If Swiss Army Man were a silent, scoreless effort, presented as otherworldly slapstick, or if it had employed Lil Jon to yell some obliquely connected, thematic exhortations and non sequiturs, it might have reached the heights of its music video predecessor. As it plays out, though, it smells a little too much like teen spirit.

It’s a speedy adventure with diverse action set pieces and a mystery that boasts at least one halfway decent twist.

Though it’s nothing new — one thinks of “The Shining,” “Parents,” and “Serial Mom” — it’s still disreputably fun to watch, like a viral video of a crazy person in public, or eavesdropping on a drunken spat in a restaurant, or that feeling when channel-flipping lands you on a familiar dumb movie right at your favorite moment.

McMullin’s feel for the setting greatly enhances the story, as does evocative camerawork from Andrew Ellmaker, making his own impressive feature debut. But McMullin’s inexperience as both a writer and director does sometimes hold him back.

Pain Hustlers entertains thanks to its strong leads but it’s hard not to find it a derivative look at a tough topic that relies on tropes from far superior movies.

I do understand that the message McMillin wants to make is how much harder these kids have to try to be looked at as Americans, even when they love and are devoted to a sport that is as American as apple pie. But by not adding moments of joy, those little wins here and there, and forgetting to show the beauty that this community holds, he does what so many others have already done — othering them, even in their own story.

Mexican-American culture isn’t merely draped over the story as an added element but woven throughout with a casual practicality that respects both the primary characters and their shot-on-location East L.A. setting.

Poms is strongest when basking in the infectious enthusiasm of its cast. Keaton and Weaver could have easily phoned in their performances, but they do look like they’re having fun together with their crew of Golden Girls.

At first, Elliott’s struggle does not seem like promising material for a movie, and some might be unsatisfied by the shifting, inchoate nature of the film’s forward trajectory, but at a certain point the narrative begins to coalesce around the idea of taking responsibility for your own life, and Romanowsky makes this seem like a refreshing or at least tough-minded theme.

Blue Story doesn’t reinvent the wheel when it comes to films about turf wars, but its personal, humanizing themes about friendship, love, youth, and black masculinity keeps you riveted, Onwubolu’s lyrical respites aside.

If you can’t completely trust the details of the story you’re seeing, the question becomes whether the footage itself is spectacular enough to justify the qualms you may be feeling. And on that count, Elephant delivers.

The Capote Tapes can feel a bit chaotic and lopsided at times, but it makes clear that Capote is a figure who continues to command the public’s attention.

Though Bidegain’s effort has its moments, it never gels into a cohesive, intimate-yet-expansive whole.

The unspoken joke of the title is that this movie really wants to be called “Freaky Friday the 13th,” which is not a bad starting point, but the line dividing gory violence and farcical hilarity — which Landon has skillfully walked in the past — gets too blurry for the movie’s own good.

Unless you’re coming to the material with the experience of, say, Steven Spielberg, “violent war biopic” and “inspirational animal drama” are a tricky combo. So while it’s perhaps no surprise that director Gabriela Cowperthwaite struggles to weave these disparate threads together in Megan Leavey, she ultimately does her heroes — both of them — proud.

It may not always come alive in the way Heller, or us, would entirely hope for, but one can still be glad “Nightbitch” exists, especially with Adams there to lead the way. In every facet of her performance, she paints a full portrait of a character herself figuring out who she now is.

The film is at its best in exploring the gaps between dream and reality.

While many of the jokes in Hotel Transylvania: Transformania probably won’t linger in your mind, they are still fairly well-executed.

The aggressively unpleasant visuals certainly detract from the overall film, but Maleficent makes for a fascinating entry in an ongoing wave of projects that give “bad” women of literature a chance to present their side of the story.

Basir’s script is ambitious and thoughtful, though flawed. The regrettable characterizations of women aside, some of the dots don’t quite connect.

It’s the exact type of film that you could see a new generation of kids finding and causing them to fall in love with movies.

The script offers enough laughs to keep the movie from feeling completely disposable...and it outshines many of its genre peers through little touches like not punishing its female characters for enjoying sex and casting Damon Wayans Jr. (as a romantic interest for Alice) in a role in which his race is thoroughly irrelevant.

