Desson Thomson

It's too bad the movie's intriguing effect wears off (so to speak) about two-thirds through.

Manages to be innocent, physically passionate, earnestly romantic and self-deprecatingly funny, all at once.

Climb into this rig and you'll be sweating bullets.

There's a problem: This romance isn't developed enough to be truly satisfying -- it's fat-free SnackWell's when you want Godiva. It's not the original story we signed up for -- or thought we did.

Essentially a dumb guy's day in Heaven. The movie's retrofitted with stunts, fights, explosions, drugs, babes and cars -- not necessarily in that order.

At best, the movie is a problematic chamber piece; at worst, a misdirected, slightly misanthropic pretension.

A fascinating premise. And yet, the movie, directed by Bruce Beresford, never quite blooms.

A feel-good infusion for your precious little darling (or pack of darlings) who could use an uplifting fantasy.

With the exception of a few enjoyable action scenes, such as when Aeon and fellow operative Sithandra (Sophie Okonedo) flip and backflip their way across a lethal garden of bullet-spewing trees and spikes disguised as blades of grass, Aeon Flux is surprisingly draggy.

It's a B+, not an A. This would be enough for most filmmakers. But Anderson must contend with a higher standard. It's his fault for being original.

A hugely absorbing social drama that is, by turns, excruciating, sad and sardonic.

If you're looking to take your children to something harmless, that doesn't embarrass anyone, this light comedy (a gentle parody of those "Behind the Music" specials on cable TV) is your next outing.

Despite a subject of immense potential -- the movie's surprisingly uninvolving.

More sluggish than a funeral barge, cheaper than a sale at K mart, it's a nerd, it's a shame, it's Superman IV.

Unfortunately, the story, adapted by Anne Rice from her best-selling novel, sucks at the neck a little too long. A 23-minute snipping from this 123-minute movie would have done wonders.

May be ambitious in its genre-defying abandon, sideswiping science fiction, satire, film noir and melodrama along the way, but it's also exasperatingly convoluted, self-amused and politically sophomoric.

The Return is a pleasant if superfluous invasion of your local theaters. Everyone in front of the Cocoon Uno camera is back, including Don Ameche, Wilford Brimley, Brian Dennehy, Hume Cronyn, Jessica Tandy, Steve Guttenberg and nine others. It's nice to see the old codgers still alive, kicking and making whoopee. But don't look for more than extra-terrestrial homecoming.

Admirable in its refusal to be politically correct.

This isn't real life. It isn't even a movie. It's an extended sitcom. And for the first time in your life, you'll actually beg for commercials.

An easy-on-the-sensibilities family film, Eddie Murphy practically assumes the easygoing manner of Mister Rogers, a character he used to wickedly lampoon on "Saturday Night Live."

[An] appealing, if overcooked romantic comedy.

Demonstrates what writer-director Levinson does best: evoke the sights, smells and atmosphere of his youth with intelligence, humor and a keen sense of social perspective.

A humanistic gem of a movie, with unforgettable performances from Linney and Ruffalo.

Sketchy but often entertaining.

Director Phillip Noyce has made a serious movie that switches to almost popcorn entertainment.

If you're in the right frame of mind -- a sort of anything-goes, Elmore Leonard spirit -- this thing's going to be your kind of evening.

Disappointingly facile and unenlightening. Things are only interesting when Spacey is on screen, which makes a video rental worth it -- for that tour-de-force nastiness. [12 May 1995, p.N50]

The most enjoyable John Sayles movie in recent memory.

It's been gunned before -- and so much better.

These dramatic shortfalls make us merely worried that two human beings are in danger, but not two compelling souls. There's your missing ingredient, the human X-factor.

May not be the ultimate word on the Tibetan situation, or even the Dalai Lama, but its heart seems to be in the right place; and it's entertaining enough to give audiences an emotional sense of the story. [16 January 1998, p.N32]

A deft, entertaining story that mixes menace with charm and satire with seriousness.

In the end, however, when all Pacino's demons are bared, they don't add up to the poignant punchline you were set up for. The movie seems to have two or three finales too many -- a disturbing trend in all too many films of late.

It's an intriguing experience.

Sitting through The Hangover is like watching "Memento" featuring the Three Stooges.

So disarming, it's hard to say anything but good things about it. So get in line. The doctor is in.

Where the movie succeeds-and succeeds wonderfully-is when it stays a heartbeat away from politics. For two-thirds of the movie, it's an involving, boxing saga and romance.

Rush is too sinfully good for the drama he's in.

Cruise is at the top of his form, and Gooding makes a brilliant opponent.

Fluffily enjoyable.

Kids will understand this stuff. If you can remember your younger, goofier roots, so will you. Sandlot isn't well made but it's alive with dopey, summertime spirit.

It has its own sunsplashed vitality, thanks to spirited writing by Audrey Wells and winning performances from all three principals.

A third-rate love story.

Faraway...is vaguely deflating, a film that doesn't build to a powerful climax so much as gradually run out of air.

You're invited to fish for the comedy within the movie, within Harry's world, which happens to be falling apart around the hapless schlemiel's ears.

One extended guilty pleasure.

It's something no one should watch.

It's a triumph of vile over content; mindless nihilism posing as hipness.

This is not a fantastic movie. But there's more to it than just an MTV-slickified "Midnight Express" starring two young, photogenic stars.

Consider the title your best advice.

Takes you down paths full of primitive, almost biblical implications, but it also finds comic relief in moments of palpable tension.

The movie’s main appeal—beyond stomach yearnings caused by its cuisine—comes from the actors, who infuse their archetypal roles with comedic appeal.

David Gale deserves the chair for its brutal assault on subtlety.

It manages to keep you going until the end and delivers the appropriate payoffs as a generic-brand thriller.

There are some very funny passing lines, but the movie's too uneven to enjoy.

A witty, raunchy comedy, which proves that a well-written piece of business – oozing with sex, wit and nasty intrigue – works for any generation.

Tarkovsky pulls you into a dark, foreboding nightmare and Nykvist gives that nightmare an explosive awakening.

There were moments when I thought Gone in 60 Seconds might be a passably entertaining movie. I figure those moments, strung end-to-end, would total 30 or 40 seconds.

Hoffman's touchingly fractured performance gives the picture a warm dimension.

Taxes the threshold of acceptable cuteness.