Despite the affecting drama and performances, Run and Jump just never feels more that perfunctory in this regards.

Andrew Gaynord’s All My Friends Hate Me is an incredibly funny look at social anxiety and a send-up to those risks, mixed with a shot of cringe and a dose of horror.

The movie lives and dies, however, on Ingrid herself and, remarkably, Plaza finds a way for you to root for her even when she crosses line after line after line.

Its interweaving of powerful performances and spiritual complexity, eventually melded with local folklore, is nothing short of beautiful.

It is a moving healing journey, but one that feels almost too smooth, a best-case scenario with few bumps in the road and, more significantly, very few surprises.

Bolstered by tone-perfect performances from all three of the leads, and a script that hides larger themes within the body of the narrative like vegetables in mashed potatoes, Wild Men hits with the force and precision of an arrow fired from Martin’s homemade bow. And while the tone of the film toys with the absurd, what it has to say about masculinity, regret, and what it means to belong is anything but.

Ash Mayfair’s debut film is an astonishing achievement for a first feature, one not every film-goer will be able to stomach, but a work every caring cinephile should see.

The Survivor is occasionally infected by the aridness of the handsome, well-made historical film — it feels old-fashioned, in both the complimentary and pejorative senses. But some of that is purposeful and even a little subversive.

In Euthanizer, director Teemu Nikki has successfully created a cinematic metaphor for contemporary world politics, one that is full of unexpected plot developments and a surprisingly thoughtful take on personal morality.

Alvarez’s visual flair and handle on tone can only mask his paper-thin characters and motivations for so long.

Sorkin’s swordsman-like pen continually keeps the picture engaging; his knack for one-liners and absurd dialogue detail remains finely attuned.

What makes Joe Berlinger’s riveting new true crime doc Whitey: The United States vs. James J. Bulger such an eye-opener is that it isn’t just about a bad guy who did bad things, but the layers of corruption and moral ambiguity that stacked up on both side of the law.

Though the ambition is commendable and the genuine depth of study should be applauded, Stan Pleskun is a character we'd ultimately scratch off our list after meeting him in Zachary Levy's Strongman.

This is one of the most joyous and exhilarating movies you will see this year and because there is so much passion flowing out from the music, screenplay, and acting, you totally forgive the film when it strays into the predictable and even a little bit of corniness.

While the documentary may not offer a startling new thesis, it still lands in its own subdued way. What lingers is not simply the ugliness of the rhetoric, but the banality of the scam.

Abel Ferrara’s Pasolini is a frustrating film, despite vast stretches of compelling storytelling.

Yes, God, Yes is too comfortable with itself, too certain in its moral message, while leading Alice through a narrative that is never less than sure. It’s sex comedy as gospel, preaching a placid Sunday afternoon sermon to a congregation of the converted.

The movie has its flaws, but they’re tough to remember in the face of the fun it provides for two hours.

With its sensational production designs, lavish costumes and Grant providing one of his best performances in years (if not one of his best performances ever), Florence Foster Jenkins is appealing if ultimately slight.

Credit Swanberg who served as both director and editor for making a film that feels loose without ever being ponderous or phony.

The film is a boilerplate biopic, but with stunning cinematography and a couple of fierce performances, The Theory of Everything is nothing if not an accomplished and emotional work of cinema.

Perhaps most impressive is how, despite the nostalgia inherent in this kind of endeavor, "Sleeping Giant" never sentimentalizes its story, and never compromises on the essentially bleak idea that you can be transformed from a carefree child shading your eyes from the glare of a huge, wide future to a scarred and haunted young adult in a single moment.

A hyper-realistic urban tragedy Dogman is ferocious and in its own way, much more frightening than “Gomorrah.”

The chemistry between Patel and Hardy is often divine, and the latter delivers such a layered and charismatic performance you’re with it till the end.

Brewer, of course, is the glue that holds the puzzle together. If we didn’t care for her surreal plight, then the film would just not work, but the actress builds a thoroughly believable character in Alice.

It’s a crowd pleaser of a film, whose powerful musical moments can overshadow any smaller issues within the film.

On the whole, there is an old-fashioned grandness to Blitz, charged by a cumulative sense of civic toughness and rebellious spirit that always spreads itself over a people, a city, or a country when they are collectively faced with unspeakable tragedies they have to endure.

It aims for simplicity, for a celebration of his unrivaled talents, and often fails to explore the complexity of the very man at its center.