twists with an emotional authenticity that keeps the movie on its bumpy track.

Unfortunately, this low budget chiller is unable to capture the same kind of awe and terror that made "The Thing" so powerful, although its attempt to be more character-based and emphasis on practical effects is somewhat admirable. Somewhat.

Offering very little in the way of enjoyment or anything other than clichéd horror tropes, The Prodigy isn’t offensively terrible and will unintentionally make for a few solid laughs, but it’s best not to let this forgettable vessel possess much of your time.

It’s an inspiring story, but Eastwood can’t find the spark to bring it life.

It is shriekingly loud but never surprising; goofy, but rarely funny.

The performances solidly do the job of moving things along, but as game, as they are, Belgau’s screenplay offers the actors few options to work around its creaky dialogue.

Hold Your Breath is a strange beast—there aren’t enough thrills for horror heads nor any blood and gore for slasher fans. Even as straight drama, it isn’t entirely successful.

Overall, Blake Lively and Reed Morano have presented a slightly new take on the spy genre, where emotional pain and personal stakes take center stage instead of worldwide destruction and action hero one-liners. It’s a refreshing, admirable idea and makes The Rhythm Section feel more personal and wounding.

Paint is a truly strange film that is never the full-on comedy that one might expect, but it also never commits to the despair that seems to be lingering right under the surface. Despite a truly unhinged final twist that almost makes the entire film worth it, “Paint” is more amusing than laugh-out-loud funny.

It’s a curious mix of contradictions, sentimental in its longing worship for “Ghostbusters” and yet cynical and manipulative in the way it seems to rehash every classic moment of the original, insulting the audience’s intelligence along the way by giving them every cameo, wink, and nod they never knew they actually didn’t want until it was slathered all over them like so much disgusting green ghost goop.

Ultimately, nothing transpires throughout the course of its near-two hour runtime to save “Outside the Wire” from the bottom of a department store bargain bin nestled snuggly against a battered DVD copy of so many duplicate films that came before.

It’s a promising premise fit for a thorny inquiry into personal and institutional priorities, and yet no sooner has Secret In Their Eyes laid its story’s groundwork than it goes off the rails

We never get a full sense of what these people went through after finding out that Cline was their biological father, mainly because Jourdan doesn’t seem particularly interested in unpacking these issues, or giving enough narrative space to explore the psychological toll.