Elizabeth Weitzman

From the wry narration to the girlish mannerisms, Parker really does turn this film into "Sex and the Kiddies."

Most of the family films churned out today are so junky it's almost a shock to find one in which the animals never spout sassy one-liners, or show off their hilarious hip-hop moves.

Given that his subjects are so inspiring, surely Levy could have spiced up his storytelling with a bit more creativity.

The film's structure is so boldly conceived it seems unfair to focus on flaws. But the central problem is undeniable: There is no chemistry whatsoever between the leads.

A Disney movie about a Disney project, this slick sailing documentary feels a little too self-promotional, almost like an attraction you might stumble into at Epcot. But at least it turns out to be a fairly wild ride.

Perry may be the world's most high-profile tease, but she sure knows how to show us a good time.

A great many New Yorkers are rightfully indebted to doormen, but Jaume Balagueró's nasty little thriller offers a decidedly darker perspective.

Holwerda’s film never bothers to conceal its fawning view of Dawkins and Krauss — or challenge their dogma. And there’s no need for empty celebrity cameos from fans like Cameron Diaz (“Knowledge is power,” she reveals).

Though it feels at first like a musty edition of "Masterpiece Theatre," Michael Hoffman's adaptation of a novel by Jay Parini holds enough surprises to make a memorable impact.

What’s most surprising is that this talky dramedy was a massive smash at home in France, outearning blockbusters like “The Avengers.”

Melancholy 16-year-olds are the ideal audience for It's Kind of a Funny Story, which actually feels as though it were made by an especially precocious adolescent.

Aside from Scott, only Liev Schreiber - as an aging competitor - manages to steady the frenetic swirl. Whenever the two of them are together, Goon stops skating around in circles, and matures into the funny, surprisingly touching movie it wants to be.

If you’re only a casual observer of Bergman, you’ll find this documentary as inaccessible as his densest works.

Fast-paced, funny, and packed with – to indulge in a bit of ad-speak — eye-popping action.

As a traditional period biopic, it checks all the boxes in fine fashion. But you’d never know it was inspired by a woman whose life was expansive and contradictory and unwieldy in the extreme.

If you could also use some time off, try his gentle new comedy.

No one’s winning any awards for The Call. But at least the award winners know how to make it worth our while.

Some of Hart’s set — including jokes about his security team and an inspired recounting of a disastrous trip to a dude ranch — is hilarious. And his profane outrage is often funny enough to sell the weaker writing.

There is no satisfactory answer to the titular question posed by this no-frills environmental documentary. But first-time feature director Mary Liz Thomson does answer another one at least as important, by showing us who Judi Bari was.

Most of the movie elicits tense empathy, which builds to a genuinely nerve-wracking sense of dread.

First-time writer/director Michael Johnson falls back on coming-of-age clichés. But overall, his sensitive, moody camerawork and the cast’s strong performances go a long way toward making the familiar feel fresh.

The movie looks great, never lags, and keeps us intrigued throughout. It's not until the high wears off that we realize we've just been had.

The script is basically a retread of every other AARP comedy, from "Grumpy Old Men" to "Wild Hogs." The laughs, in other words, are of the Viagra and kidney stone variety.

A horror flick that's all talk and (almost) no action? The risk pays off better than you'd think.

There's plenty to appreciate in Chris Rock's rollicking documentary about what goes on when African-American women hit the salon.

Dance aficionados are the most obvious audience for this stirring chronicle, but anyone should to be able to find inspiration in Halprin's strikingly open-minded outlook.

Though the material isn’t quite ready for primetime, Winstead once again proves herself a major player.

This sympathetic documentary chronicles her decision to come out, which required a battle plan as extensive as the ones applied to the rest of her career.

Intelligent thriller--turns-- into an embarrassing gothic horror show.

It’s a shame the filmmakers felt constrained by the import of their subject matter, rather than inspired to take some artistic risks. But even when the storytelling falters, the story itself — not merely extraordinary, but eternally relevant — remains paramount.

Argott treats Barnes' story as an intellectual crime thriller, uncovering each new surprise -- and a seemingly endless parade of villains -- with a deadpan flourish.

What saves Country Strong from drowning in its own tears are the leads, all four of whom imbue Feste's unabashedly clichéd script with some genuine humanity.

The story has heat, even if the movie is more entranced with its subjects than in what they're trying to achieve.

