Gregory Weinkauf

Sometimes the 2D and 3D animation doesn't blend, and the heinous pop songs would embarrass Peter Cetera, but there's plenty to like, including a fascinating mechanical contraption and musical score both shamelessly and lovingly stolen from "The Dark Crystal."

Immediately disarming for its candor, verve, and sheer nerve.

This bloody stab at William Castle's 1960 gimmick flick substitutes chaos for chills.

Audiences are advised to sit near the back and squint to avoid noticing some truly egregious lip-non-synching, but otherwise the production is suitably elegant, a fine retreat from summer cinema overkill.

Fry establishes himself as an inspired, world-class talent behind the camera and delivers my favorite film of the year thus far.

Although DeSalvo performs the miracle of making these characters seem like people we actually know, occasionally her delivery definitely makes us wish we didn't.

While this road may contain too many potholes -- and plotholes -- to sustain an even ride, there are moments of greatness scattered throughout to remind us why Lynch is vital and why the French think he's so nifty.

A diverting mix of insight and spectacle, human and superhuman. This machine is built for kids, but rarely do words like "noble," "Hollywood" and "rawkin'" all apply to one movie.

Moves in fits and starts, with some crafty and credible fight choreography by Xin Xin Xiong on either side of the pretty but boring middle hour.

Captures David Bowie's meticulous identity quest with all the frenetic energy (read: slop) of a wildlife documentary on drugs.

It's possible that Gloomy Sunday is more "significant" than it is compelling.

Hovers curiously short of its full potential for mirth and mayhem. Still, the movie is more fair than foul, and it succeeds well enough as a freakish experiment and mockery of all concerned.

Emits the embarrassing aura of a filmmaker desperate to be considered cool, yet utterly inept at finding original ways to reach that status.

Coppola hasn't delivered a turkey--it's a cute little movie, if not as rich as her brother Roman's similarly themed "CQ"--but when work this potentially satisfying remains flatly obvious, it's almost worse than being flat-out bad.

In the realm of B-movies about messing with nature, it's as enjoyable as "Frankenstein Unbound," and unlike, say, "A.I." it's intentionally creepy. It's also occasionally masterful.

Of all the A-list men playing dedicated authority figures, Star Wars alums Harrison Ford and Liam Neeson remain among the most amusing and pleasing, which is why K-19: The Widowmaker glides along engagingly rather than sinking.

This lavish and captivating production by veteran Thai director Chatri Chalerm Yukol (Salween) transports us to another world where even the film stock seems imbued with a timeless, classic quality.

Easily one of the finest and most sophisticated films of the year.

Solondz's singular game plan is to dangle profoundly obnoxious caricatures before us, then punish them mercilessly for their stupidity, which is amusing enough if you're in the mood for that sort of thing.

The result is his (Shyamalan's) most meditative and lovingly rendered offering thus far, if also his least fun.

Has a lot to offer as grand entertainment, from surprising battle sequences (plenty of terror, virtually no gore, brief and tasteful digital enhancement) to fine performances.

Coppola and Murch have balanced their new edit with grace notes of sweetness, elegance and eroticism, and the payoff is grand, providing both a reprieve from the multiple blitzkriegs and a break in the monotony of the cruise up the Nung.

It's pretty safe to say that claustrophobic, gay-themed murder mysteries haven't been this much fun since "Deathtrap."

Much like a cat, the movie is a superfluous gob of fluff with an attitude ranging from idiotic to nasty.

Forces its snuggly weirdo upon us and instructs us from the get-go to love him.

One of the finest qualities of Amadeus is that it reminds us of those rare occasions when an Oscar sweep is actually merited.

Resnick has crafted an ambitious, if extremely uneven, character study.

There's just no arguing with 12 centuries of flamenco, and, in this sensuous movie, no resisting it.

Visit Red Planet, and you'll boldly go where everyone has gone before.

A satisfyingly eerie thriller.

