Edward Crouse

Admittedly compulsive in both sex and shutterbuggery, Araki has long lived on the art-porn border, though this doc aims to show him as conversant in flowers, kitties, skies, and neorealist kids' faces as he is with bondage.

A sharp-dumb, jack- and goof-off affair.

Manages to gracefully step out of the way of its own referential overload.

A free-for-all doc that, like its subject, seems on several planes at once.

Far from terrible, Leconte's latest movie suggests the work of a slightly hip preacher.

Dissolving four characters' lives into the dank smoke of the bitterest of torch songs, Gloomy Sunday fashions an apocryphal, pretty, and somewhat pat biography of the title ballad.

Demands high tolerance for low comedy.

Chock-full of feisty-frank go-girl sextalk speculating on white guys' underplayable size.

Worth sticking around for: the triumphant end credit sequence of each Red Orchestra mug shot morphing into the next one.

Jacket's shrill, Necco-colored sets and distractingly awful CGI long shots almost mask the movie's real coup: Letscher's physique.

Even if actorliness sometimes invades the tired faux-doc form, Unscrewed is, in the end, a likable, wrinkly taint of a movie.

"Check this out, bro," James Cameron says as he returns to the site of the real Titanic, armed with robots, a 3-D Imax camera, and the same colossal hubris that necessitated a call for silence as he accepted his Oscar on behalf of those who perished.

The best sequences -- auditions in a strip bar and a public bathroom -- still can't compete with that industrial musical called "Pola X."