A decent comedy, good-natured if unspecial, amusing if rarely hilarious.

That the film is overlong ultimately testifies to its importance, though after a while, the outrageous details start to run together like surreal satire. Except, of course, that it's all true.

Neither Claude nor Ozon comes up with a satisfying finish to this intriguing setup. But because they’re both so committed to seducing their audience, it’s a lot of fun watching them try.

This Norwegian zombie flick is perfect for those who just want a few good jolts and whole lot of gore.

Fans of Andrew Bujalski's previous mumblecore movies are the likeliest audience for his latest, a modest, slice-of-life indie that doesn't quite live up to his ­earlier efforts.

McDonagh indulges in too many '90s affectations, from blaring chapter titles to philosophizing gangsters. But he captures his misty setting's insular atmosphere beautifully.

Paradis - Johnny Depp's real-life love - is as blank as she is beautiful. But Duris is so gung-ho that he turns each ridiculous premise into a masterpiece of comic mayhem.

Richman's no-nonsense approach, which relies heavily on interviews with the eloquent, 98-year-old Gruber, feels more suited to a televised biography.

Instead of expanding their sights, Fleischer and Beall narrow them, into a repetitive and increasingly exhausting series of shootouts. By the end, those guns might as well be held by extras, rather than some of the most talented actors of our time.

There are no supermodels or Cinderellas in this sadly compelling story, just predators and the impoverished dreamers who want to trust them.

This isn't a family -- or a film -- you'll ­easily forget.

Very little actually happens, since most of the time Mr. Shi sits alone in Yilan's empty apartment, wondering how to help her. But there's a gentle beauty in these long, anguished silences, and Wang and his actors make the most of it.

Music lovers will appreciate both the score and the nostalgic end credits, which revisit the early years of the aged supporting cast (many of whom were actual musicians).

A sensitive drama that marks a notably personal feature debut.

It's certainly been a while since we've seen a movie this resolutely old-fashioned. But while the script feels a little stiff and moralistic at times, it's hard to fault a film with such an intelligent, good-hearted heroine.

Anyone looking for something original or unexpected should check out the trio of short films that comprise this entertaining ode to the titular city.

Directors Jon Hart and Matthew Kaufman don’t delve deeply enough into the psyche of club founder Larry Levenson or the culture he exploited. But they do present an entertaining snapshot of his brief reign as New York’s self-appointed King of Swing.

The script is stocked with amusing one-liners, and there are just enough caustic observations to keep viewers nodding in agreement.

Interestingly, it’s Cena — and co-lead Awkwafina — who give the two-dimensional structure some three-dimensional heft. But they have to work pretty hard to bust out of its repetitive cycle of low-stakes comic violence.

Filmmaker and subject also share a disdain for restraint, shouting and jostling to ensure we’ve gotten their point. But while their parallel passions aren’t exactly subtle, they do make their mark.

Given that we already have a documentary that captures the event so successfully from inside the era, it’s curious that the filmmakers don’t try to mine a perspective beyond nostalgia

A big heart and strong cast go a long way towards elevating its prosaic approach.

Ultimately, Daniels has made a touching and forceful film about three generations attempting to overcome familial and societal trauma. It’s only the Devil who underdelivers.

As a mainstream slasher remake, Black Christmas is bound to be judged a letdown. But Takal’s aims are more subversive. And thanks to her, there’s now a bonkers deconstruction of a mainstream slasher remake hiding in plain sight.

The Phantom of the Open tries so hard to be a winking commentary on British heartwarmers about lovable outsiders. And its efforts are, as often as not, entertaining. But after a while, it becomes clear that what it wants more than anything is to be embraced as a crowd-pleasing comedy itself.

The filmmakers’ connection to the material is always palpable and undeniably affecting.

Bamford seems remarkably at home in her unsettled state, to such a degree that her self-awareness feels downright aspirational.

Odd as it is to watch both DeLoreans treated as afterthoughts, Driven is a joyride more interested in the journey than in any significant destination.

Working with a self-consciously urgent, neo-noir style, Goldberg seems intent on expressing a meaningful message of some kind. It's too bad, then, that he has chosen such a shallow subject.

Good intentions abound in this earnest debut film.

After lulling us into a neartorpor, Jia sneaks in one of the most gut-punching endings in recent memory.

