Unfortunately [Lopez's] hampered by a character that is simultaneously overwritten and underwritten, while trapped in a film that never gives any of its characters room for the type of nuance a performance at that register requires.

Though Séance is mercifully brief, it’s also painfully forgettable, hopefully, nothing more than a fleeting, disposable misfire in Barrett’s otherwise strong filmography.

In the right moments, Brad Peyton can stage a ceremoniously ludicrous set piece with grace and ease. It’s easy to follow the nonsense found in the last act thanks to his assured hand, and you can tell that he is having an absolute ball with its silliness. If only we could share in that enthusiasm for its tedious first two acts.

There are jokes that land, and every time Kathryn Hahn steps on screen the film threatens to tilt on its axis and point toward a truer north.

About Alex is about too much and too little, a sandbox for its considerable cast, but ultimately just following the reunion rulebook.

It's hard to tell who is to blame for the movie's abrasive anonymousness – Curtis or Apted – but it hardly matters. In either directors' hands, Chasing Mavericks would have been a wipe-out. It's totally bogus.

While it’s hardly the funniest film of the year, the based-on-a-true-story couponing antics and thoughtful look at motherhood and grief make Queenpins worth the watch.

While it may be time, and somewhat bittersweet, to say goodbye to the Lamberts and their parapsychological baggage, this is a well-conceived and impressively executed finale to the saga. It also proves that Wilson has what it takes both behind and in front of the camera. It’s a little scary how multitalented he is.

An end-film tease for a laughably unnecessary part two feels emblematic of the entire film: McKee and Sivertson aren't interested in laying any groundwork regarding cogent themes or diverse characterization, because there are skulls to be split and blood to be drank.

It's a comedy so out of touch that jokes disappear before they're even delivered, as if by magic.

No, it doesn’t make much sense. But holy shit, it’s a wild-ass ride.

There’s a great film waiting to be made about the opioid crisis. But much like “Hillbilly Elegy,” “Cherry” can’t conjure up the cause and the toll of the devastation without relying on pastiche. Even the ending, meant to be a moment of healing, reduces Cherry’s concluding journey to a mere saccharine montage.

Perhaps the best that can be said of Salt and Fire is that its flaws are wholly Herzog’s. Those flaws are deep. But so is the man responsible for them.

The decisions made by the characters of I Am I feel so rushed that everyone’s emotional compass is either utterly broken, ignored, useless, or frustratingly disorienting.

Never quite fun enough for kids or teens, but also unlikely to appeal to loyal fans, Power Rangers feels like a film that’s not quite finished morphing into its true form.

A valiant attempt to build on the magic of “The Wizard Of Oz,” and while it certainly doesn’t diminish the standing of that movie, Sam Raimi’s film provides proof that the more we know about the mysteries of our favorite stories, the less interesting they become.

It’s a lifeless, meandering, overlong (116 minutes!) trudge through the oversized ego of its creator, full of wrong-headed humor and inept filmmaking.

A decently-shot, but otherwise largely unremarkable horror movie.

Maybe if the film gave us the relief of a satisfying ending, the grimness, the ickiness, wouldn’t be so pronounced. But it doesn’t.

While the film may not entirely hang together, the stakes are low, and its bright spots point toward a promising future for the behind the camera talent.

Vaughn’s film is overflowing with big set pieces, but all those epic action sequences amount to a running time clocking nearly two and a half hours – and not much else. Like fireworks, they’re awe-inspiring while you’re watching, but there’s little left to marvel at after the show’s over.

I can respect the intent to craft The Legend of Tarzan as a new chapter for the hero, one which is aware of all the shortcomings of many Tarzan stories that have gone before. And yet the film minimizes its own best ideas and falls back on adventure film tropes, old and new, in a way that undermines its attempt to decontextualize Burroughs’ aging swinger.

At its best, Pacific Rim Uprising is tedious and mildly diverting, but at its worst it feels like an out-and-out betrayal.

Heart Of Stone purports to have characters made of sturdy, gritty, golden, unbreakable stuff, but that’s a tagline, not a movie or story; it’s really just flimsy work easily tossed off and broken as it tumbles into the ever-filling bin of barely-one-use Netflix movies.

