A tidy 73-minute romp through Lewis’ career that manages to fit in about a dozen staggering performances of “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” but still leaves you wishing there was room for a couple more.

Gripping, smart and genuinely thrilling, Black Sea elevates itself above most other thrillers by how wisely and well it brings you down to the depths alongside its crew.

Unfortunately, López can’t sustain the momentum. Every time a new turn emerges within Red, White & Royal Blue it feels like a new film has sprouted out of the story with embellishments that land as superfluous scenes begging to be deleted, instead of grace notes that elevate the movie.

The film, while well-intentioned and informative, is a somewhat unfocused piece.

Once the film turns itself over to the footage of Big Edie and Little Edie Beale, this movie comes into its own as a fascinating companion piece and prequel to the Maysles Brothers film.

If Emma Thompson can’t make The Children Act...into something interesting and meaningful, then no one can. And she can’t.

It lacks neither fun nor polish, but it has the square tidiness of a compartmentalized fast-food meal.

True to formula, the neatly wrapped ending is telegraphed from continents away. But even under those rules, Harwood’s already rarefied quality and Butterell’s adept choices in his film directorial debut — his familiarity with material yields a positive transfiguration from stage to screen — color Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, a high-heeled and glossy romp that’s radical in its loving optimism.

The boxing drama Bleed for This has a powerful story and a strong lead performance in its corner, but falls short of knockout status. Hampered by clichéd writing and stereotypical portrayals, this extraordinary true-life account feels run-of-the-mill.

The juxtaposition of jubilance and misery is the film’s modus operandi, however jarring it may seem.

A stellar script and two standout performances from Jillian Bell and the sensational Natalie Morales round out this sweet little flick which, despite its intergalactic ambitions, doesn’t stray far from a rental house in wine country.

Why, given all its potential, wasn’t the bar set higher? That, alas, remains the most noteworthy mystery of all.

Though it’s an intoxicating blend of modern and vintage romance, The Photograph, while flawed, is most intriguing when it peels back the layers between a mother and daughter who never really knew each other in life, but whose stories eventually intertwine in ways they could have never imagined.

Biggie: I Got a Story to Tell celebrates an influential musical legacy as well as a complicated life story, with a potent mix of sentiment and aesthetic appreciation.

This may be the first movie to apply the Chekhov’s gun rule to vultures, a portent sure to satisfy the more horror-minded ticket buyers, not to mention anyone else eager for the kind of back-to-basics survival excitement “Fall” refreshingly serves up in this dreary age of apocalyptic popcorn emptiness.

Even if the vehicle to deliver it is dull, Stone’s pursuit to disseminate a hopeful take in the face of the current apocalyptic prognosis for our collective existence remains commendable.

Big swings can make for big misses, and that’s the situation writer-director Quinn Shephard’s internet satire-screed “Not Okay” finds itself in, lining up all kinds of juicy targets regarding fame and shame in our social media age, but proving not so discerning about character, humor, and story when it comes to following-through.

It’s a sweet story about someone who doesn’t know what their story is. It’s a funny film about seriously figuring yourself out. It’s a serious film about pain, in which no one intentionally inflicts it. Craig Johnson might not have made a particularly strange film, but it’s a particularly kind one, and it’s worth loving.

The sturdy but shallow martial arts melodrama Ip Man 4: The Finale isn’t much more than what fans have already gotten from the popular action franchise.

Less inventive that it gives itself credit for, Free Guy qualifies as a summer blockbuster with something mildly compelling to say; not the most articulate or substantial in its exploration of its most interesting ideas, to be sure, but enjoyable nonetheless

Let the Corpses Tan is high-octane high art. It’s incredibly violent. It’s unexpectedly playful. It’s strikingly sumptuous. And its depths could easily be mistaken for shallow stylistic overtures. But if you examine the surface more closely, you’ll discover it’s impressively smart. It may be one of the most rapturous movies of its kind.