Wilson works overtime to hold Peter Cattaneo's flimsy comedy together.

A disappointing retread of a bunch of better movies.

But where there is a natural poetry of motion in surfing movies, off-road racing is a herky-jerky pastime whose ­appeal is hard to fathom. I guess you had to be there.

This Grimm-influenced fairy tale has a contemporary twist and the best of intentions, and that's about all there is to say for it.

With a few exceptions, the Indian characters are two-dimensional buffoons whose traditions are presented as silly quirks meant for cheap laughs.

Though the energy occasionally flags, the movie does a nice job of exploiting the crossover potential.

Unfortunately, though, Bynes' persistent mugging only emphasizes Nussbaum's relentlessly cartoonish direction.

Eisenstadt does a nice job with limited resources (shot briskly on video, the film feels like a home movie), successfully capturing the futility of struggling actors.

Though the overall effect feels a little anemic compared with its predecessor, the ads promise blood, and - oh yes - there is blood.

This exhausting romance feels more like a long-lost episode of "Three's Company" in which Jack Tripper decides he is actually gay.

Has its moments, it's also regrettably ordinary.

Rae does offer a riveting introduction to the American Indian civil rights movement.

There's a good little psychological thriller buried underneath all the manufactured shocks, in the story of a powerless child standing alone against a parent's mental illness.

Envy is such an ugly emotion, perhaps it deserves an ugly movie. Barry Levinson's Envy fills the bill - a mean-spirited black comedy saturated with dog-poo jokes and only intermittent yowls of mirth.

The humor is sharp and so are the judgments, which pile on until the characters are nearly suffocated under the weight of so much disdain.

The cast gamely tries to keep up, with the scene-stealing O'Dowd making the strongest impression. Still, it all feels so lazy and familiar that adults may find themselves hoping Black will start to challenge himself again - and the more swiftly the better.

Awkwardly plotted drama about a runaway child in Central Park.

After the first hour, it starts to convince you that time really can stand still.

Like its troubled protagonists, Mark Milgard's ultra-sensitive ode to adolescent angst is equal parts earnest and awkward. Should you happen to be a 15-year-old girl, you'll adore it.

Odenkirk is an expert at the unexpected laugh. (This must be the first prison movie in which a cafeteria put-down involves the painter Lucian Freud.)

Frankly, Zellweger shouldn't have to compete with the ghosts of Rosalind Russell and Carole Lombard, as Clooney forces her to do. It's one thing to evoke the Champagne sophistication of the screwball era; it's another to try to emulate it. Inevitably, the harder you work at capturing madcap fizz, the flatter things are going to feel.

For many kids, the response to the original story remains delighted awe. The most appropriate response here is a thoroughly baffled "huh?"

The film is admirably honest about death, so it may be helpful if you're looking for a way to talk to kids about a difficult subject. Otherwise, stand aside and let it pass.

It's so cheerfully cheesy, you can't help but be amused.

Good as she is, the effortlessly magnetic Hayek just can't sell the role of a pathetic soul whose deep insecurities turn her into a sociopath. And if she has too much charisma, Leto, as the smooth Lothario, simply doesn't have enough.

With its halfhearted script, stiff performances and overlong running time, this is the kind of movie that's simultaneously dazzling to look at, and increasingly tough to sit through.

Feels a little too much like a film-school project, but it does offer an informative look at a timely issue.

Fashion is something you either get or you don't, and whether you'll want to lay down $10 for Douglas Keeve's insider documentary depends entirely on whether you'd spend your last few bucks on the new issue of Vogue.

Zombie's sense of fun gets buried under the growing pile of bodies, and eventually, we're left with little more than a frenzy of sadism.

Unfortunately, Wendeers frustrated wake-up call quickly buckles under the heavy burden of its earnest message.

Even lousy adaptations have worth, if they attract attention to little-seen originals.

A good-natured, gleefully juvenile comedy in the tradition of such classic snowbound fare as 1984's "Hot Dog: The Movie."

Offering both too little material and too much, the movie leaves us in the bizarre position of understanding its subject no better by the end than we did at the beginning.

Despite all the bike chases and bullet-dodging, the real sport here is Xtreme posing.

It's easy to see the potential in Lottery Ticket, which boasts an entertaining idea and a game cast. But you only win big if every number hits.

