Jami Bernard

"Grimm's Fairy Tales" were pretty grim, but Criminal Lovers crosses the line and sexualizes your worst fears.

A brilliantly pitch-perfect sendup of a particular type of cheesy movie.

Not only achingly dull, it has no respect for its origins.

What is unusual and exciting about the movie is the assemblage of raw talent in the cast.

It may take a half-hour to get one's bearings, but there's a payoff in the subsequent charm of this nearly wordless, surreal comedy set in a decrepit bathhouse in Bulgaria.

By turns silly and amazing, a mishmash of Kubrickian devices accompanied by a steady Spielbergian drip of sentimentality.

Among the many skills required by a documentary maker is the ability to make reticent people blossom. Michael Almereyda has done that in This So-Called Disaster with several of the film industry's most notorious iconoclasts.

Intelligent and holds your attention, like a mystery story unraveling.

Holm is dazzling as the grubby little misfit, just a little brilliant and a little insane.

Mostly plays like a routine thriller with a classy cast.

Very Bad Things only getes worse. [25 November 1998, p. 44]

It's a deceptively simple tale that tackles, serenely and with surprising humor, issues of gender, power, custom and change.

Students of acting will appreciate the relish with which the characters bite off juicy chunks of dialogue.

An enjoyable, gorgeously photographed aquatic adventure whose stars are blissfully bodacious.

The action scenes, including one on that tourist sightseeing staple, the Bateau Mouche, were directed by Cory Yuen with some creative touches, including a hail of chopsticks during a fight in a restaurant kitchen.

It strains to hard for laughs, with stale jokes about unweildy corpses.

A cheaply voyeuristic story whose "twist" is hardly worth the wait.

The movie tells you right up front you're going to get what you came for: big stars, winking inside jokes and a spin on something so familiar it doesn't matter that you don't buy it for one minute. You're not meant to.

It makes sly sense to link female hormonal bursts with the lunar cycle of the werewolf, but the movie's final act is the usual matted-fur chase.

It's said to be an autobiography, but that pertains only in the loosest sense. It's a comedy. It's a 1920s silent movie. It is practically indescribable. And it is pure genius.

A slice of life that adds up to exactly the sum of its parts, no more, no less.

Cross-dressing and the Irish Troubles don't mix well in Neil Jordan's cloying, fanciful Breakfast on Pluto.

The mere fact that Shakespeare can teach hardened criminals to search their souls gives hope that forgiveness and redemption are possible.

Any woman who wears more than a size 12 -- and that would be the majority of adult females in the United States -- will get buckets of self-esteem from Real Women Have Curves.

Has been fine-tuned for adolescent boys, from the hectic pace right down to the way Cassandra's breasts are always barely draped.

Garcia's somber narration is a turnoff, but this plucky little diatribe gets you thinking about the larger implications facing future generations.

A painfully unfunny vehicle for Norm Macdonald, who here shows exactly why he was ousted from NBC's Saturday Night Live. [13 Jun 1998, p.27]

Here's one movie you'll want to see with an audience of squealing, excited, terrified kids, their arms extended greedily to grab, squish or ward off all things exoskeletal and beady-eyed. It's gross, but in the nicest way (meaning no roaches).

Kinetic, sexy and full of meaningful coincidences and intertwined fates.

The actors are emotional, but the presentation is theoretical to the point of absurdity.

A delightful and endearing romantic comedy with the shape and resonance of a Jane Austen novel.

A failed experiment in magical realism that makes you wonder where the magic went.

In Wide Blue Road, his (Montand) character and the wages of desperation are much more complex. Here is the real lost Atlantis.

Has a simple but exceptionally powerful and uplifting emotional lure.

Witless, insulting satire of sorority girls that shamelessly ridicules the mentally challenged. The filmmakers aren't exactly Mensa candidates themselves.

Exquisitely moving story.

To pay for all the explosions and stunt work, the filmmakers must have decided to skimp on the screenplay. The rule of thumb is that one page of script equals one minute of movie, but there is so little dialogue in Ballistic that it could have been written on a matchbook.

Cuba Gooding Jr. can just return his "Jerry Maguire" Oscar right now. He has no excuse for making Boat Trip, a perniciously unfunny comedy.

