Carrie Rickey

A disturbing and forceful drama.

A gossamer tale about a heavy subject -- a passive creature who slowly emerges as the active author of her own life.

It's a comedy that knows that no matter one's ethnicity, human foibles, follies and hopes are universal.

Salvadori's choppy film never establishes a comic rhythm.

An exotic and erotic love story about an interracial couple whose cultures have more in common than they ever imagined. [12 Feb 1992, p.D]

Lush. Debauched. Ravishing. And did I mention sexy?

Half enjoyable goof, half an uncomfortable panorama of urban terrorism that just doesn't sit well after Sept. 11.

Floats before your eyes like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The surprise is that, fitted together, these pieces make a completed picture.

Director Jean-Pierre Denis doesn't explore psychological motives, which are, finally, unknowable. What he accomplishes in his chilling, unnerving film is a double portrait of two young women whose lives were as claustrophic, suffocating and chilly as the attics to which they were inevitably consigned.

A superb film that begins with death, ends in renewal, and finds almost as much to laugh about as to cry for.

English wrangles her talent like a virtuoso. Best is Murphy Brown herself, Candice Bergen.

The upside: Chow has energy and invention to burn. The downside: He doesn't know when he blisters his audience.

Whatever romantic tension the film has is communicated in the coiled-spring performance by Crowe, one of the most remarkable actors working.

Scorsese's most accomplished, most disciplined movie since GoodFellas. His most gorgeous, too, with the peaches'n'strawberries'n'cream palette of early Technicolor films.

Ramsay's child actors are nonprofessionals who can only express what they feel — which gives her film an unusual degree of emotional authenticity.

Like most great comedies, Hitch confects a sweetly appealing fantasy.

Featuring seasoned warriors reflecting on whether we can best fight violence with violence is enormously compelling.

It is a difficult and demanding movie, one that rewards the persevering moviegoer just as Pollock's difficult and demanding paintings ultimately reward the steadfast.

Heartbreaking? Sometimes. Involving? You bet.

Blessed are the Pythons for making holy wit of the Holy Writ.

Like a piece of music, Godard structures his film in three movements.

Their exhaustive tribute to hungry zombies, fast girls and faster cars is . . . exhausting, if intermittently entertaining.

Less like "The Waterboy" and more like "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry," only funny.

Like many previous Carrey vehicles, the point of this one directed by Peyton Reed is that one should not live at the extremes, but should achieve a balance between low and high, no and yes.

The dialogue is tart, and likewise the bluesy score (a departure for Disney stalwart Alan Menken, working here with City of Angels lyricist David Zippel). And it's these elements that vault Hercules into the realm of hit and myth. [27 June 1997, p.3]

As irresistible as Chan is irrepressible. In a movie season in which, it seems, all the blockbusters boast wheels, it's a treat to see a movie that has legs.

A film that leaves cinephiles breathless and the mainstream movie maniacs scratching their heads.

Profound, passionate and overflowing with incomparable beauty, Water, like the prior two films in director Deepa Mehta's "Elements" trilogy, celebrates the lives of women who resist marginalization by Indian society.