A captivating portrait of a man who can’t seem to remember who he is and may not ever be able to, Duke Johnson’s live-action feature debut is an enrapturing film that speaks in this language of half-remembered dreams before descending into something closer to a nightmare.

Screenwriters Isaac Aptaker and Elizabeth Berger (“Love, Simon”) are no strangers to the subversive rom-com, and capable directing and editing by Jason Orley (“Big Time Adolescence”) and Jonathan Schwartz (“Stuber”), respectively, set leads Jenny Slate and Charlie Day up for maximum hilarity. The film ultimately feels a bit underdeveloped, but this seems a small price to pay for a romantic comedy with zero misogyny and relatively realistic characters.

Rady Gamal, who plays Beshay, gives an affecting performance of playful charm with an undercurrent of deep sadness. He and Ahmed Abdelhafiz as Obama are a pair to root for, and Shawky gives them plenty of perils but also abundant moments of grace.

Mixing familiar stories with fresh insights, Zimny’s film is a portrait in restlessness, a picture of a man who has been both wildly successful and thoroughly dismissed — sometimes simultaneously.

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.

Oliver makes sure that every scene in Jonathan is slow, earnest, tidy, and very cautious, and he pulls back from anything that might be too dramatic.

We learn in the documentary Loving Highsmith that the author herself knew plenty about the duality that defined so many of her characters.

Plane would be less mind-numbing if it took itself either a little less or a lot more seriously.

While some talking points tend to be belabored and others don’t get unpacked at great enough length, Lynch/Oz still offers movie-lovers a variety of thoughtful and dynamic new ways of seeing Lynch’s work.

It’s gorgeous, it’s distinctive, it’s quirky, it’s definitely about mermaids, and it might just make you question your sanity.

Allswell is one of those rare movies that feels less like a cinematic presentation and more like a personal invitation into someone’s home.

Annabelle: Creation is a professional jitters-fest, made with deep-seated esteem for the genre rather than cynicism about a box-office sure thing.

The tone of Ideal Home can be very sharp, and some of the satirical scenes have real bite. Fleming’s writing is at its best here when he is sending up the exaggerated sensitivity of liberals when they are dealing with a minority and not sure what might offend them.

There’s hope to be found in There’s Something in the Water, in the good intentions and implacable drive of the protesters.

Full of surprises ... It’s a historical piece that defies expectation and offers both the thrills of battle and a thoughtful critique of war and imperialism.

Ascher leaves us pondering the costs of dissociation, but also its seductive appeal. Is it really that outlandish to look around occasionally, and wonder at the surreality of it all?

Hyams’ film doesn’t make the most of its concept but, although it’s not a particularly interesting slasher, it is an efficient one. Fans of the genre will no doubt have a little fun with it. The fun just isn’t infectious.

Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett’s latest film sharply combines multiple genres and tropes — a few of which are an actual surprise — and sculpts them into a bloody blast of a movie. Literally.

Despite the film’s needlessly fractured structure and a relentlessly grim story, Kidman and Kusama seem to be speaking the same language, in quieter moments illuminating not just the faults of the protagonist but also the faults of every tragic hard-boiled detective in cinematic history.

Sleight is slight in the good way, because it floats along and draws your attention instead of yanking it by the collar.

The Rental tries to do a lot of things and succeeds partway in most of them. But as a relationship drama it gets sidetracked and as a horror film it doesn’t go full gonzo, except perhaps in the emotional sense.

Viewed under the right conditions — that is to say, late at night, in a certain headspace and surrounded by an audience of fellow travelers ready to take the ride – “Cuckoo” will offer an awful lot of big-screen fun. Only those external factors are nearly necessary to meet an overeager film with only one note to play.

A sick and twisted work of comic genius where the punchlines punch so hard you’ll explode.

The Bad Batch feels less like a coherent film and more like a pastiche.

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.

Never Goin’ Back, which Frizzell has admitted is in ways an honest, personal reckoning with incidents in her own fumbling adolescence, has something many comedies simply fail to care about: a spark-filled joie de vivre about the stupidity of youth that lifts it above many more cynically crass (and typically male) examples of the genre.