Veering between black comedy and intense psychological drama, David Moreton's bizarre thriller never manages to get its bearings.

Bonneville does provide at least one important service: The next time an older actress complains that there are no good projects for women of a certain age, she'll be able to hold this clunker up as Exhibit A.

Looks great but tells us little about the subjects.

Dylan's stoner comedy barely manages to string together a story, but lucky for him, his two stars radiate charisma even when they're hidden behind clouds of smoke.

Danluck (“North of South, West of East”) gets us halfway there, with a solid cast and crew, an apt depiction of emotional exhaustion, and a heroine we want to root for in a strange setting we’re ready to embrace. But she floats too ineffectually between dream and nightmare, never settling on one or committing to the other.

An excellent actor too often stuck in unworthy roles, Nick Stahl deserves much better than Andrew Jenkins' derivative, self-conscious heist flick.

You know that deflated feeling you get after you've spent a lot of time and money shopping - and have little to show for your efforts? This disappointing biography, about performance artist Reverend Billy, does an awfully good job recreating it.

Nolot elicits the last response expected from a movie that's almost entirely about sex: a yawn.

Perhaps less-sophisticated preteens won't notice the amateurish acting, clunky direction and heavy-handed tenor of the lessons.

Most of the resulting film is downright bizarre. Which, as it turns out, is not entirely to its disadvantage.

It won't change anyone's world, but it'll keep kids happy - and cool - for a couple of hours.

This rather limp Australian comedy shares "Bridget's" theme, but none of its panache.

There are plenty of truths to be found in Last Flag Flying, and a great deal of sincerity as well. But regrettably, there is not much in the way of understatement.

With an appealing lead in Cameron, and a nicely brisk pace, there's a decent, midlevel Apocalypse movie here. But be aware that you will have to peel away several pages of the Bible to get to it.

What holds the movie together -- albeit tenuously -- is the surprisingly sweet-natured pairing of Jesse and Chester.

If you're just hoping for a little easy escapism, bring your tissues and leave your high standards at home.

Doomsday views are a knockout, but the script is a real disaster.

Krause is very nearly too passive. Deadpan is one thing, an empty vessel is another.

Something of a mess.

But the regularly overlooked Stahl burrows honestly into this unpleasant place, adding another worthy portrait to his indie gallery of interesting losers. He's still an actor worth keeping your eyes on. Assuming you can keep them open.

Though all the elements are in place, there's not much magic to be found in Death Defying Acts, an intermittently entertaining but surprisingly modest romance from Gillian Armstrong.

There's enough action to keep us watching, but little incentive to return when the movie's second half - yep, another two hours - hits theaters next week.

Americans, for better or worse, have already seen plenty of budget-busting action flicks with half-baked political pretensions.

A stunner of a movie. But all those gorgeous images never add up to a full picture.

Despite an admirable effort to explore topical concerns, both director and actor are obviously overwhelmed by the immensity of the subject matter.

Half drama, half social tract, Guy Moshe's feature debut is meant to illustrate the horrors of child prostitution in Southeast Asia. The intentions, unfortunately, are more notable than the execution.

Crudup tends to take average parts in standard genre films and turn them into something special.

There are moments of genuine emotion between the wacky tryouts and the nail-biter finale, and it seems churlish to complain. But there's little room for laziness around superior players like "Shaolin Soccer" and "Bend It Like Beckham."

After a smart start, it sinks into sentimental goo that traps even the aggressively snarky Spade.

Yeah, the story is corny and tired. But when you aren't rolling your eyes, you'll probably be wiping them dry.

Perhaps simply discovering a film so dedicated to a different perspective is adventure enough.

Occasionally funny but ultimately desperate comedy.

Posner paints in pretty broad strokes. The movie is studded with convenient coincidences and obvious observations. But he has also put together a nicely polished production that shines with an almost earnest charm.

Like its underachieving protagonist, Steve Pink's teen comedy Accepted flashes just enough charm to get by but is too lazy to really make anything of itself.

Despite a subpar script and performances, this minor indie entry does possess a rather touching belief in its own charm.

Unabashedly earnest, completely predictable and packed with enough high-voltage dance scenes to make any audience applaud.

For all its telling — and showing — of sex, Bloom Up never really gets going until its final few minutes. And that late-stage twist occurs during the rare scene in which everyone is fully clothed.

