The Grey

The picture's dialogue-heavy stretches and ambiguous finale could leave ticketbuyers impatient for less chatter and more chomping.

Supremely led by Liam Neeson, The Grey may be a wilderness tale, pure and simple, but it’s as compelling as they come.

True to its grim prospectus, The Grey dwells in haunted machismo to the very end.

It's a fine, tough little movie, technically assured and brutally efficient, with a simple story that ventures into some profound existential territory without making a big fuss about it.

A terrifically exciting, deeply unsettling survivalist epic.

Sit through the entire credits. There's one more shot still to come. Not that you wouldn't be content without it.

The gristle inside this movie is one of the things that save it from being simply a series of challenges.

Steely Alaska-set adventure delivers the goods.

As Neeson No-Brainers go, this one, directed as if on a diet of testosterone injections and shots of absinthe by Neeson's A-Team helmer, Joe Carnahan, is a reasonably entertaining, loopy blend of brawny bonding and Samuel Beckett-approved rumination.

Carnahan’s best work since Narc, with a powerhouse performance by Neeson and real emotional heft. So, as much Gut Puncher as Wolf Puncher.

This is admirably ambitious, but Carnahan's not nearly good enough a writer or director to pull it off: the results are portentous, muddled and not nearly as entertaining as Neeson's usual face-punching antics.

Neeson brings gravitas to the table, acting as a legitimizing counterweight to the overwrought dialogue and flesh-tearing lupine hysteria. But in a scenario this persistently ludicrous, he can only do so much.