Desson Thomson

Although the movie has its moments, it's a tearjerker that jerks too hard.

Never was the case for psychotropic medication more acute than in Jovovich's performance.

Fails to capture the spiritual hallelujah of the novel.

So full of pep you can't help surrendering to its creative energy.

Ruben, at least, is adept with suspense tactics. He keeps Bergin lurking off screen for an agonizingly long time and he knows his suspenseful way around a bathtub. There's also some respectably scary business to do with neatly arranged bathroom towels and food cans in the pantry. But Ruben is merely modulating mediocre material.

We are left with vivid images of Dominique, whose desire to change his country, despite formidable intimidation, is an inspiration to any supporter of democracy.

The longer I take to review this movie, the more the absurdities loom. So let me finish before I think about the story's stupidly plotted structure or recall how tiring it was to watch apes perpetually pushing humans to the ground or sending them pirouetting into the air.

Hollywood Homicide is about murder, all right: the wholesale slaughter of anything funny, original or even vaguely logical.

Ferrell provides just enough humor to get us through the familiar fare and enjoy the ride.

The suspense is laughably absent.

There may not be a bigger-hearted performance this year than Jamie Foxx's in Ray.

That mind-bending, mystical business was better handled in such films as 1990's "Jacob's Ladder."

The problem with this movie is the problem with most Renny Harlin movies: There's an excessive amount of excess -- a mind-numbing plurality of firearm battles, vehicular explosions and brutally frank sexual talk.

The only reason this dilemma has any import is thanks to Bardem, who almost single-handedly drags the film along.

A well-mounted, macabre seriocomedy with passing punchlines. And for about half the movie, it's compelling stuff.

Every moment of the way, there is a delectable sense of subtle menace and, at the center of it all, Huppert's haunting expression, part sphinx, part grace and maybe part scary.

A blundering cringefest, thanks to unintentionally laughable dialogue, hackneyed writing and uninspired direction.

August, who also made "Pelle the Conqueror" and "House of the Spirits," steers this story to its stirring conclusion with firm lack of sentimentality.

All the movie's treacheries, deceptions and story twists are marred by our lack of innocence. We see the big picture way before the characters do, and that pushes us right out of the movie and back into our seats -- the last place we want to be.

The movie's sweeter than funny, but still has a fair share of guffaws.

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.