What really sets The Burnt Orange Heresy ablaze is the chemistry between Bang, Debicki and Sutherland. Each of their characters functions as a sort of walking puzzle, their motives slowly revealing themselves only as the story develops.

The movie’s biggest strength is its balance between mordant humor and psychological fear.

If you can block out that verbal frenzy, though, the last chapters of Antarctica: Ice & Sky are, finally, a compelling narrative (who wouldn’t be interested in the idea of “fossil air?”) and yet another scientific explanation of global warming.

Keaton’s terrific, and it’s sweet and airy and so unhurried you really feel like you’ve had a nice afternoon in the long grasses and cool breezes on the edge of the city.

What Tyrel lacks in substance, Jason Mitchell more than makes up for in his performance. He is thoughtful, precise, vulnerable and authentic, and even in as flawed a film as Tyrel, he is an absolute joy to watch.

What this new version forgets, to its detriment, is that Gloria’s strength doesn’t come from finally holding the gun; it comes from being a survivor.

Diverting as it may be, The Bad Guys is the sort of movie that’s missing a big heart and, at times, feels like they’re having more fun in the ADR booth than we are watching it on screen.

What Betts seems more interested in is whether these sacrificial rituals are arbitrary or, if not, what they truly represent. To her credit, she never approaches these questions with any judgment, a welcome rarity in films about religion. Indeed, she’s gathered many of the elements required for further enlightenment. It’s just that, in the end, her approach proves too conventional.

Red One might not save Christmas but at least it saves face.

Those who arrive without any preconceptions — or are willing to stray from the novel’s style — will appreciate the assets of a modestly engaging and gently touching dramedy.

Euros Lyn’s heartwarming Dream Horse doesn’t rewrite the genre, but it’s feel-good filmmaking of the sort many may be inclined to seek out at the moment. Although overly familiar and openly sentimental, it’s also an easy watch that’s gently appealing.

There are things to admire in the visual design and in the way a small group of accomplished actors submit to this quiet horror show, but cold, begrudging admiration is about all the admittedly stylish film is designed to elicit.

Lovely visuals are key for the success of any animated film, arguably more so even than for live-action movies. But a compelling story is also essential, and that’s where “Long Way North” trips up.

Norton earns praise for taking on the gargantuan task of bringing this story to the screen, and pulling quadruple duty as actor-director-writer-producer, but Motherless Brooklyn seems more like a blueprint of a great film that lacks the nuance it needs to be truly impactful.

It’s a valiant effort from Berry, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark, weighed down by a formulaic script, uneven fight direction, and little depth in exploring how a female fighter’s experience might change when a role written as a white, Irish woman is played by a Black actor.

The 1990s framing device keeps pulling us out of the 1950s love story, sapping its power.

It’s overly ambitious, it has too many characters, and it tries to do too much. But there is also a lot here that feels fresh and original, particularly in the first half, which takes in a lot of new territory — both thematic and geographic — with a pleasing light touch.

The movie’s biggest asset is DeBoer, who plays sweetly dim soccer mom Jill with a commitment that’s alternately terrifying and heartbreaking.

It would be easy to write off 'Sneaks' as a hack job, a sole-less riff on a tired premise, but there’s more afoot here.

As alternatingly silly and serious as its mix of wisdom and wallops, and even with that blond bro gumming up the works, “Birth” is nevertheless zippy, B-movie entertainment.

The fact that the movie can still stay entertaining enough is thanks to the performances and Carnahan’s claustrophobic camera work, which turns a mundane cul-de-sac into a particularly unnerving location. But once the film hits an answer on who you can trust, it can’t help but sputter to the end.

The self-contained “Treasure” ambles along on the strength of a fine, self-contained script and two winning performers, without ever reflecting or commenting on the historical weight it sets out to explore.

Body Parts has a lot to say about onscreen objectification, but it would benefit greatly if — like Quentin Tarantino’s camera on a young woman’s feet — it maintained its focus.

Anyone with some patience and a penchant for thoughtful ambiguity will find more than enough rewards here, from Gyllenhaal’s intelligent performance to Colangelo’s empathetic insight. True, it’s not always an easy movie to sit through. But the impact of Lisa’s plight lingers long after her fate’s been sealed.