Not even Rupert Everett is able to breathe life into soapy Thing.

Virtually plotless, the movie does its best to be offensive, but not in the service of any particular theme. The use of mentally impaired youngsters as actors is cheap and exploitative. You can only wonder about the emperor's new clothes, and how much Hollywood paid for them. [17 Oct. 1997, p.52]

Carrie is back and she's all the rage.

Relationship comedy like this is mother's milk to Drew Barrymore, who, as usual, is adorable and perfect.

The movie turns choppy in the final third, but it is a monumental achievement nonetheless.

This stirring children's movie about separation anxiety is swimming with comic references only adults will catch, thus greatly expanding the potential audience.

Not so much a movie as a self-contained world for like-minded people who wear their outsider status on their sleeves.

A gentle, soulful comedy about everyday dreams and what it takes to make them come true.

Seeing the splendid new version of Pride & Prejudice can be hazardous to your health: There's a very real danger of swooning.

In documentary footage played over the closing credits, the real warrior is introduced to American fast food and returns to his people too fat and sluggish to spear himself a snack, let alone a missionary.

Although "Jam" is clearly a marketing tool with not much to say beyond "be the best that you can be," it strives to preserve the humor that made Looney Tunes so popular among adults.

A solid action story with inventive battles (one on the Statue of Liberty) and satisfyingly gooey special effects.

A rare blend of comedy and tenderness whose point is not the horrors of war but the lengths a parent will go to protect his child's innocence.

With a cast of mostly non-actors, the film seems rough-hewn, like something you'd find rusted along a road. But it's actually a sophisticated blend of crime thriller, coming-of-age story and social realism.

Egoyan's uncharacteristic bid for the mainstream flames out on many levels, but it's hard not to stare with fascination at the dying embers.

It all makes the head spin -- in the direction of the exit sign.

An underwritten drama.

Rock School celebrates music, family, hard work and, yes, Paul Green. Best of all, it shows the flexibility of children to learn and adapt -- even when their teacher is nuts.

One of the most honest and harrowing depictions of female adolescence ever put to film.

This rousing story of the comeback colt comes close to a modern-day Frank Capra film without the pandering or mawkishness. Yes, it's a bit hokey, but if you fight the movie's gait you'll miss the excitement of the race.

A story about people learning to know themselves through relationships to others -- delivered with gentle, offbeat humor.

A dreadful animated movie stuffed with bad puns and little internal logic. More dangerous than the world icing over is the danger of eyeballs rolling back into the heads of parents accompanying kids to this.

It's Rock's first venture into leading-man territory, and the material is carefully tailored to his measurements. He's fully believable as a standup comic. How he'll fare as a character other than Chris Rock is yet to be determined.

A pleasant romp through the land of Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction.

Gross, nearly unwatchable comedy.

Old-fashioned comedy-drama.

Has all the tense crackle of film noir and the molasses drip of irony that is the trademark of movie-making brothers Joel and Ethan Coen.

A cat's cradle of creepy childhood memory oozing unreliably from the mind of an aging, desiccated, paranoid schizophrenic, played quite amazingly by a mumbling, stooped, shifty-eyed Ralph Fiennes.

It's the first mainstream gay movie that feels totally comfortable in its shoes.

The movie comes alive in bursts such as a train-top fight hampered by gale-force winds. Cruise's star wattage may hog the show, but it insures that Mission: Impossible won't self-destruct easily.

The tone moves from gently jocular (Irons appears in drag) to mystically morose (a female shaman tries to ululate up a cure), and that creates a jarring effect from which the movie does not recover.

Thrillers have become so gnawingly generic that The Bourne Identity wakes the senses without leaning on cliché and soundtrack.

A Jane Austen-like tale of sense and sensibility, with some of the wit, but, alas, none of the linguistic legerdemain.

Brisk pacing and a remarkable cast achieve the sleight-of-hand effect of making you forgive some implausible twists and a sanitized ending.

Does an uncommonly good job of summoning all that goes into a masterpiece - erotic tension, financial considerations, even the sensual, elaborate grinding and mixing of paint colors as per 17th-century requirements.

Less bloody than its predecessors, Lady Vengeance wraps up with a killer (literally) finale that calls into question the killer instinct. It's one of the reasons Park's brutal films are so emotionally rewarding.

