During my extended holiday stay in the Chicago area, I saw a fantastic movie, a sizable disappointment, and an utter clunker. But as Carol, Legend, and The Danish Girl aren't currently playing at a theater near you (at least if you live in the Quad Cities region), let's instead focus on the other fantastic movie, sizable disappointment, and utter clunker I saw.

SISTERS

Sisters is about two 40-something siblings (Tina Fey and Amy Poehler) who, on the eve of its selling, decide to throw one last, big, balls-out get-together in the Orlando home of their youth. And the movie feels like some debaucherous parties that you might've thrown: It's awesome at the start, intermittently enjoyable while it's happening, and the people who showed up don't seem to understand when it's time for them to just leave already. As with such parties, you're not all that upset that they decided to stick around - you're happy they came. But less of them, and their being less wasted, would've definitely been more, just as director Jason Moore's two-hour comedy would've likely been a stronger, more satisfying entertainment if it clocked in at 90 minutes, and had given us fewer scenes with Fey and Poehler in hostess mode.

KRAMPUS

What kind of sick bastard invented the jack-in-the-box? I mean, really: You turn a crank and hear an off-key rendition of "Pop Goes the Weasel," and, the moment you're most lulled into its creaky sing-song, a freaking clown jumps out at you?! As children's toys go, this one's just the worst - and, in its scary/funny way, also kind of the best. The same could be said for the new horror comedy Krampus, which, in one memorable scene, employs a jack-in-the-box for maximum giggles and shrieks. It's a blunt and mostly clumsy piece of work, but also admirably creepy and sometimes very funny, and definitely one of the livelier yuletide-themed films of its type since Gremlins.

SPOTLIGHT

Spotlight, director/co-writer Thomas McCarthy's dramatic procedural exploring the events leading to the Boston Globe's 2002 exposé on sexual abuse within the Catholic church, isn't much to look at. Its color palette is generally restricted to sallow browns and grays, and even under the fluorescent illumination of the Globe offices, the air is heavy with an oppressive pall. A man racing down a courthouse hallway is the closest the film comes to an action sequence. One montage is devoted solely to journalists scanning address directories with rulers. And to my eyes, Spotlight - scene by scene, minute by minute - still emerges as the least boring movie of the year.