At its best (which isn't much), Le Divorce blusters along with the tolerable tedium of had-to-be-there home movies; at its worst (which is about 90 percent), it illustrates why the French went and invented the word merde.

Sometimes the laughs here seem unintentional, but most giggles are properly earned, and the movie's fun and exciting if you can accept its inherent camp factor.

Austere little creep-out.

As Rikki, Seda is a model of foul duplicity, and the movie itself is a relative rarity: an intelligent showcase of senseless machismo.

The most life-affirming film about death to come along in ages.

The miracle here is not so much that Pray captures the DJs in peak form, but that he comprehensively captures SO MANY of them.

Authenticity and plausibility get gunned down from the get-go, but if explosive shaky-cam ultraviolence and frequent extreme close-ups of greasy whiskers are your bag, this hyperactive wannabe may count as something of a score.

A masterful film about the magic of performance and the foibles of the artists behind it.

In tampering with history, these storytellers present to us a rare and wonderful case of enlightenment beyond the accepted truth.

This may sound an eensy bit hyperbolic, but dig: Mayor of the Sunset Strip is the greatest rock-and-roll movie of all time.

Sayles is rarely a bore, but occasionally he frustrates more than he delights, enlightens or challenges. Such is the case with Casa de los Babys.

This is a sensitive, thinking person's movie with a lot on its mind.

If you want to drift through emotional turmoil and a harrowing loss of security both personal and national, this project may provide some soggy satisfaction.

The lavish drama spans England, France, and Spain (shot mostly in Montreal), and Duigan elegantly paints a moving romance of errors amid torture, bloodshed, and terrible tragedy.

Any cassette of "Millennium" would serve up better thrills and chills.

While you think you're watching just another in a series of British gangster films, you may suddenly realize that you're watching what is, thus far, the year's best horror movie.

Once in a while a film comes along that is as sound, smart, sweet and significant as can be, and Whale Rider is such a film.

A mind of overcooked pasta and a stomach of iron may get you through it, but it really is worth considering how desperately you need cheap chuckles while executive producer Adam Sandler and his favorite charity case laugh all the way to the bank.

Gleefully blurs the line between species. Vive la révolution!

Such a remarkable rift between its charming source material and its heinous cinematic realization that the producers may as well have skipped the hassle of securing licensing rights and simply called this mess Mike Myers: A--hole in Fur.

In this, Lee's most ambitious and successful work yet, his celebrated gift for psychological shading and complexity is on proud display.

A shame, this frenetic mess, as there were loads of reasons to be hopeful.

If this movie is a pedestal, it is far too tall and wide for a performer of Kaufman's stature.

In the end, after the super-modified shovel racing, wild half-pipe action and integral employment of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid," there's a poignancy to the piece.

A tight, rockin' popcorn flick packed with nasty kicks, the year's first major sequel is a rare beast, matching and in some ways superseding the original movie.

Unhampered by imagination and driven solely by libido.

You'll get that $8 nap you've been craving.

The story sustains a strong, hypnotic appeal well deserving of its many awards.

Neither sensuously sizzling nor daftly off-beat, Better Than Sex occasionally rises to its own modest occasion by gently reversing our expectations.

Taken as a whole, the movie seems to be searching for a harmony it never really achieves.

Inventive and richly researched, it's worth admission just to see Der Führer bickering with Mick Fleetwood as a feisty Pablo Picasso.

Smith has fashioned a complex, contemporary Bible epic on his own terms. By turns crafty and clunky, pious and profane, it's clearly a labor of love.

This astonishingly gritty film maintains its strong niche between Roberto Rossellini's "Open City" and Paul Greengrass' "Bloody Sunday" as a pinnacle of war-torn neo-realist drama.

Merhige is too talented to be dismissed as a wannabe, but here his gifts for clever angles and oogy feelings are tethered to blasé genre redundancies and clunky storytelling. Looks great, less thrilling. I blame the screenwriters.