Isn't much more than another conveyer-belt romantic comedy.

Crimes of the Heart is a well-intentioned effort, but also a deeply misguided one -- Henley's humor, while suited to the stage, disintegrates in a more literal-minded medium.

Believe it or not, there's life in the old boy yet. After a disappointing third outing, this "Shrek" brings the cycle of fairy-tale-themed films to a fine finish.

A blistering political satire that may rip the bandage and the scab, as well as a lot of the skin, off a political wound that has barely had time to heal.

A derivative but nevertheless good-hearted movie that’s peppered with enough clever touches to engage adults as well as moviegoers of the smaller, squirmier variety.

Tron turns out to be an inorganic Fantastic Voyage, a movie with which only a computer programmer could interface. The acting is everything you'd expect from a Disney film, with Jeff Bridges aping Harrison Ford for all he's worth. There's even a computerized tinkerbell and a computer kiss. It's all a little much too have output. [09 July 1982, p.13]

Powerful, depressing and very, very long. At close to three hours, it virtually enslaves an audience, which may be part of the point.

There are entertaining touches in this blackly comic grotesquerie, but it is no more frightening than a teenage slasher movie. Perkins, in his first stab at directing, never gives us time to anticipate. At best, he parodies the classic, but without restraint. [04 July 1986, p.N29]

It takes superior artistry to take the rude, crude and socially unmentionable and make it feel upliftingly wholesome. Such is the magic of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, the dynamic duo at the playful, prurient, occasionally perverse heart of Sisters.

A little less conversation, a lot more action, please.

Biutiful soars to its highest points once it shifts its focus away from death to ask us how we are choosing to live our lives.

Even amid the hit-and-miss broadsides and laugh-free longueurs that comprise most of The Dictator, Cohen's acute hypocrisy-detector keeps on ticking, if barely.

Thank heaven for Judi Dench, whose M provides Quantum of Solace its sole quantum of peppery brio.

One of the great strengths of Roman J. Israel, Esq. is that no one is any one thing.

Manages to be a diverting and funny character study, at least most of the time.

Danny Collins, like its central character, has a good heart, and sometimes that’s enough.

The film’s young slashers are irredeemably smug and obnoxious, and their bloodthirsty craving for social media likes, represented by heart icons that float out of their cellphones after each murder that they document — without implicating themselves — fuels a vicious satire.

Despite the subtext of screen addiction, it is still essentially a by-the-book monster movie, despite some better-than-average jump scares and clever rendering of Larry, who for the most part can be seen only through the camera lens of a cellphone or tablet device.

Thoughts become things. That's the message of Rise of the Guardians, a charming if slightly dark and cobwebbed animated feature about how believing in something makes it real, or real enough.

The Midnight Sky only looks like a disaster film. Slyly, and by misdirection that cleverly conceals its true intent until the poignant end, it reveals itself to be a story of regret over a lost opportunity for connection.

The movie's highest level of artistic expression was the ingenious Internet campaign that catapulted it to culture phenom months before it even opened. The thing itself turns out to be pretty much an afterthought, cheesy and not very well worked out.

The lead actresses, like the story, work in subtle ways. There’s plenty of potency in small gestures, anecdotes and shared glances.

Fred Walton, who directed Stranger, seems more skillful at orchestrating creepy atmospherics than John Carpenter was in Halloween. At the same time, he's scarcely clever or stylish enough to make Stranger a thriller worth going out of your way for. [20 Oct 1979, p.F6]

Unfortunately, this isn't a role that requires an actor with Freeman's gifts -- in effect, his brilliance is irrelevant. The film is more a compilation of well-calculated cues than the presentation of a story, and all that the star is called on to do is hit his marks and prompt our responses. Avildsen, who sharpened his mastery of audience expectations on "Rocky" (which won him an Oscar) and the "Karate Kid" films, has a huckster's talent for keeping his audience on the line. This is not to take away from what Avildsen has done here. The movie is carefully and sometimes impressively laid out -- it's well "told." It's just that the skills he displays are not really those of a filmmaker -- or at least not one whose interest in his story goes beyond how to pitch it.

The film incorporates the book’s story arc, with stylistic nods to Robert Lawson’s drawings of Spanish scenes and people. But it also adds new incidents, characters and depth, with a contemporary wit that doesn’t coarsen the story — or not much, anyway.

Blame the wafer-thin adaptation by Sheridan Jobbins and director Stephan Elliott. What might've been a scrumptious, chocolatey dessert of a movie -- a Noel Coward delite -- is instead a scoop of lemon ice, not filling, faintly sweet and mostly water.

Despite drawing from one of the most powerful and true stories from the Cold War, K-19 is only moderately moving.

A leviathan bore, big, clunky and ponderously overplotted.

Nelson certainly passes muster for sincerity but, unfortunately, his movie doesn't have the same clear-cut quality.

It doesn't lack for emotional intensity or persuasive, three-dimensional characters.

