The degree to which you will enjoy Celeste and Jesse Forever solely depends on how ensorcelled you are by the luminous Rashida Jones.

It’s impossible not to watch Ai Weiwei, dubbed by some as the “Chinese Andy Warhol,” tell his motherland to eff right on off without thinking one thing first and foremost: That dude has got some Buddha-sized stones.

Scuff him, scrape him, buff him up; nobody is going to buy Shia LaBeouf as a country boy. He has a face built for Instagram and his posture is that of a narcissist demanding bottle service at a trendy club.

Premium Rush is crap. It may, however, be somewhat fun crap, depending on your tolerance for scenery chewing, "look how current we are" cultural references and spandex.

Everybody needs a little help. Writer/director/actor Dax Shepard could have probably used another writer, a third director (David Palmer already co-directed) and a better group of actors for Hit and Run, a movie that is a cinematic traffic accident with multiple fatalities.

Before Pixar flexed its artistic muscle (a muscle they could stand to exercise more frequently these days), the message in American animated films ranged from "always be true to yourself" to "always be true to yourself and also get heterosexually married."

Writers Chris Henchy and Shawn Harwell move beyond the standard skewing of attack-ad politics and candidates that are either incompetent or lecherous. Oh, sure, they have fun with the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion, but the villains are the ones shouting “pay no attention to the douchebags behind the curtain.

The film opens with Cross in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, having to fend off a wolf attack and survive an extraordinarily hostile environment until he meets up with another agent (Oscar Isaac). Cross learns he’s not the only Outcome creation and is then forced to make his way back to civilization after a drone attacks their isolated cabin.

Total Recall is the sci-fi tale of a quasi-postapocalyptic duckface war between Kate Beckinsale and Jessica Biel, with Colin Ferrell as the judge. At least, that’s what this remake of an adaptation of a short story, written by a gob-stopping five separate writers, seems to be about. Any larger theme is missed among the cacophony of dubstep and techno sounds, Farrell’s unrepentant shirtlessness and Biel and Beckinsale’s leather pants.

They should hand out oxygen tanks before each screening of Beasts of the Southern Wild because writer/director Benh Zeitlin’s debut feature film takes your breath in the very first scene and plays keep away with it for more than 90 minutes.