It's a difficult issue, one that is not well served by a hollow confection like I Am Sam.

Excellent, troubling social commentary based on a true story.

The overall result is a romantic comedy that indulges fantasies, calms insecurities (can an ordinary bloke stack up?), and breaks and mends hearts with surgical precision.

Makes a fine date movie...thanks to its life-affirming view of friendship, love and honor.

Like a Hollywood buddy-cop movie gone through a multi-culti blender. It holds up a funhouse mirror to that familiar scenario in which a maverick cop breaks the rules.

The movie is mostly a series of frenetic clashes, dubious near misses and car chases. It lacks the human interest and snowy splendor of the first movie, directed by Doug Liman.

The esteemed actor Derek Jacobi goes slumming as someone who pulls that metal badge from the chest of a cadaver. Shakespeare it's not.

If you want pretentious and unsavory, check out Buddy Boy.

Certainly there are people who will welcome this kind of "wholesome" family entertainment, but it feels false.

Not without missteps and the occasional mouthful of sugar, but it grows on you.

You'd never guess this just-off-center movie was directed by indie hero Gus Van Sant. Maybe, like Will, he's casual about his gifts and feels no need to trot them out.

The movie was snatched, all right, and Ritchie is the culprit.

A juicy noir stew of amorality that's the best thing since "Chinatown."

Hugo Weaving, weaving deftly beneath a fixed plastic grin and Prince Valiant wig as the mysterious avenger in V for Vendetta, both chills and amuses throughout this enjoyable - if occasionally irresponsible - comic-book thriller.

The dialogue is nothing to speak of, but the movie has a dynamite opening sequence in which the corporation turns on its workers, leaving them, if not dead, then with "virtually no intelligence," like office workers everywhere.

The 2,400 Americans who lost their lives at Pearl Harbor deserve a nobler memorial than this sentimental hogwash that reduces heroism to "Top Gun" antics and pretty cinematography.

Unlike Patch Adams, Sy is not lovable. But you wind up feeling for him, much as you feel for Sy's pet hamster on that endless wheel.

As a meditation on love and loss, the award-winning script is perhaps too blunt.

Perhaps not since Truffaut's "The Story of Adele H" has thwarted love been rendered so compassionately on the screen, its psychology laid bare.

Has something to add about the toll Western society takes on spiritual values, and the ugliness of consumerism.

Big Momma's got game, but she doesn't have much else.

In a preamble that sets up Hawke's character, the jittery hand-held camera and grainy palette establish the look and feel of a '70s movie, thus paying homage to the Carpenter version, which, frankly, had more suspense.

Caché seems at first glance like a straightforward thriller - about a talk-show host being stalked by a technologically savvy blackmailer. But it's really a sly, subversive commentary on conscience, race, class and inequity.

If you haven't had enough of the Central Park rampage videos showing human nature at its worst, you could always pay to see Boricua's Bond.

It's a smartly surreal little movie, and again shows why, whenever there's a role that calls for an actress who can speak volumes without much dialogue (as in "Minority Report" and "Sweet and Lowdown"), the call goes out to Morton.

An update with a jolt of sheer exuberance.

May actually appeal more to women than men because of the steely heroine, the pitting of love of family against love of filthy lucre -- and the mom-fights-back plot.

A haunting, melancholy work.

This is a wickedly funny skewering of a prewar London society gone mad with frivolity.

A serious and thoughtful movie that probably does not mean to trivialize the Holocaust and blame the victim. But it is playing with fire nevertheless.

The filmmakers' decision to go with prosthetic enhancements rather than CGI gives the snouts, fangs and snapping jaws a refreshingly tactile look.

The combination of old-time Hollywood valor and ahead-of-its-time surprises makes this restoration a big event.

Million Dollar Baby is a knockout. It is Clint Eastwood's baby in every respect — a movie that approaches the level of great boxing films, like "Raging Bull," by using sport as a metaphor for human nature.

An unsubtle allegory about a way of life withering on the vine.

Macaulay Culkin still can't act, and it's no longer cute. His performance in Party Monster is so embarrassing one doesn't know where to look.

It's the rare film, Dogma or otherwise, that keeps you smiling long after the lights come up.

