In “Nebraska” Omaha-born director Alexander Payne is right back where he belongs. His last film, “The Descendants,” (REVIEW) aimed to capture the secret turmoil of seemingly-zen Hawaiians—misery in paradise—but it registered more like picture-perfect George Clooney sulking through a picture-perfect vacation. Even at its most poignant, the tropical setting made the pathos feel forced. Here, the desolation of the surroundings

“Prisoners” is the most maddening kind of failure: an abrasively portentous thriller that, in spite of its copious flaws, manages to startle the audience a handful of times. Because director Denis Villeneuve regards screenwriter Aaron Guzikowski’s cut-and-dry kidnapping story as an ultra-serious treatise on torture, and because the superb cast (Hugh Jackman, Jake Gyllenhaal, Paul Dano, Terrence Howard, Maria

“Enough Said” will be fondly remembered as the late James Gandolfini’s final film, not to mention the one that most accurately depicted his real-life gentle giant nature. But it also marks the first starring/dramatic film role for TV comedy queen Julia Louis-Dreyfus (The New Adventures of Old Christine, HBO's Veep), who (a few too many face-crinkling tics aside) proves herself capable of carrying a film. And it’s a

Miles Teller and Shailene Woodley are such a naturally charming on-screen couple that it takes quite awhile to realize the movie they're in, "The Spectacular Now," isn't very good.

Directed by James Ponsoldt (who debuted with the far more focused and wrenching "Smashed" last summer) and adapted from a Tim Tharp novel by writers/co-producers Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber (who also wrote

Pedro Almodovar’s “I’m So Excited” received a largely underwhelming response earlier this year in the director’s native Spain, as well as a few cranky complaints here; IndieWire, for instance, called it his worst film. Notably absent are the standard Almodovar themes of a sexual predator preying on the powerless (“Talk to Her,” “The Skin I Live In”), or murderous sexual jealousy playing itself out in tragic ways (“Live Flesh,” “Bad

A Neil LaBute play or film isn’t complete, typically, unless one of its central characters turns out to be outlandishly evil (and they weren’t that nice to begin with). Think of Aaron Eckhart as the oily corporate ladder-climber in “In the Company of Men,” who convinces his weaselly co-worker to take revenge on the jilting females of the world by cruelly deceiving a vulnerable deaf woman. Or Jason Patric’s creepy monologue in “Your Friends

“Violet & Daisy” is more conceit than film. It steals a little from “Pulp Fiction” (both before and after a bloody hit, two nonchalant assassins discuss unrelated things, in this case bestiality), a tad from “Suicide Kings” (criminals in way over their head are outsmarted by their hostage), a smidgen from “The Professional” (a troubled girl finds a daddy figure in an older criminal). The soundtrack is, course, incongruously light and