It’s not the worst, as group-of-dudes comedy sequels go. We’re not talking Ghostbusters II here. But of course, we weren’t talking Ghostbusters to begin with. We were talking The Hangover. So this is a little weird: It’s like expecting more and less at the same time.

Orlando Bloom and his guilty-by-association co-star Keira Knightley have mercifully walked the plank. Finally, the fourth installment of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise has found its way toward coherence.

Korean filmmaker Lee Chang-dong’s latest, a Cannes Film Festival screenplay prizewinner last year, opens on an effortlessly lyrical moment. Only after we determine that, yes, a dead teenage girl is indeed floating face-down in the river on this otherwise lovely day, does the title fade in: Poetry.

We know this about Thor: Thursday is named after him. The movie doesn’t get into that. Too banal? Also, he’s the god of thunder, which the movie does get into, quite vividly.

What starts out as an all-too-formulaic teen romantic comedy settles into a forgivably recipe-driven think piece on the milestone significance of that unique social gathering known as the prom.

Even those with an aversion to upbeat, sports-themed feel-good dramas are bound to be seduced by the wrestling indie Win Win.

Not every movie must be driven by characters. Some may be shoved forward against their will by a Chemical Brothers soundtrack. Or so hopes director Joe Wright (The Soloist), who now brings us the steadily grooving but swiftly degenerating faux-fairy-tale revenge thriller or gangling music video known as Hanna.

When Marjorie Wright set out to make a film about what the political context to a solution in Israel might look like, she found that people weren’t interested in answering abstract questions.

Surely no offense to Anne Hathaway and James Franco was intended when some bloggers revived the idea that Kevin Spacey ought to host next year’s Oscars. It might not be a bad idea. After all, he’s pretty much gone to seed as an actor.

Red Riding Hood is a real Bavarian cream dream, existing in a soundstage Expressionist/Freudian forest where the trees sprout thick, jutting thorns, haystacks bloom with bright blue petals, and pure snow exists for the purpose of being mottled with drops of crimson blood.