Like watching an American teen-sex comedy through a glass darkly.

Basinger gives one of her best performances as a woman too young, poor and overwhelmed to handle motherhood. And the uncommonly self-assured Murphy proves again that she is a cut above other actresses of her tender years.

Truth is, it' not very good.

Director and co-writer Steve Suissa misses every opportunity to go deeper, either for laughs or pathos.

A machine-tooled entertainment that's as fake and flimsy as a plastic Christmas tree. The only reason the movie isn't as bad as it has a right to be is the marvelous Diane Keaton.

Caught with a shaky hand-held camera, this aimless diary glides indifferently along Weber's stellar collection of photos.

Implausible yet enjoyably diverting thriller.

Here's the downside, and it's not just me: You need a scorecard to keep track of the sisters, their brother, two husbands, a boyfriend, two (or three?) extramarital lovers.

Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant are distilled to the very essence of their annoying tics and quirks.

Some segments are anti-American, but to concentrate on that is to miss the variety, depth of opinion, and fierceness of the emotions that drive each director.

A movie about a maverick ought to be a little daring as well, and Mona Lisa Smile is as safe and predictable as chintz.

This black-and-white movie features an enduring image: an ordinary couple at the dinner table with the giant, Dr. Seuss-like head of the camel ­filling their window ominously, ridiculously, like another dinner guest -- or like the proverbial elephant in the room that no one will address.

The movie portrays Guerin -- regarded by many as a hero -- as an irritating figure.

After all the observations on heartache, politics, art, commerce, passion, identity, mortality, even mental health, six hours begin to seem downright compact.

Take the Lead hits all the marks you'd expect of a movie like this, but it's done vibrantly and with warm-blooded characters.

All three leads grow on you.

The information here isn't necessarily new, but it is packaged in an acid-tongued way along with powerhouse visuals that drive home the filmmaker's nakedly political views.

A fascinating movie that explores grief from an emotionally truthful angle rarely seen in movies.

The Cold War isn't exactly a hot ticket right now, but K-19 punches up the timeless aspects of the story -- adventure, danger, teamwork, noble self-sacrifice and two forceful actors butting heads, even if you don't buy them as Russian for a moment.

A tepid comedy whose only saving grace is the face of Jennifer Tilly in a crystal ball.

Presents a refreshing appreciation of Chaplin's work in the context of comedy, political and social satire, and history itself.

The resulting movie is a mixed bag, not quite a documentary and yet as "true" to Weber's fascinations as a dog named True can be to his master.

This hunt for revenge is really a quest for self-discovery. The story, acting and brilliant directing elevate Oldboy into a human struggle to know yourself and your place in the universe, and to live with that sometimes terrible knowledge.

A weird, unpleasant little movie.

It may be a dismal comedy thriller, but Antoine Fuqua's Bait has one piece of bait that's definitely appealing: Jamie Foxx.

A substantial improvement over "X-Men," in many ways, especially in visual and specialeffects departments.

This could be a documentary about reading the body language of childhood.

The only thing to do, then, is settle back and appreciate Hudson's no-nonsense performance, an appealingly mature turn that makes you hope she has turned her back on second-rate romantic fluff. (Whether second-rate horror represents actual improvement is another matter.)

Of the several threads interwoven here, only one is riveting, thanks to the performance of Sandrine Kiberlain as Betty.

Its social satire is so dead-on.

Furiously paced.

Nia Vardalos carved herself a niche with "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" in 2002, and she's still furiously digging away at it with the screechy, unpleasant comedy Connie and Carla.

There is undeniable pleasure in watching these pros at work, but the murky depths of the soul can make for a dreary two hours.

A rare window into the apparatus and limitations of glam-rock.

It's about as routine a movie as they come, but it features plenty of endorphin-releasing hip-hop choreography as Derek teaches Sara to get jiggy with it.

Satires like this tend to throw a lot of stuff at the wall, and in Undercover Brother, a surprising amount sticks.

If only half as much attention had been paid to story and character as to set design, the cast wouldn't be playing second banana to a gut rehab.

Absorbing, operatic.

Its simple, straightforward storytelling makes mincemeat of the idea that, gee, if these people just worked a little harder and got motivated, they, too, could get a piece of the American Dream.