Lucy is a confounding experience, but at a brisk 85 or so minutes, it manages not to outstay its welcome. Those not enamored of Besson's particular brand of Euro-schlock grindhouse existentialism, however, may find their brains more stimulated elsewhere.

Kudos to everyone here for doing their jobs, and for doing them reasonably well, but the end result of all the effort is a film which, when people talk about How to Train Your Dragon, will eventually be referred to as 'no, not that one.

Anyone looking for an introduction to Gibran’s poetry can find it in any bookstore; Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet is achingly well intentioned, but not especially well executed, and its failings as a film can’t be overlooked.

Evolution is less about healing than about haunting; it’s an odd, small and moving work that asks disquieting questions about identity after decades of trauma.

There are some moments where the film clings a bit too heavily to genre tropes, but thankfully, its main focus is on coping with loss and the complexity of grief.

Lacking appealing characters (or character design), this misfire will, with any luck, eventually become a forgotten footnote among the output of a production company that has, up until now, shown real promise at making films that defy the usual tropes and storytelling mechanisms in contemporary family-friendly animation.

Some outstanding comedy offerings are overshadowed by a few unfortunate B-plots that ultimately fall flat. But the film is sparkling with fantastically funny performances that make a 90-minute comedy worth it in the end.

Grace and poise are certainly embedded in Yousafzai’s DNA, but there’s frustratingly little of her vulnerability or interiority in the film.

It would be nice to see Wright work from a stronger script next time, but she rises above the limitations admirably.

If you share Hartman’s trifecta of obsessions — photography, fashion and fame — you’ll find plenty to appreciate.

It’s better than your typical kiddie flick, often gorgeous to behold in its exquisitely painted Yukon wilderness and fierce, majestic canine protagonist.

The film drags on until the story becomes harder to buy and the central character harder to remain interested in.

It’s as if Haley viewed his star’s strengths — laconic wit, unforced masculinity, polite romanticism — as the only elements needed for a Sam Elliott showcase, rather than as the building blocks from which to mold an original character.

If In Your Dreams was too entertaining it would contradict its own message about the perils of escapism. But it might not be entertaining enough to make audiences want to stay until the message comes through. Call it a design flaw.

Because Graham fills This One’s for the Ladies with so many different dialogues that don’t always connect, he prevents it from offering concise, sociopolitical insight about race, class, and sexuality. As a result, the film comes off as pedestrian and ultimately has nothing really essential to say.

Life is too damn hard to get so damn mad about a sweet, mostly effective drama like Song Sung Blue.

Without much by way of variance, the film spins on and spins out, jumping from austere interiors in Mexico City to San Francisco and back again, putting forward a cogent political read that does little to flatter those looking for anything more.

Instead of focusing on the strength of some of her material here, Utt strikes out in far too many directions.

It’s a solid chronicle of (the first part of) a fascinating life and career.

The only way ‘Avatar: Fire and Ash’ could be more hypocritical, and taken less seriously, is if the characters also yelled “Hypocrisy sucks!” while sitting on Whoopee cushions.

Chandor’s film isn’t malleable enough to fit into the moral grey zones into which it ventures; it’s too battle-hardened for that. But it’s an ambitious and absorbing above-average thriller with something deeper on its mind, making this sometimes somber journey worthwhile.

For all the genuine charm on display, you may be disappointed to find that manic activity overtakes said charm, and that more isn’t made of a simple, clever premise.

Heart Eyes seems destined to become a Valentine’s Day favorite, that rare horror movie with a great and charming love story, and that even rarer romantic comedy with a great and savage serial killer.

It’s a hyped-up cocaine conversation of a movie, throwing out lots of ideas and images and mammoth set pieces without ever amounting to anything.

Austin Peters’ Skincare knows exactly what it’s doing, balancing a sense of total desperation with just enough camp to convey its nightmarish situations without ruining your day.

The Bluff isn’t a bad pirate movie. If anything, it has so little competition these days that it’s probably 'the best pirate movie in years' by default. But that’s damning the film with faint praise, or possibly praising it with faint damnation.