The plot is contrived, the performances are all over the board, and Chomski's camera ogles his actresses just a little too much.

We'll overlook the clichéd predictability of their partnership and note that Plummer, and M. Emmet Walsh as his lonely friend, are a pleasure to watch.

It's fair to say that Bullock's appealing portrait of a strong-willed Tennessee belle ranks among the best work of her career. It's just too bad the movie around her comes up short.

Fortunately, the sheer amount of talent involved makes for a cheerfully forgettable experience, rather than a memorably miserable one.

The Colombian tourist board won't be too happy about Antonio Negret's intermittently compelling thriller, which presents his native country as a cesspool of corruption and violence.

The ideal movie for people too lazy to read a Harlequin romance, this by-the-numbers love story doesn't offer a single surprise.

The real miracle here is that the hard-working cast manages to turn McGowan's script into an intermittently touching tale.

In Bahman Ghobadi's heart-tugger about Kurdish orphans, those wide eyes are too often used as a manipulative device.

Who would have thought that a real-life tale of sex, drugs and murder could be so instantly forgettable?

Heartfelt but often plodding and awkward, the movie feels like a somewhat subpar Sunday night TV movie.

Has the stilted, slightly surreal feel of a stage piece. Sometimes it works, but too often it doesn't.

It's a bad idea to get too fond of any character, no matter how worthy he (or she) may appear.

Fels like an awkward student film.

The early scenes are flashy fun, and Sturgess (handsome Jude in "Across the Universe") makes a convincing math geek. But the requisite romance and Hollywood-style ending feel as fake as the air allegedly pumped into casinos to revive flagging players

Novice filmmaker John Henry Davis deserves credit for tackling big issues, but he forgot one of the most important credos of his craft. No matter how vital your message, a good story beats a sermon any day.

Think you'd be happy watching Berry do little more than look beautiful? Perfect Stranger gives you plenty of opportunity to find out.

Neither particularly funny nor especially scary. But it's so cheerfully silly, you may just have fun with it anyway.

Like picking out a family at random and walking into their house during dinnertime. Sure, their conversations are fascinating to them. But to you, it's just boring, meaningless chatter.

Writer-director Jordan Walker-Pearlman can't adequately handle either of his tasks: The script is as sappy as the direction is awkward. Fortunately, he was smart enough to enlist a cast of pros who can ably sidestep the project's many potholes.

Only real fans, however, will be willing to slog through the heaping helpings of incomprehensible exposition.

A moving film but not, to be frank, an entirely memorable one.

Jakubowicz successfully portrays a country corrupted beyond repair by financial inequality. But the sadism that drives the story is so gleefully nasty, it overshadows any rational arguments he's trying to make.

She has tackled difficult subjects with sharp wit, but this self-congratulatory set falls well short of our ensuing expectations.

Conceived by U2's Bono, it's not quite as bad as it might have been. After all, its own star, Mel Gibson, has famously called this tale of destitute misfits "as boring as a dog's a——."

Despite strong performances, this drawn-out "Day" feels like a cross between the claustrophobic play it once was, and the R-rated "After-School Special" it wants to be.

There are two ways of looking at Paul Etheredge-Ouzts' thriller, which he is proudly billing as "the first-ever all-gay slasher film." Either it's a truly lousy retread of horror-movie clichés, or it's a mildly amusing sendup of them.

Chadwick builds a brisk pace and sweeping scope that initially grab our interest. But this Anne's sole motivations are sex and greed, and the wild rumors that were designed to destroy her are treated here as gospel.

Ten years into the "Jackass" franchise, it's obvious the well is starting to run dry. Then again, if you show Johnny Knoxville an empty well, he'll jump in headfirst. After packing it with writhing snakes.

The leads are all pros, but thanks to the increasing onslaught of shock humor about abortions and rape, among other things, what starts out amusing eventually becomes something of a drag.

Curious George has long been a bedtime staple, but this animated film version may be the first time his story puts parents to sleep.

Has amusing moments, but falls apart as quickly as a cheap knockoff.

If all you want is sensory overload, hop in. Driven will get you there.

There are a few gross-out laughs, but Without a Paddle's gang-written script doesn't know what it wants to be.

The film moves briskly enough to be entertaining, but it can't escape the smothering hero worship that Sheridan infuses into every frame.