It is her performance that ensures every tonal shift lands as it goes from playfully comedic to delightfully dark and back again. Despite how overstuffed and unwieldy it gets, seeing Kidman work her magic at every turn will never not be a joy to see.

It makes a solid case for itself as filmed entertainment, while also suggesting strongly that it really ought to be seen in person in a theater.

Its baseline competence is perfectly watchable. It’s just hard to imagine anyone signing onto this project with the explicitly stated goal of only making it watchable.

Derbez brings warmth and intermittent goofy humor to this too-broad and uneven comedy.

Take your seat and bask in the presence of the coolest characters actors working today, but don’t ask for more than a few chuckles. Don’t call it fan service – call it coolness oblige.

At its core, The Last Full Measure is a poignant reevaluation of gallantry and of how survivor’s guilt impacts those veterans whose lives were spared. It’s not without its flaws, and Robinson’s wobbly narrative bears much of the blame, but its emotional resonance will stay with you long afterward.

There is enough here in the first hour to make this memory piece worthwhile, and Levine is clearly someone worth watching and following.

Before I Go To Sleep‘s combination of talents on both sides of the camera means that while it may not rocket you to the edge of your seat as quickly and cruelly as the recent “Gone Girl,” it's hardly a snooze.

It’s a quiet, eccentric comedy-drama about artistic inspiration that won’t knock your socks off, but it has its own awkward charms about how artists forge their identity while wrestling with professional boundaries.

Pilgrimage travels quite far on the momentum provided by a series of reveals. Each shifts the film’s stakes significantly enough that we look forward to the next divulgence as much as the succeeding battle scene. It ultimately stumbles when it reaches for depth, arriving at a hollow conclusion that mistakes cynicism for profundity.

It’s an enjoyable ride with intermittently compelling moments, particularly when Buttigieg struggles to find the balance between innate personality, intellectual morality, and professional practicality. But the film simply doesn’t dig deep enough.

The film is meant to be a negotiation of what that long-ago relationship was, and it is that. But considered in our reality of pervasive sexual iniquity, Una also feels, whatever its creators’ intentions, an awful lot like a litany of self-serving excuses for pedophilic behavior, which may or may not be sincere.

What Palmer is, in every sense of the word, is decent. It’s familiar, and predictable, and a little bit hokey. But it’s also genuinely moving and surprisingly memorable, thanks to its two leads.

Cuarón’s tale of a madman Minuteman is well-shot and sharply paced, but too simplistic.

We Are X is nothing you haven’t seen before as a music documentary, but it succeeds as an examination of why we turn to escapist art, and what we do when it’s no longer there.

Mo’s story feels rare, relevant and real. But we’re stuck on the outside looking in.

Vaughn’s third installment in this series is ultimately a pretty lousy movie; again, better than the last one, but that isn’t much of a compliment.

Pollack’s focus on what can be done in his daughter Meadow’s name becomes more admirable as the film goes on, and his attention to specifics might have been adopted to the benefit of this well-meaning, touching, but sometimes evasive film.

Like the anime series, Jujutsu Kaisen 0 sometimes feels too much like a Cliffs Notes adaptation, despite also featuring more interaction between the supporting characters and the lead protagonist than the original manga.

Though he finds little room for subtlety and even less interest in complex moral shadings, director Edoardo De Angelis can still ably wring tension from this brave, if foolhardy, mission, spinning his camera around ever-cramped quarters as the two crews, enemies-turned-shipmates, navigate uncharted terrain.

You’re grateful for the time spent with a genuine epic of ideas and rueful that such heady themes weren’t more fully explored in a better film.

This shaggy superhero spoof doesn’t consistently live up to its best moments, but at least those moments are there, with most of them stemming from the hilarious interplay between McCarthy and Octavia Spencer.

Ghost in the Shall is a technical knockout, a here-and-now valentine to what design wizardry Hollywood can pull off in 2017. At the same time, it does so in service of a tired tale full of repurposed visual tricks, storytelling clichés and big-studio concessions.

It feels as if there’s a better movie in here somewhere, lost beneath the wild-eyed freneticism and the unsatisfying exposition.