The dogs are fantastic. The humans need more work with their trainers.

Has hell frozen over? Not only is Jack Nicholson starring in a buddy movie alongside Adam Sandler, but of the two, Sandler's low-key approach is preferable.

The weak story and bland hero are no match for the increasingly exciting visuals, while the score by Steve Jablonsky should be on exhibit in the Hall of Lead.

The main problem with this whole Jerry Bruckheimer-produced mess is that they took a promising comedy setup and squandered it by trying to make a legitimate spy thriller out of it.

This South Korean political satire might not have historical resonance for American audiences -- it's loosely based on the 1979 assassination of dictator Park Chunghee by his own people -- but it takes the same comically dim view of governmental power and procedure as "Dr. Strangelove."

It's a big snooze because we can't take the main characters seriously.

Manages to entertain, and yet, like so many flat-footed attempts at waving the flag, it feels disingenuous and dogmatic.

A screechy chick-flick relationship comedy with a lot of things working for and against it - mostly against it.

This is a lyrical art movie with admittedly limited commercial appeal, but worth seeing for cinematic explorers.

Only two hours long but it may take your mind another day to get through it. Egoyan has stuffed a lot into this personal and strenuously opaque film, which perhaps explains why its over-plotted, elliptical structure seems so onerous.

The movie resembles a video game in which each victory whisks you to the next level, with slightly different antagonists and a faster pace.

A poetic and somber film that underscores the bum deal women usually get in any restrictive society.

Rudd delivers the best bad Franglais since Inspector Clouseau.

It has the feel of those romantic movies of the '40s that no one thinks are made anymore.

Disturbing, visually stunning thriller.

This long-awaited movie has been unwisely chopped into two pieces -- the second is due in February -- when it really needed to be one long, delirious ride.

Based on a true story, the movie has abundant humor and uplift - but it's a heartbreaker of extraordinary dimension.

Cannibalizes "Saturday Night Fever" for everything from structure to plot, but does it adorably.

This one uses sweeping compositions of nearly solitary figures as a reminder of what individuals stood to lose, and an auction scene is horrifying -- some livestock and a basket of everyday items are exchanged for a man's future.

The laughs are there, but the movie's main asset is Paltrow, mournful and always braced for the worst.

As Shakespeare adaptations go, Scotland, PA. is just a McNugget, but the actors help sustain the satiric tone right up until McBeth's lady finally gets that stain out the old-fashioned way, with a cleaver.

When is a holiday stocking more like a smelly gym sock? When it's the malodorous Christmas With the Kranks, a so-called comedy stuffed with bigotry, intolerance and bullying.

Is a movie worthwhile if it makes you sick? Absolutely, in the case of Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room.

Should have sold its soul for a little help in the script department.

The best of the lot are Greta Scacchi, as an actress trying to peddle her first screenplay (with herself attached as director), and Ron Silver.

The strong script (with updated flourishes by "Bad Santa" writers Glenn Ficarra and John Requa) and some of the vibrant child characters pull it through, with the comically reptilian Thornton egging them on with one inappropriate shocker after another.

Just about every race and creed come off badly in this small-scale thriller.

Due to budget constraints, the movie is necessarily rough around the edges. But directors Josh Apter and Peter Olsen have a sure grasp of how to maintain a mood that chills long after the movie is over.

Sexy, witty, energetic and gorgeous, but it is as stripped of the human element (in some of its production design, as well) as a minimalist Calvin Klein store.

Stay through to the end credits, where the two child protagonists (Sabara and Vega) are shown as they were then and as they are now. Rodriguez's best achievement is in spotting the innate talent that would shine through in those two kids.

This heavenly sequel, again directed by "McG" (aka Joseph McGinty Nichol), is infused with an irresistibly joyous spirit that simply cannot be faked.

Interestingly, though, the actor who plays Yanis is a dead ringer (despite the scowl) for Adam Sandler. That's surely an effect director Manuel Boursinhac didn't intend.

Cinephiles and Billy Wilder fans get a rare opportunity to see the "slightly dirtier" European ending to the director's 1964 sex farce.

It's a white-knuckler all the way, with most of that tension coming from the smallest facial expressions exchanged in uneasy silence between compatriots who knew what they were getting into, but were nevertheless unprepared for the moral and emotional fallout of their patriotic actions.