Paints an often grave but sometimes hilarious picture of a hugely powerful network.

In the end, 13 Minutes isn’t about the timing or logistics of one man’s plot to kill Hitler at all, but about what made that man tick.

Dean has its moments. The cast is solid, and the story moves along smoothly. Slight though it may be, it’s a sweet enough tale, while it lasts.

A documentary on the F-word that manages to amuse superficially until it moves into its seventh hour, at which point it grows wearisome.

Without much to go on, Just a Sigh lives up to its name. It disappears without a trace.

There’s a whiff of autoerotic indulgence that carries over to the entire film, which despite its handsome black-and-white aesthetic and gloss of social critique seems a bit too smugly self-satisfied for its own good.

Set to an anachronistic pop soundtrack and an eye-poppingly attractive production design that would be right at home in a Wes Anderson movie, this is a film that dares you not to enjoy its material pleasures, even as you wonder if you should be laughing quite so hard at the jokes.

The Express finesses a cinematic hat trick: It's entertaining, deeply moving and genuinely important.

Given its pedigree, Sgt. Stubby takes fewer liberties than some fact-based war movies. Bolstered by an irresistible protagonist, the tear-jerking script by Lanni and Mike Stokey makes up for shortcomings in animation.

If Slade doesn't necessarily advance the medium with this installment, he nonetheless advances the franchise, with enough lucidity and skill that he's persuaded at least one erstwhile agnostic to take a stand.

Director John McTiernan, who redefined the action genre in the original "Die Hard," does devise some smashing explosions, crashes and so on, but nothing really new.

For a movie that relies so heavily on a single, not especially groundbreaking visual effect — now you see the bogeyman, now you don’t — Lights Out is crazy scary.

Maybe it’s true that it’s never too late to find a new home. But in some ways, it feels like “Cry Macho” has missed the bus. Perhaps Eastwood should have kept his hand on the reins of this pet project while letting someone else sit in the saddle.

Christy, a biopic that plays by the rules, doesn’t do justice to an athlete who gloriously broke so many of them.

Not so much a film as a frolic that established the escapist Elvis formula: an exotic location, curvaceous girls, an inane script and an album's worth of songs. From here on, Elvis is basic boy scout. The music is pastiche Hawaiian, the plot is ridiculous, and the box-office grosses and record sales were incredible. [13 Aug 1987, p.B7]

Wicked Little Letters manages the paradoxical trick of being both broadly played and finely acted, the first due to a director intent on underlining every action with a heavy Sharpie and the second to a cast that colors in the outlines of their characters with finesse, depth and life.

There are entertaining little anachronisms, amusing lines and enough wacky frenzy to please the little ones. The movie clearly comes from a Christian perspective, but without being overly preachy.

None of them is nasty enough to be interesting, nor nice enough to be sympathetic.

It's too bad Chan's imagination and delicacy were wasted in this movie.

Miike's fans, those used to his strange ways, will certainly find Gozu an amusing addition to the oeuvre. All others will be bewildered beyond expression.

All credit to Carrey, whose one-man performance is almost enough to redeem the movie.

Producer Ray Stark, screenwriter Neil Simon and director Jay Sandrich obviously intended to whip up a frothy, madcap entertainment in the tradition of the screwball comedies of the '30s and '40s. Their failure to "make one like they used to" incurs a double liability: In addition to wasting resources and disappointing expectations, Seems Like Old Times -- now at area theaters -- appears to trifle with an older and better movie.

Populaire is a mostly delightful and entirely unironic throwback to the kind of film they stopped making about 50 years ago.

This third outing climaxes with a dark and melodramatic twist that, while adding a layer of nuance and back story that the previous two films never had, also feels wildly out of sync with its audience's expectations.

A disappointingly dull thud of a fantasy.

With both left and right wings flapping, it is a dandy thriller for political moderates... It's smart, but not too smart, like a Chuck Norris movie if Chuck got a PhD.

Regardless of how they feel about the main character, most viewers are likely to leave the theater reminded of Stone’s instinctive brilliance as a filmmaker — his grasp of visual language not just to tell a story but to expose its essential emotional core.

With visions of "The Public Enemy," "Bonnie and Clyde" and even "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" dancing in its head, the Prohibition-era drama Lawless winds up being equal to none of them -- even if it holds its own as a modestly respectable genre exercise.

At it’s core, it’s just another youth-culture flick about the search for love. It’s also a mediocre bid to join the shoestring pantheon of such filmic self-starters as Spike Lee (She’s Gotta Have It) and Kevin Smith (Clerks).

It does take half the movie before the story --really kicks in. When it does, it'll knock the air out of you.

Despite its gentility and evasiveness, Julia may have come much closer to the truth about Lillian Hellman on the strength of Jane Fonda's edgy, persuasive performance, which reveals an intelligent woman who couldn't feel more unsuree of herself or less like a conquering heroine.

