marshall fine movie review

But the script returns time and again to the sit-com template: Look at these funny old guys struggling in the wilderness
We take our mentors where we find them in life, though it's not always apparent who's teaching who. That's the case in Learning to Drive, a comic drama by Isabel Coixet that offers beautifully matched performances by Patricia Clarkson and Ben Kingsley.
In a summer filled with cinematic bombast and overkill, it's always a nice surprise to find a charming little comedy with heart like People Places Things.
Guy Ritchie's The Man from U.N.C.L.E. is a day late and a dollar short -- actually, make that several seasons late, for anyone who watches the outrageously funny animated series, Archer.
I tend to blow hot and cold on the films of Noah Baumbach though, truthfully, more hot than cold. But I draw the line at his collaborations with Greta Gerwig, who may be the most overrated (or at least most overemployed) actor of her generation.
Jonathan Demme's Ricki and the Flash is one of those near-misses that feels as though a lot of discussion went into the rationale behind every wrong-headed decision. 
When the subject is immigration, outrage tends to outshout empathy. There's a lot of fear but not a lot of humanity. Which is why Samba is a film that could make a difference.
The idea of human consciousness going mobile is an intriguing one: What if you could actually trade minds with another person? That's the premise of Self/less, a disappointing mind-transfer tale notable for its performances if not its dramaturgy.
The creators of Minions obviously never heard either of two complementary expressions: "A little goes a long way" and "too much of a good thing."
Dana Nachman's touching, funny nonfiction film, Batkid Begins, is sheer delight. Instead of something maudlin and manipulative, Nachman has assembled what may be the year's most joyous and surprising movie. 
It is the rare movie comedy that can encompass the wild events of a single night and keep you both squirming and surprised into laughter for its full running time. 
I've heard Rick Famuyiwa's Dope referred to as Nerdz 'N the Hood, which is apt -- although a better comparison would be Risky Business.
The principal problem with Entourage as a movie: There are barely as many laughs in its slack 104 minutes as in the average 30-minute episode. Which makes it a lot like the Sex and the City movies.
"Fury Road" is less a sequel than a reimagining of this post-apocalyptic mythology.
As squirm comedies go, The D Train is a breed apart, a film that puts new spin on the bromance. 
These feel like cinematic end times -- not in terms of Hollywood movies (that horse is already out of the barn), but in the pack-mentality, "hey, it's good enough" approach of critics to the colossus that bestrides summer movies, otherwise known as the Marvel Universe.
Ex Machina is both tastily minimal and frustratingly simplistic. Alex Garland's directing debut (he wrote 28 Days Later and Sunshine) is, in essence, a three-hander about three people in a house. OK, a high-tech mansion, but you get the point. 
Certainly the pedigree of Child 44 makes it seem promising. But the timing of the release -- April, a pre-summer graveyard -- and the fact that it wasn't screened for critics until shortly before opening both mitigate against it. 
The directing debut of actor Chris Messina, Alex of Venice is as notable for what it doesn't do as for what it does. This is the story of a married parent suddenly forced to realign priorities when their spouse walks out. Think Kramer vs. Kramer - and then make the central character a woman instead of a man.
True Story is not a bad movie; indeed, it's a creepy little tale that has moments that will unnerve you. But the limitations of its script and of Jonah Hill's performance in the central role keep it from transcending its shortcomings.