The Swedish edition, which ends with this bleak finale, is downright grim.

Gets it right in every dance sequence, but stumbles badly whenever the characters step offstage.

The moments when "Z&M" works are, almost without exception, the ones that are more sweet than shocking. All the rest, frankly, feel like Apatow Lite.

For a film expressly about an underappreciated culture, there are some boulder-size cliches rolling down these hills.

While The Grudge 2 feels like a second-generation copy - a little faded, with less impact than the first - there are still plenty of moments that will linger in your nightmares.

Gaël Morel's intermittently poignant study in familial discord isn't quite substantive enough to support its histrionic tendencies.

So unfocused we never get to know the man behind the gowns.

If Boyd’s perspective is limited, his focus is sharp.

Overlong at just 91 minutes, Brant Sersen's sardonic sports mockumentary would have made a hilarious short film. Instead, it's a mildly amusing feature that takes a few too many potshots at some very broad targets.

Ultimately, we're looking at a discount "Office Space."

Just how long will it be before Matthew McConaughey finally fulfills his destiny by dropping out of Hollywood and opening a chain of nudist colonies? His heart clearly isn't in acting right now, so when it was time to make Fool's Gold, he asked his abs to do the job for him.

While Seidelman deserves considerable credit for making the rare romantic comedy about seniors, it's a shame the movie itself is as bland as a low-sodium diet.

If we learn anything from Away We Go, it’s that a lack of ambition might not be such a bad thing after all.

As slight as it is sweet.

The movie's considerable problems are not the fault of its dedicated star, Nicole Kidman. She does her job beautifully - which, come to think of it, may be something of a problem after all.

Everyone will be awed by the swooping shots and sweeping vistas -- the stuff IMAX really does know how to do right.

There's a certain morbid fascination, and perverse humor, in watching grown men enthusiastically turn themselves into human cartoons. (For better or worse, these guys are their generation's Stooges.)

A small-scale mess.

A nicely confident Schroeder strides though the movie as if it's a masterpiece, and Mulroney is equally charismatic. But they can't quite save Gracie from feeling like a vanity project that will appeal mostly to middle-school soccer teams, and various extended members of the Shue family.

Casting choices seem oddly random (only Cavanagh and Nicholson have any familial chemistry). And the humor, which is vital to a movie this inherently grim, falls flat.

It's hard to escape the feeling that what Zach Helm's directorial debut really wants to be is "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." But where Roald Dahl's story was brilliantly eccentric and respectfully unsentimental, Helm's is heavy with strained zaniness and hazy morality.

All the Benji productions have had a high corn content, but in this one, even the corn is cheap.

This tactic, and the film's valid but familiar arguments, might have been fleshed out with better results onstage.

This amped-up Japanese thriller is a fairly diverting tale of romantic and cultural alienation.

So, yes, the story is bland and predictable and disappointing. But here's the thing about dance movies (or cheerleading movies, or even marching band movies): All that really matters is the action.

Ultimately, the characters are props in a movie about popped collars and Ray-Bans, rather than the other way around.

Hafstrom never finds the shades in his morality tale, so while Wilson is an intensely charismatic actor, all he can do is respond to relentless, escalating tortures. It's immensely unpleasant for him, and, frankly, not a whole lot better for us.

If you're going to put us through hell, you'd better make it worth our while. Though Daybreak boasts a couple of minor insights and a compelling performance from Pernilla August, only the masochistically inclined will consider them sufficient reward.

With all the brooding, stylized closeups of blood, crosses and cigarettes, the overall effect is fashion-mag chic -- not, as intended, intellectual thriller.

Some moments of off-the-cuff beauty aren't enough to mask the creepy heart of Larry Clark's latest look at outcast kids.

Based on the last book in Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's award-winning trilogy, this third installment in the family-friendly "Shiloh" series is perfect for anyone who wishes "The Waltons" was still around.

There's a lot of potential here, and a sharper script might have made all the difference.

Hunt and, especially, Harper do excellent work rounding out sketchily-written roles. But Pardue, who offers little beyond movie-star looks, is either miscast or genuinely unable to grasp his character's intense longing and insecurity.

A cross-dressing comedy that's all dressing can only, well, leave you cross.

Austrian director Michael Sturminger's debut feature creates a visually evocative environment in which to explore some significant themes, from religious repression to Freudian guilt.