Like its lazy title, Murder Mystery 2 settles for the lowest version of itself.

Cohen’s willingness to do, or say, anything in order to elicit a chuckle at least somewhat salvages The Brothers Grimsby — right up to a riotously nasty climactic gag shoved down the throat of Donald Trump.

Ultimately it’s very little about football. It’s about class. This is a theme worthy of a spotlight, too — but 12 Mighty Orphans isn’t the place for it, or it shouldn’t be.

The film is a gem, especially for anyone yearning for a superhero film that gleefully torches the familiar “good versus evil” formula and introduces far more sinister sensibilities.

The film not only traps its characters, but also corners its story, with the ‘Experiment’ by Mclean and Gunn not allowing any room for variables that might bring some inventiveness to this otherwise steel-shuttered bore.

The whiff of play-acting hangs over the entire enterprise as even director David Yates seems entirely unsuited to the material, and the whole project seems misconceived and half-baked from top to bottom.

The puzzling thing about Italian director Gabriele Mainetti’s feature set in 1943 in German-occupied Rome is that, rather than embracing tastelessness a la John Waters, it guns for earnestness despite not having a thoughtful bone in its body.

D’Arcy wastes a very personal story on a standard-issue romance. It’s heartbreaking for all the wrong reasons.

In other words, here's the same slop you've seen before, only with brand new accents. Also, more pooping.

Bragança’s ambitions exceed his reach, and Don’t Swallow My Heart fails to reconcile its various story strands, conflicting tones and genre aspirations.

There are themes of familial connection and responsibility drenched across every frame of it, but aside from a few performances and amusing asides, “Delivery Man” is a bland translation of a sweet, but already flawed original.

Will success spoil Taika Waititi? The answer implied by “Next Goal Wins” isn’t encouraging for the future of an original comic voice still audible but slowly fading into the chorus.

It roars to a bitterly funny pitch every so often, but from the lack of life in the picture and such a stacked cast, you get the sense that the lunch breaks between filming resulted in more adventurous storytelling than the events that made it into the final cut.

Unfortunately, this noble effort never truly achieves the lift-off and greatness it aspires to reach.

To her credit, Zlotowski’s film does capture the lulling feeling of a séance, but there’s a gossamer-thin thread between the mysterious and the mystifying and perhaps her delicately ephemeral film just doesn’t know how to recognize the difference.

Every character must negotiate their own boundaries while trying to hold on to what, and whom, they love, and the detailed portrait of that struggle saves the movie from its second half mistakes.

Love, Rosie doesn't aspire to be anything more than a digestible rom-com trifle. It's a sweet movie about sweet people who are always sweet to each other and it's enough to make one sick on the saccharine.

Even within the spinning cylinder of mediocrity that is Into The Storm, there are some minor pleasures to be had. Those are mostly found in Walsh, who is probably best known for comedic supporting turns, but makes the most with what is nearly a leading man part here.

Knock Helgeland’s unpersuasive plot, his broad writing platitudes, and some of the more ridiculous twists of the genre all you want, but the filmmaker at least seems to know, understand, and capture the milieu and people of these communities. Sure, that’s not enough to save Finestkind, but there is something there.

We're The Millers isn't really a bad movie, so much as its inoffensively and instantly forgettable.

Hot Summer Nights is unconventionally amusing, spits in the face of its own flaws and somehow manages to impress by atmospherically rendering the emotions tied to the trappings of young adulthood. At it’s best, Hot Summer Nights is an admirable attempt at summertime antics void of a happy ending.

For anyone who even gives even the remotest care about movies, god forbid you dare to waste your time with this utterly disposable discard.

While the politics and film as a whole are not entirely successful, there is much to admire in “Wolf Creek 2,” not the least if which is director Greg McLean’s chutzpah. He is a visually adept filmmaker who makes fine use of the broad canvas that is the outback.

This is one of those mind games that lean too heavily on the mindless to be thoroughly enjoyable, turning sadistic pleasure into harmless boredom.

Batman v Superman: Dawn Of Justice is an extraordinarily odd, idiosyncratic movie that presents aggressive, even warlike concepts of Batman and Superman without entirely justifying the eccentric visions.