Where Suncoast stumbles is when it sacrifices specificity for generic sentiment.

It’s a self-conscious film, to be sure, driven by a combination of passion and guilt. It’s also a scattershot one that could have viewers wondering if it’s a film about the Walt Disney Company or a film about American capitalism.

Lowery once again treats his young audiences as shrewd viewers who deserve multilayered stories, well-developed characters and lush visuals.

Tweens who are less familiar with temporal-anomaly cinema and TV will no doubt be entranced by this concept and by the talented cast that brings it to fruition. More seasoned viewers who have seen this kind of thing before have seen this kind of thing before, have seen this kind of thing before.

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.

Appraising her country’s various ills with a healthy dose of Gallic gallows humor, the filmmaker has delivered a kind of screwball comedy full of physical gags, rat-a-tat dialogue and intricate choreography that veers towards a weightier third act while offering plenty of belly laughs along the way.

Had this well-meaning movie been more willing to directly embrace its origins in Barnes’s luminous prose, it’s quite possible The Sense of an Ending might be something special rather than something worthy.

The camera loves Channing Tatum, and that makes up for a lot in Dog, a corny road movie that mostly panders to fans of Tatum and/or dogs, as well as any moviegoer who still thinks that making a big show of supporting the troops (any troops) makes them more human than, uh, most everyone else.

Rogue Agent is plenty fascinated by the abridged version of this saga — bad men are out there — but you’ll wish for that darker, less cleanly shaped telling the more you think about its scarier contours.

Many of the scenes here seem to have been shot in a spirit of tense desperation; the comedy doesn’t land, the romance takes too long to get going, and the tearjerking scenes are spoiled by a meta framework that makes Showalter’s job even more difficult.

Revisiting this material to make a “let’s put on a show” musical is all well and good, but that musical would benefit from more energy and tighter editing.

It’s one of the great horror sequels, for about an hour. Then it’s a cautionary tale about how not to make a horror sequel, for about an hour.

Even if the film is premeditatedly oblique and too precisely constructed in its cerebral machinations to engage with beyond an intellectual level, the ideas wrapped in its coldness are thought-provoking.

The film’s constant waltz between moods is aggravating at best. It becomes unclear whether we are even supposed to root for Rudolf, or if it matters that we do.

Where is the joke here, aside from Bale acting as though he’s in a serious, dramatic movie in which he goes Method by adding on pounds and grunting his way through a half-baked performance? This is neither funny nor insightful.

The right people have been hired, and everyone is where they’re supposed to be. That level of planning makes the heist in Ocean’s 8 run fairly smoothly. As for the film itself, similarly curated with care, it gets the job done without ever being one for the record books.

As They Made Us is a very forgiving film about seemingly unforgivable pain, which is to say that it has been made with a lot of unconditional love.

Dead for a Dollar is a proud heir to a longstanding lineage of low-budget westerns. Consider that a feature and a bug.

Even when the movie stumbles, Hudson’s bravura performance — and those extraordinary songs — steady its soul.

“Pompo” reveals itself to be a film about why not every single thing you do as an artist is special, and how admitting that can lead to stronger, more efficient storytelling.

Even if the film lags narratively, there’s enough flash and dazzle to keep viewers engaged, with Holland and Pratt providing a genuine balance of sibling love and aspiration for each other.

For an artist who is committed (for better or worse) to always putting out the purest and most unfiltered portrait of who he is and what he believes, the main problem with documenting this particular moment in this way is that it goes by far too quickly, when it’s the first he’s created in a long time that has the potential to truly change hearts and minds — and best of all, not even solely about Kanye West himself.

A rough but vital film.

Nothing here truly changes animation, and yet, you can’t help but walk out of the theater with a smile on your face.

It’s still the story of an anguished man grappling with death, transplanted to a different world and a different time but still exerting a powerful pull on our imaginations. In one way, it’s an abbreviated “Hamlet,” but in another way, it’s a pumped-up one.