Despite the intriguing potential, the end result is a queasy stalemate.

The first midlife crisis movie apparently made with 8-year-olds in mind, Walt Becker's Wild Hogs brings several talents together for a single, clear purpose: to pay off their mortgages.

An evocative melancholy hangs over Princesa, Henrique Goldman's intermittently affecting tale.

Since the movie's sensibility ranges from the preposterous to the absurd, there are few genuine frights.

On the scale of modern musical adaptations, it's not a disaster of "The Producers" proportions. But it is missing the razzle-dazzle of a success like "Chicago."

Goldthwait explores his themes more thoughtfully than you'd expect, but ultimately, we know just how things will end. And what's subversive about that?

Just once, can't a city slicker go country and stay unchanged? Not in this sentimental 1995 Italian drama.

Confident that his subject matter is inherently scintillating, however, Moore lays it out in creakily dry fashion. Those who consider computers to be glorified word processors may find their eyes glazing over in a matter of minutes.

Less a documentary than an unshaped document, this haphazard collection of interviews with Iraqi insurgents is both enlightening and frustrating.

It's an increasingly rare pleasure to see two naturally aging adults onscreen, and it's not exactly hard work to watch this still-gorgeous pair fall in love.

The Rock commits himself admirably to this trite tale, but by the end, even his enormous shoulders buckle under the weight of so many clichés.

Despite its desperate attempts to appeal to every possible age group, there is no obvious audience for this movie.

A sweet, if slender, surprise.

Marsden's natural charisma is totally wasted in an unlikable role, while Burns doesn't even try to hide his boredom.

Stooping to low-rent laffs By ELIZABETH WEITZMAN SPECIAL TO THE NEWS Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore & Eileen Essel (on floor) DUPLEX. With Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore. Directed by Danny DeVito. Running time: 88 mins. Rated PG-13: Slapstick violence, gross-out humor. There are people who can look at a creaky, crumbling house and home right in on the solid framework and fabulous fireplace. In "Duplex," Ben Stiller is the fireplace. As for the structure, well, this rather rickety comedy boasts a solid base, though sadly, too much of it has been plastered over with moldy jokes and leaky plot devices.

Unfortunately, the patina of witty satire eventually gives way to a gratuitous sadism that makes this sordid story feel like a fraud.

It's really too bad the film remains so resolutely flimsy, because the novice cast is so clearly delighted to be putting on a show, their glee is contagious enough to carry us along -- for a while.

Eerie, opaque and unblinkingly sadomasochistic.

The script, which is rarely smart and barely scary, offers little more than a checklist of panic-inducing plagues, from locusts to boils to bad Southern accents.

Both lightweight and heavy-handed, Carl Bessai's arthouse drama can't even be redeemed by Ian McKellen's sensitive turn in the title role.

Pulse works as a hypnotic meditation on contemporary alienation. Traditional horror fans, however, will search in vain for signs of life.

Never quite knows where it's going - which is especially frustrating, since it takes such a long and painful path to get there.

This ambitious approach is, unfortunately, more intriguing than effective.

Machado establishes a realistically seamy environment for his erotic triangle, and there are some surprisingly tender moments amid the squalor.

Granted, this movie is unlikely to threaten "The Departed" at Oscar time. But for mindless entertainment, you could do a lot worse.

It's a perfectly acceptable short-term baby-sitter. Just make sure the original gets a fair viewing first.

Director George Gallo seems so enamored of Martin Scorsese's Mafia classic, he's borrowed everything from the use of voiceover to the Stones-centric soundtrack to the insistent editing style. What's missing, alas, is the artistry.

Should have been either darker or funnier. Or both.

All we get is the Oedipal nightmare of a mom, the flaky teddy-bear fanatic, the sexual vampire, and on and on.

There are some very moving scenes, and Ankilewitz' emotional and physical strength is certainly inspiring. Equally compelling is the dedication of his able-bodied friends and family, who never patronize him. Regrettably, the film itself, which feels both breathlessly over-awed and padded out at only 74 minutes, is unable to treat him with the same relaxed respect.

Of course the experiences and sacrifices of black troops, which were so often overlooked, should be represented and honored. But because Lee underestimates our desire to do so, the movie that follows doesn't do them justice.

You won’t find anything new here: the sequel is basically a retread of the original, in which Scott delivers the strongest emotional moments, while an amusingly over-the-top Smith perpetually breaks the tension.