Unremarkable but occasionally enjoyable, Levy’s dramedy is pleasant enough, but it grows tired, losing focus by the end.

Despite featuring an intriguing set-up and good cast, The Night Clerk offers nothing new to the genre, predictably hitting the same beats, without variation.

The wandering, strictly bush league movie, unfortunately, cannot reprise the unbridled strut of Quintana’s ‘Lebowski’ braggadocio, suggesting perhaps we should leave the resurrection of beloved characters to the professionals.

Ultimately the film resembles cosplay with an expansive budget. It took 20 years and change for a new Mortal Kombat movie to get a green light. Maybe they should’ve waited a few years longer.

The superhero film equivalent of the worst kid at the playground.

It is this direct line to the characters that keeps the film relatively interesting, even as it does become rather exhausting to watch these very kooky and carefree young people gallivanting about.

A smart, well-acted and well-directed picture that adds up to a little more than the sum of its parts.

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.

It’s obvious from the start what’s going to happen, and although San Andreas occasionally makes some interesting moves (the swift offing of a character who pops up simply to be annoying is one of them), it’s mostly a paint-by-numbers affair bolstered by jaw-dropping CGI and a desire to completely flatten as much cityscape as possible.

All of “Pastoral’s” problems could have been slightly forgiven if McGregor showed a hint of inspiration behind the camera.

Even though it’s more of a vision board of what it could be, the film introduces a nifty premise that recalls not just “A Nightmare on Elm Street” but how that series was able to make multiple irresistible sequels. Choose or Die is also the rare mid-budget Netflix movie that gets better and better as it goes along, owning its weirdness and not playing it easy.

Hamm can be a stealth comedic force in any project, adding a slight escalation or modulation of the energy level to alter the stakes. He has a unique talent for somehow fusing the comic man and straight man personas into one. Yet Maggie Moore(s) gives him no chance to play either because Slattery cannot decide if his “Mad Men” co-star is the lead of a romantic drama or a heist flick.

There’s no room for introspection or difficult questions here. Antebellum therefore reads like the corporate spawn of “Black horror,” pieced together from Twitter anti-racist soundbites and crafted for maximum clout.

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

Take away Forster’s hard-working visual style, and what All I See Is You essentially presents is a standard relationship drama, with two generic, privileged people at its heart who don’t become any more striking even as the tensions between the two gradually reach a breaking point.

Genre movies are rarely this finely calibrated and nuanced and it’s all too infrequently that Statham is able to perform in material this dynamic.

The trio of Nicole Kidman, Zac Efron, and Joey King create an interesting dynamic; the ultimately well-intentioned film has some interesting things to say about late-in-life love, the many facets of self-absorption, and the way we use the notion of protecting the ones we love under the guise of selfish self-interest.

Wish I Was Here is not a total disaster, but the tricky tone seems like it needed more time in the editing room to focus its story and trim some of the extraneous threads.

A pastiche of almost too many movies to count as a remake of just one, Total Recall is mindless, middling fare that fails to utilize – much less expand – the provocative concepts at the core of its iconic 1990 predecessor.

With the help of a talented cast, The Brass Teapot is able to coast on charm for the first hour, but then the fairytale idea that powers the film runs out of juice, and the last forty-five minutes hurtle toward a wrap-up that feels both awkward and overwrought, needlessly portentous and arriving much too late.

The end result provides a range of quality, from the inspired and creative to the lazy and insipid, but one that horror fans will certainly devour.

If the film had not been afraid to go a little darker (like its sexually frank opening), dig a little deeper, and develop its characters beyond their stereotypes, it would have been a much stronger effort.

There is minimal tension in spite of clear stakes, but because we never get closer to Kya than arm’s length, it never seems like she’s in any real danger. We are meant to side with her and empathize with her as the abused, underdog outsider in that fact of character alone. Nothing appears to simmer below the surface, and everything rings hollow because of it.

It’s one of the director’s worst films, if not the worst.

It’s clear that Thorwarth was trying to say something about how we judge people by their color, not their character. But the message is garbled, doused in blood, and lost in viscera, which makes its weak, half-hearted attempts at something to say even harder to stomach.