It’s a movie about two people that ends up being about no one at all.

Though his slim script (co-written with Chris Smith) holds few surprises, Angarano’s direction is consistently confident. He paces this minor tale wisely, getting in and out of the characters’ small stories in a perfectly-timed 84 minutes.

Fanning and Bardem deliver two utterly devastating performances that show the power of despair met with unyielding love.

There’s probably no real reason for Mary Poppins Returns to exist at all, but now that it’s here, it does at least find some moments of delight even as it travels a familiar path.

A warmhearted crowdpleaser undercut by moments of hesitation, Am I OK? has all the makings of an unqualified delight.

If you think man-crack is the apex of hilarity, A Walk in the Woods just might be the movie for you. It’s all right there in the trailers: slapstick, womp-womp one-liners, the premise of old buddies going on an adventure.

The mix is for the most part a welcome one, save one unappealing character, a retrograde love story, and an air that’s almost too blasé for its own good.

In description, A Faithful Man sounds like quite a rich brew, but it is actually more of an exercise than anything else, a chance to play a kind of cinematic shell game with four main characters who are never quite what they seem.

The action is shot far better than it is in most Marvel movies, with clarity in the framing and a fluid skill to the cutting.

Trying to do right by Hutchins is what stops “Last Take” from playing like just another salacious true crime doc. Its focus may be scattershot, and it may not change a single mind when it comes to placing blame, but like with grief, working through the pain is never clean and tidy.

If you can’t think of a better way to spend your time, 'Until Dawn' is a thing that exists.

Chappaquiddick may or may not be what actually happened, but it gets at enough piercing truths.

The Wizard of the Kremlin is a loud, bold film that is held together by the quiet performance at its center.

Even the stray gross-out moments of Sisters register as humane and heartfelt; Fey and Pohler’s comedy comes from a place of warmth and intelligence, and so does the movie.

The editing and the compositions here can be slightly ungainly, and some of the characters are not quite fully realized, but Nelson ultimately transcends the limits of his own material through sheer, cussed determination and lively anger.

Arctic Dogs is a functional, distracting kids flick that’s only remarkable in how unremarkable it is.

Some films thrive on twists, while others compel based on meaty performances. Volpe’s picture is squarely the latter: an introspective analysis of the human condition.

Shawkat breaks out subtleties that she’s never been able to show off in other roles.

Generation Wealth is ultimately a string of subjects in search of a binder. And the director’s interests don’t count.

Writer/director/producer Beth Elise Hawk has approached her first documentary as an unabashed passion project. Her enthusiasm, and general sense of joy, shine through clearly from start to finish. Though she doesn’t dig deep enough to get us much past the elevator pitch, that pitch is pretty appealing.

Leave No Trace tackles an urgent topic and relays essential truths.

Even if budgetary restraints sometimes keep Timoner from fully capturing the time she is re-creating, nothing holds Smith back from making Mapplethorpe come alive again, in every sense.

The couple’s talk about dreams deferred is too knee-jerk to warrant sympathy. And though a lot of quiet in between their squabbling is sometimes a relief, it ultimately points to an underdeveloped script that suggests it’s more profound than it is. These two are a little too comfortable with silences.

Boulevard consistently evokes the road not traveled, but doesn’t particularly stand out alongside other dramas that have explored the same terrain.

Those moments that land, whether funny or moving, occur when Ball isn’t getting in his own way and instead trusts in the characters he’s written and the actors who are performing them. Overall, the film works, but there are times during this road-trip saga where one wishes Ball would apply the brakes.

There are some random chuckles along the way . . . . For the most part, though, The War with Grandpa seems like the sort of brightly-lit disposable family comedy that fills the Disney Channel schedule, only with an insanely overqualified cast.

Ultimately, The Gallerist gets by on its zippy pacing, committed performances, and a tinge of meanness that holds enough suspense.

As stark corroboration that this country was built on hatred and death, Emancipation successfully rattles you, but it can hardly be described as revelatory. Still, some could argue that today, as segments of society willfully wish to ignore the past and to prevent new generations from learning about it, a ruthlessly straightforward reminder is needed.