Jack Mathews

Blood Diamond is, in the vernacular of Old Hollywood, a rip-roaring adventure, the kind made in the '30s with Clark Gable and the handiest leading lady on contract at MGM.

Depp may not be a trained singer, but his voice is more than passable, and his presence - his Sweeney is Edward Scissorhands gone bad - is perfect. Bonham Carter sings well, too, and young Ed Sanders, as the pie shop's Dickensian apprentice, is a delight.

A personal eulogy, from one artist to another, and an indictment of all systems of government that deny people the right to free expression and the full realization of their talent.

Refreshingly nondogmatic.

It is a sign of the times that audiences will watch these equally selfish lovers and find one infinitely more sensible than the other.

The monster's mashing of Tokyo looks as Ed Wood-like as ever, but the film's humanity gives it depth.

Bale gives a near-great performance as a man with all the symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia and the film weaves an ingenious psychological web.

Whether you lived through the period and will have fond memories jostled, or are scouting for future DVD pleasures, the surest way to see a good movie in a theater this week is to see one about them.

The screenplay is laced with wit and sharp dialogue, and the supporting cast more than makes up for Johnson's inexperience and occasional stiffness.

It's an intricate, at times incoherent, but often funny and consistently fascinating trio of stories with the same actors in different but related roles.

Watching Kevin Costner and William Hurt share grim laughs during Bruce Evans' Mr. Brooks is one of the pleasures of this totally absurd and equally entertaining psychological thriller.

Fascinating and often very funny behind-the-scenes look at the tedium and hard work that go into making strangers laugh.

The favorable three-star rating I'm giving the animated Pokémon: The First Movie is based at least partly on the fact that I expected to dislike it and didn't.

Could well end up on the coming Oscar ballot for best foreign language film.

Sigourney Weaver is a riot in the cynical Faye Dunaway network boss role.

There is a hint of sentimentality among the pals at the end, but not enough to offset the film's harmless combination of camaraderie and wished-for - oh, how they wish for it - debauchery.

There are some problems with the pacing, but this topical thriller about CIA-sanctioned torture is one of the most important "message" movies of the year.

Surely among the darkest-themed movies ever made.

Jonathan Berman's documentary about California's famous Black Bear Ranch is a trip.

It's almost a surprise that the sequel is actually better - much better - than the original.

Kids are going to adore looking at this movie, living in it, flying through and above its brilliant landscape. It's an animated joyride over a relief map of Manhattan. I just wish the script was as good as the paint.

Roberts carries the film in the best sense, by taking us on a human journey of genuine discovery and growth.

This is a very tender portrayal of young people caught up in a blisteringly fast and cynical world, and though their music is hideous, they are a compelling act.

The movie doesn't remind me so much of the movies of Minnelli or Sirk as it does a lavish parody of "Upstairs, Downstairs," with musical interludes (the divas sing, whether they can or not) that are often as painful to watch as they are audaciously performed.

I'm not sure how tolerable this would be without Palmer's charm, because this is a formulated script where everything is tied up in perfect bows, just like life isn't.

The song for which Piaf is best-known - "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" ("No Regrets") - leads to a killer finale with Cotillard perfectly lip-synching Piaf's recording of it. Trust me; you'll want to own it.

This is one of the scariest movies featuring female heroines since the "Alien" series, and what makes it uniquely scary is where these women are -- in tunnels two miles under ground -- when they realize they are not alone.

This is first-rate stuff.