The Aftermath is simply another period melodrama that knows exactly what it is, and that just isn’t quite enough, especially when one considers the leading star’s career oeuvre.

The film rests squarely on Farrell and Robbie. They have chemistry and a guiding hand in Kogonada, but ultimately A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is undone by a syrupy, over-romanticized screenplay untempered by the director’s usual delicacy and restraint.

It’s maybe Franco’s best-crafted film to date, and also maybe his dullest.

Disengaged and detached, the film’s greatest crime may be its inability to make any kind of impression.

While the storytelling of “Mother/Android” leaves a lot to be desired, Tomlin does prove himself to be an efficient stylist across multiple scenes throughout this journey.

Its atrocious, expository dialogue, cumbersome plot, whiplashing character motivations, unintentionally funny moments, and often corny costumes, ensures, Dark Phoenix will be remembered in the annals of mediocre movies (and for somehow utterly wasting Jessica Chastain, Michael Fassbender, Jennifer Lawrence, and James McAvoy in the same film).

A Dog’s Purpose is an awkward, graceless, meandering and unnecessarily cruel dog movie, and therefore a fairly meaningless one.

If the film’s climax comes off as thematically clear — an outgrowth of the tension heretofore developed — it otherwise leaves an aftertaste of slightness.

If New Mutants is any indication, the future is bright for young adult horror, even when that future is being carved out of the husk of billion-dollar properties. Here’s to the future audiences who will unleash their inner fear bears.

The film has no answers because Lin plays it more like a heist film—where the bounty is the purity of the unexposed North Sentinelese—than a sincere human drama about faith and identity. Lin entertains as a result but struggles to enlighten.

If the assignment was to rebuild the series largely from scratch essentially, perhaps the producers should have taken a risk by entrusting “Snake Eyes” with a director who could bring something specific or startling. This is still a derivative, paint-by-numbers effort that can’t decide if it wants to build a franchise or a character.

The Circle is a movie that has all the appearances of working – a solid director, great cast and impressive pedigree – but constantly throws errors. It’s a frustrating viewing experience with little surprise or delight to be found.

Wingard’s film is an incoherent mess of tones and styles, confused character motives, and murky narratives.

Ultimately, Glass is a killer concept that suffers from a wobbly execution. Shyamalan nails the intimate stuff, but that third act is just bound to shatter and confound audience expectation.

Let this film with no bite serve as rock bottom for the IP era.

Sure, there are some generally reliable players (T.J. Miller, Jason Bateman, Kate McKinnon), which keeps things from getting deathly dull, but the newest film from directors Josh Gordon and Will Speck (“Blades of Glory”) is mostly uninspired and bland.

It’s maybe not excruciatingly bad, but certainly even less nourishing and satisfying than even the most fleeting and calorically empty of sugar highs.

A comedy that’s really quite hyper-violent, a little nasty in tone, and never as funny as it should be. [SXSW work-in-progress review]

For the most part, the most shocking thing about Swerve is how utterly straightforward it is.

The sequel to “Divergent” is the cinematic equivalent of the KFC Famous Bowl: a nutritionally devoid mishmash of elements and past films that somehow manages to be less than the sum of its parts once cobbled together.

This unintentionally hilarious take, on territory covered much more soberly and with far less reliance on prosthetic bellies in current Netflix hit “Narcos,” is so trashy it may even make you forget a few things you knew before.

Romanowksy has gamely hacked through Elliott’s purposely messy and tangential material to craft a workable portrait of pain and addiction, one that’s bizarrely entertaining even in its most brutal moments, good enough for at least one hit.

Koltyarenko serves a bitter pill for viewers of his film, many of whom will likely see themselves as part of the solution to the problem of online radicalization by attempting to grapple with it in this film. The viewers are actually more part of the problem by tuning into Kurt’s stream in the first place.

Resembling a patched together sketch of an idea, and a thrown-together filmed play, set (mostly) inside a house, Locked Down should have just been terminated in the lab, instead of rushing out like a vaccine of entertainment that cured absolutely no one of their doldrums.