Angie Errigo

Unnervingly, it is both hilariously funny and quite disturbing, with Allen's neuroses and fixations manifested in some shocking ugliness and intimately personal revelations we'd rather not have seen confirmed.

We expect oddball wit of a higher calibre from Guest and co., although their inherent, zany likeability means plenty of laughs.

A superior, haunting thriller of abduction, deception and ethical dilemma with a sobering ending - a moral quandary that demands strong debate outside the cinema.

Sleepwalkers, Steven King's first original screenplay, is horror filmmaking by numbers. It has monster fiends, a few swooshing tracking shots, many a touch lifted from every self-respecting vampire movie ever made, and several weak but intentional laughs to indicate that no one here is taking the thing too seriously.

The performances transform this otherwise orthodox cat-and-mouse movie into a gripping experience.

Those who find men in feathers inherently divine will have a high old time here, and there are enough hilarious cinematic moments for the gob-smacked rest.

It has grown a little thin with age, especially Gere’s yuppie baiting speeches, but there’s a hardness here, an aversion to the dumb action thrills of the genre, that keeps it respectably high up the scale.

Disappointingly dull given the explosive subject matter, this at least attempts to get a message into the mainstream. An extra star for effort rather than execution.

While the supporting actors are engaging, the turgid screenplay lets the whole thing down.

Adorable. Ad-or-able. It will melt even the coldest heart.

Could have been a little more darkly comic in places but the performances are superb.

The result never comes close to being hilarious, merely cute in the corniest way. That it is more of a pleasure than it deserves, is down to the light, bright leads. Cage and Fonda are both charming, though he’s particularly endearing in his uncharacteristic but welcome turn as a soft-hearted, irresistable darling. The slightness is a disappointment, but the concoction is still very sweet indeed.

The sum of the parts is a cautiously optimistic view of love's power to re-shape lives, propounded with considerable appeal.

Despite superb performances by Kathy Bates and Jennifer Jason Leigh, a limp, almost TV movie trite, climax never comes near delivering the shocks it should. A shame, as what could have been superb, is merely average.

Another great, landmark American film of the '70s.

Not as divine as Ang Lee's "Sense and Sensibility," but engagingly comparable to the Gwyneth Paltrow-starring Emma and vastly superior to Mansfield Park.

William H. Macy is a scream as the composite radio announcer whose hyperbolic racetrack reports are not only hilarious, but illustrate the impact of radio in creating a mass culture and how it was instrumental in making sporting events a nationwide obsession.

A solid, child-friendly work which will keep little ones content, if not mesmerised.

Despite its hopeless predictability, this is one of those preposterous and sweet-natured family frolics that you find yourself enjoying in spite of yourself. Check your critical faculties in at the door and get stuck in.

Tedious Western, that's a disappointment given the talent involved.

Cringe-making fun for survivors of the '70s. For the younger majority: a familiar rise and fall of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll enlivened by the gender reversal and performances.

Its faults - sketchy narrative, overblown abstraction - are counterbalanced by its gripping engagement between man and machine, and its rhapsodic wonder at heaven and earth and the infinite beyond.

C'mon, it's Fred and Bing! Depending on your disposition, you can take that as a recommendation or a warning.

Swank’s moving performance, the period dressing and beautiful planes all appeal, but dramatically it doesn’t really soar.

Despite the schmaltz this reviewer lapped it up, not least for the engaging teens, including Alicia Witt, and the spectacle of Dreyfuss strutting his wily stuff to Louie, Louie.

While Landau, Aiello and a brief appearance by Christopher Walken do perk things up, it's a tediously indulgent, redundant work.

Crude, patronising and mawkish, but rescued by excellent performances, beautiful landscape photography, and hard-to-argue-with themes of natural justice, delivered with a punch.

This comedy holds few surprises, bar the realisation that Hal is Zora's father. After that it's dysfunctional family comedy all the way. But this proves to be no bad thing. Goldberg and Danson handle the material with their usual panache, while a young Smith gives a steady post-Fresh Prince supporting role.