The inspector general is an interesting figure, and the images of criminals sobbing over their newfound inner peace are certainly memorable.

Eventually any serious statement is lost in a sea of sadism, as he forces us to watch scene after scene of gruesome, humiliating torture.

An intriguing idea undermined by a lackluster follow-through.

When a 6-foot-tall man is playing your emotionally delicate heroine, a little subtlety goes a long way.

Though it lacks a focus or greater artistic vision, Thomas Balmès' no-frills documentary offers Westerners a valuable glimpse into the sweatshops of the new China.

You may not subscribe to the film's evangelical message, but you'll be floored by the extraordinary musical scenes, which lead up to a showstopper featuring gospel superstars like Donnie McClurkin and Yolanda Adams.

What kind of movie is misdirected, poorly acted, preposterously written--and still wholly entertaining? A B-movie, of course. While Illegal Tender has misguided pretensions towards Serious Filmmaking, it's surprisingly likeable if you see it instead as a cheesy thriller good for a lazy Friday night.

There are some funny moments and amusing cameos, but it's not enough to elevate this project's slapdash approach.

A few genuinely tense scenes are not enough to overcome a thin script, weak direction and an unceasingly high-strung score.

Because his self-conscious musings are given so much space, it helps to arrive at the movie already awed by Shicoff's talents so you can overlook his (and this dramatically unfocused film's) flaws.

So laughably preposterous that it's thoroughly entertaining.

Bogdanich turned in an exhaustively thorough document that sheds some light on a tragedy that remains shadowy to those outside its domain.

Earnest, fact-based drama is marred only by the fact that it wants desperately to save your soul.

Benigni clearly intends to make some impassioned statements about the futility of war, the power of romance, the enduring strength of optimism. However, the once-appealing innocence of his exuberant persona has become curdled over time.

Baldwin and Streep do make the most of the situation, and their sparky chemistry provides the only real draw.

The movie works as well as it does ­because the cast knows the material so ­intimately. (review of re-release)

With the film's hypnotic emphasis on artistry and architecture, most viewers will probably get their satisfaction from the striking visual elements, particularly the stop-motion animation.

Watching the movie felt like any number of bad blind dates.

None of the three screenwriters strained himself with effort. But the relative lack of coarseness and snark may come as a surprising relief, even to 21st-century audiences.

The vision of him pretending to be a sullen teen is a distraction the movie never overcomes.

There are satisfying moments throughout the movie.

At least it's as sweet as it is superficial.

Weintrob's shallow analysis of virtual reality might have been more resonant in the mid-'90s, but he seems well aware that some things are timeless: By the end of his film, he has firmly shifted focus, concentrating far less on the cyber than on the sex.

Rev. Robin Williams goes from mildly comic to downright creepy.

The frantic proceedings are more likely to have you wishing this summer would just come to an end.

This pretty trifle is a movie about gorgeous women having an illicit affair -- period.

The Ten is so proud of its own wit and irreverence that when you fail to be equally impressed, you are likely to wonder if your own sense of humor is, in some way, deficient. Rest assured it is not.

The first feature from Adam Bhala Lough is brashly passionate in its desire to express the power and validity of graffiti art. But it's also preachy and single-minded, populated by a world of sympathetic heroes and hissable villains.

The story line is frustratingly haphazard, spreading out in several directions without ever focusing on one.

Passion this profound can't help but make an impact.

If aesthetics are a prime factor in your movie choices, you may get something out of Ann Hu's overwrought, but beautifully atmospheric, period romance.

It's not that this is lousy entertainment, it's just that it's a Serious Topic given unnecessary Celebrity Sheen.

Perry makes sure villains get their comeuppance, while heroines get big, frilly weddings - with God, and an imperious Maya Angelou - presiding over it all.

Freida Lee Mock's adulatory portrait makes for pleasant viewing - but should it?

If you're a rave virgin, it'll more likely make you feel like the guest nobody invited. And why would you pay nine bucks for that?

The cartoonish characters and outsize performances don't make a smooth transition from stage to screen.

Clearly, interest has waned - both because children grow up and because they move on. It might be time for the folks behind this particular fad to do the same.

It's only when he (Wang) slows down and allows the characters to connect emotionally that his movie's unflinching honesty takes your breath away.