Half a barrel of laughs. The other half is made of slime.

It's hard to take this movie seriously. It's the cinematic equivalent of dotting your i's with a big heart, a very youngish view of life and death in which everything is too neatly wrapped up with a bow.

Uses social and historical perspective to explain what happened then and, perhaps inadvertently, what's happening now.

Yet another deceptively simple, supremely moving film from Iran.

After a moment's adjustment, it works amazingly well, because the emotions that drive teenagers like Jim to seek their places in the firmament transcend eras, fashion, even animation styles.

An adorable family movie.

A tepid amalgam of other, similarly themed movies.

Wolfgang Becker's premise is absurdist and makes great sense as political satire.

If it doesn't shed much light on the violinist's personal life, it certainly conveys how personally she relates to her work.

The best part is during the closing credits. Dustin Hoffman does a brilliant, dead-on impression of Evans that captures the essence of the man more than all the self-serving grandiosity that preceded it.

Even Isabelle Huppert Lite is more profound than the best work of most other actresses.

Tarnation represents a breakthrough in the possibilities of the personal film as a mix of poetry and journalism. It's also harrowing as hell.

For devout fans of the greenish monster and for those looking to shoot fish in a barrel.

A stylish comedy low on amusement but high on sensuality.

An intelligent, old-fashioned nail-biter.

It's too big an ensemble to provide enough back story for each player. But Sayles doesn't give his characters easily digestible labels, like "kook" or "pathetic loser."

Susan Tom has her hands full in Jonathan Karsh's documentary My Flesh and Blood -- she's dealing with her 13 children, most adopted, some with serious maladies. Rarely does one encounter such capable hands.

Beyond its baby-sitting capabilities, Power Rangers doesn't morph into anything special. It hasn't a single fresh idea.

Doesn't flinch from the serious stuff.

The problem comes when the movie turns into a tedious, faith-based diatribe against medical science.

The plot is contingent on everything going perfectly in ways no one can possibly predict, right down to the most outlandish happenstance of timing and human behavior.

A temple of enlightenment posing as a movie.

There are plenty of chuckles at the expense of Dr. Phil, Shaquille O'Neal, Carmen Electra, Charlie Sheen and series stalwart Leslie Nielsen. But with no comic carryover from one skit to the next, true belly laughs are few and far between.

Even aside from the metaphorical aspect, this may be the first movie to give a precise sense of what drives people who self-mutilate.

Once in a very long while, a truly memorable romantic teen comedy comes along. The Girl Next Door is one.

If you're looking for cinema, skip this. But as a religion-based self-help workshop for victims of ­childhood abuse, it'sa deadly accurate button-pusher.

Movie love is usually so idealized it ennobles behavior that ordinarily would be considered stalking. Enduring Love deliberately smudges the line between what is bizarre and what is simply human nature.

The cottage industry of the mockumentary has produced another pleasing trifle, the cute and smart Lisa Picard Is Famous.

It's hard to take this oddball movie seriously.

The story offers an interesting twist, but the only really spooky part is when a Benny Goodman record insists on playing without human aid. More scares, please.

It's not the best of von Trier, but the movie is shot in an unforgettable, haunting style that evokes both Bergman and the silent era.

When it comes to cute, this baby is off the charts.

The movie has some of the washed-out look of David O. Russell's excellent "Three Kings," but none of the edge. That's part of the point - that nothing leads to anything, at least not in this particular war.

A feast for the eyes. But not, alas, for the ears.

For film buffs and Lynch fans, this is a glorious high.

An on-again, arf-again comedy. [26 June 1998, p. 54]

A thorough, gutsy and appropriately scuzzy-looking documentary.

The story and humor are so tame the movie barely merits No More Tears.

Ya-Ya Sisterhood is so divine. It offers a world where friendship is forever, the half-empty glass is refilled and the men are perfect.

Charlize Theron's Gilda in Head in the Clouds invites comparison to Rita Hayworth in 1946's "Gilda," which adds a touch of the ludicrous to this already strained material set in wartime France.

Some of the jokes will elude Americans while the movie's hip quotient gradually fades away.

Very much a freshman effort, lacking focus, edge.