It’s that rare fish-out-of-water story in which the fish miraculously manages to stop needing water, and learns to crave air instead.

This is one movie that no one needs to relive.

It’s a movie drenched in catchy pop hooks and aspirational romance. If this iteration doesn't quite achieve the full liftoff of the best of the form, it still manages to hit more than a few pleasure centers as a summery slice of light escapism.

Ultimately, there's not enough genuine wildness to these dark, passionate and half-crazy people. Miss Firecracker is the South made cute.

It's not without moments of wit and powerful emotion, but somehow Stepmom never feels either real enough to move us deeply or bubbly enough to make us forget our woes.

Henry Johnson is unusual for Mamet in that it focuses on the prey. It’s also as close as a movie can get to a filmed play without including your dinner and a ride home.

There's a deep, touching tale to relate about the man who went from Apache chieftain to circus has-been, selling his autographs for money. But don't look for stirring, touching or anything in "Geronimo: An American Legend." Look for the exit sign.

Sure, this romance, starring Meryl Streep, Uma Thurman and Bryan Greenberg, follows a familiar boy-meets-girl scenario, but Younger turns the routine into combustible fun.

If, at odd moments, The Rock is better than tolerable, it is usually because of its stars.

There’s fun to be had revisiting the cleverly conceived world of the 2017 “Jungle,” in which teenagers found themselves magically transported inside a video game. But even with a new mission, some upgrades and a lot of character swapping, we’re still playing the same game over again.

The songs aren’t the problem. Rather, it’s the muddled story, which takes way too long to give Moana — now a skilled wayfinder scouting new lands and new peoples to reconnect her long-isolated island tribe with the world — her mission.

This “Mean Girls” may be a sugarcoated object lesson about unhealthy, ingrained behaviors, but it’s no downer.

A briskly moving, deeply engaging 40-minute documentary.

Overwhelmingly predictable despite its cute surprise ending, Tortilla Soup is a filling but unoriginal dish.

Easy on the eyes and hard on the head, Suriyothai is absolutely unaffecting where it matters most, in the heart.

For the first time in 30 years, Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars appear on the movie screen as Pennebaker intended. It's almost worth the wait.

An enchanting, staggeringly beautiful epic at sea, is poetry in motion.

One of the most eagerly awaited cinematic projects of 2006, which may be why it lands with such a curious thud.

It's time to find a new Bond. This one is tuckered out, spent, his signature tuxedo in sore need of pressing...Dalton plays a straight-faced, humorless, no-nonsense Bond -- all guns and no play -- and it makes for a very dull time.

A movie that clearly aims to be a cool, picturesque modern film noir becomes another moody banality.

Although Ramen Heads is an interesting glance at the craft of ramen, it ends up feeling lukewarm.

A slight, yet inoffensive tale, inspiring little more than a shrug, thereby making it hard to either wholeheartedly endorse or strongly criticize.

It's a bloated, shockingly tedious trudge that manages to look both overproduced and unforgivably cheesy.

The end result of Shrek the Third is that you laugh a lot and you go home grumpy.

Somewhere in here, there’s a pretty decent movie. The Finest Hours is probably the best of a bad bunch of recent releases. But it’s a shame that this terrific story’s engines keep flooding in the face of wave after wave of narrative inertia.

Rough Cut isn't the finest vintage of its light, dry style, but it is easy to take and when it ends you may be sorry there isn't more. [20 June 1980, p.17]

The film's exploration of loss and the gulf of time and memory that separates us from our pasts is beautifully and subtly handled by Kore-eda. But it is his concern with the sometimes insurmountable distance that lies between knowing and not knowing why we do the things we do that is the filmmaker's true -- and most profound -- subject. [2 April 2004, p.T47]

Directing his own starring vehicle, that sly boots Burt Reynolds gives the audience a shamelessly lurid but stylish going-over, while putting a clever new wrinkle or two on his own status.

It is slightly disconcerting to realize that this pleasant but lightweight movie was produced, directed and written by Peter Weir. This means Touchstone Pictures didn't throw this the Australian director's way; he came up with it himself.

The kids are uniformly godawful, particularly the lamentably named Phoenix; their wooden line readings play in long, flat scenes that look like some 12-year-olds' school project. And talking about the movie's sense of pace is like talking about Pikes Peak's sense of pace. Explorers is a veritable jungle of thematic and story threads that are never picked up. [12 July 1985, p.D6]

The way that conflict plays out is also surprisingly plodding.

There is also something over-intellectualized and bloodless about this version.

It's not an entirely convincing trip, but it is the sort of satisfying movie you wished they would make more often.

The Night Before is hardly a Christmas miracle, but it’s good for a laugh or two. And that’s not a bad way to get into the holiday spirit.

Too many subplots make the story feel cluttered and no more intelligent.

Even by its own please-the-mob standards, this movie is lacking.

Too bad the filmmakers -- and here's where the American part comes in -- decided the movie had to have some heart, too.