Ed Park

As a dirtier Deepak, Mistry is blankly sweet, suitable for his role as Subcontinental Rorschach.

The low-key animation, featuring little that could not have appeared in its '50s predecessor, is all the more affecting for being so pristinely preserved.

To this viewer and reader, the decade-old juggernaut is as deeply felt as it is flawed, dense and illogical and laudably "weird."

In the rare moments when a rifle, grenade, howitzer, bayonet, dagger, fist, land mine, or flamethrower isn't being deployed, the film pushes its melodramatic plotline with soap operatic shamelessness.

An anti-"Rififi" in which nearly everybody loses their cool, not after the big score goes down but repeatedly and neurotically throughout.

The leads smooth over the plot holes endemic to all 4D fables, making the movie more than mere déjà vu.

Unsettling in spots, Princesa ultimately glosses over the futility of Fernanda's plight, her misery rapidly erased.

Despite a late-inning swoon of pat emotional generosity, Game Six is a gratifying playground of high-wire language.

A bitter little fable of rent control and its discontents, Duplex moves rapidly into darkness and claustrophobia.

Crammed with wild action, obvious but well-mounted gags, and playful effects, the film is refreshingly silly.

Mike Leigh mainstay Timothy Spall deftly shades in the designated goner, fellow "Still Crazy" alum Bill Nighy is sweetly wispy as the capable fop, and anger-management counselor Olivia Williams trembles pleasantly as usual.

Has shades of such oleaginous insider-treading as "The Player" and "Celebrity," but the mood, like the lighting, is altogether sunnier.

The adventure-book pace and topsy-turvy English setting evoke the feel of Stephen Sommers's "Mummy" films.

Numbing but effective debut.

Adept and generally enjoyable.

His story is sad but not humorless.

Yuki's streamlined revenge story (the furious, elegant choreography is by HK maestro Donnie Yen) has in its modest dimensions a surprising grace.

A pleasurably intense burst of anarchy with no moral in sight, thank God.

Solidifying his funnyman rep, Ashton Kutcher appears as oldest child Piper Perabo's model-actor boyfriend, a delightfully brainless narcissist.

One leaves the film with the Twilight Zone sense that the place isn't quite the hellhole prior reports have suggested.

Efficient, suitably anonymous chiller.

Lighthearted if shy of a lark.

Ham-handed to start, with a fondness for cochlea-crushing decibel levels, National Treasure gets more entertaining as the preposterousness rises.

If nothing else, Sophie Fillières's Ouch! is a secret pop culture index.

But mostly the film is just hectic and homiletic: two parts exhausting "Men in Black" mayhem to one part family values.

Patient and fascinated, but never succumbing to abstraction, Wheel of Time can be seen as the middle installment of a trilogy against nature.

Danny Boyle's Millions is not what we'd expect from the "Trainspotting" and "28 Days Later" director. It's essentially a gentle, kid's-eye parable.

When it comes to the "humans," the atmosphere collapses. Unnervingly smooth, mouths moving in strange, even frightening formations, the Polar people are the least convincing things on-screen, glaring impostors amid the otherwise painstakingly rendered scenery.