Blood, grotesquerie and humor mix equally in the first two, but the full combo makes a savory witches' brew for Asian-cinema cultists (or Halloween lovers in need of a gore fix).

Hell has not yet frozen over, but here's something equally unexpected: David Mamet has made a G-rated movie for adults.

With Chomsky as its star, this documentary cannot go far wrong, even though filmmaker John Junkerman intersperses Chomsky footage with some really bad Japanese pop music.

Stanze is to be congratulated on raising the bar for horror avant-garde filmmaking on a shoestring.

The dullest exorcist movie ever made.

Both a fan's dream and a moviegoer's nightmare: It ends up being all about those who remember and interpret Philip K. Dick and not about the man himself.

The film itself is a bit on the talking-head side, evoking none of the passion and anguish that are the music's trademarks.

Giddily inventive.

It's a slight story to begin with, and the movie teeters on camp with its jokey filler material -- the typical King stuff including colorful locals, small puns and asides and a faint whiff of the supernatural.

Features even more toddlers acting in a way only collectors of velvet paintings will consider irresistible.

Can't cope with its own weirdness.

The result is a galvanizing mix of intellectual discourse and guillotined heads.

Gives cinema vérité texture to a fictional story of trailer-trash dysfunction (minus the trailer).

Carrey gives an otherworldly, possessed performance as Kaufman.

It's enough to encourage the aspiring film makers in the audience, no matter how wee in age, to yell "Cut!"

Pleasantly cheesy but undistinguished martial-arts and horror fare.

There's a sensational, highly original performance by Swinton.

Did Lane and John Cusack really have to put themselves through this? Here are two first-rate actors in the embarrassing situation of playing blithering misfits in a lame comedy of errors.

Crushingly realistic.

Normally the sound in movie theaters is of popcorn crunching. But the sound at theaters where Central Station is showing is of hearts breaking.

A really lame attempt to expand the marketing reach of the PBS-TV series.

Pure, eye-popping pleasure.

What makes it work so well is superb chemistry and a light touch. The spray-painted cat scene doesn't hurt, either.

The humor is simple but far from dumb. The dueling "walk-off" between rival male mannequins is inspired, as are the sly juxtapositions of the male model's faux physicality with such real-world demands as coal mining.

The movie's key asset is young Bettany as a worthy successor to the "Clockwork Orange" tradition of McDowell. With Bettany, a star is born, even if his character is horrific.

A richly inventive, slightly eerie animated movie from Japan.

A thin, by-the-numbers romantic comedy that nevertheless features one saving grace: Matthew Perry.

Characters seem phony.

There are lame comedies, and then there is Big Fat Liar, which is so lame that it merits its own reserved parking space.

The movie is fast and fun. Best of all are the actors, who likewise seem to know they've lucked into a rare good gig.

In this unpleasant mess of a movie, a heroin-like drug called "blue" is said to be "more addictive than air."

Touching and saddening.

The story's unnecessary and unconvincing Russian spies are out of "Rocky & Bullwinkle," but Blair is quite enjoyable as a sassy, capable idealist.

In keeping with the unrefined spirit of the '70s, the movie is deliberately haphazard and proudly retains all its mistakes, including narrator Sean Penn going up on his lines.

Watch out for space junk.

Armed with a witty script, Winick and the actors so confidently ply the Oedipal waters that the comedy seems sweetly chaste.

As pat as some of its conclusions may seem, this low-budget effort has charm, fine acting and one of the few realistic screen depictions of the awkward dynamics of a family trying to circle its wagons.

An entrancing experience for Potter fans. It's a carefully crafted, dreamy immersion in a world that feels snugly familiar even when evil intrudes.

The movie clearly portrays how the glory and salvation of being a team hero is ephemeral.

In the new, personal documentaries in which you pick up a camera to help get a grip on your own life, there is a queasy line between inspiration and therapy. Mark Wexler crosses back and forth over that line.

Daylight sets a record for implausible scenarios and lack of character development. But let's face it if you're going to be stranded in a fireball, you might as well be stranded there with Sylvester Stallone. Twenty years after "Rocky" punched him into the limelight, Stallone presents a more human-scaled character, and he's charming, even gracious. His acting range may not span Manhattan to Jersey, but he inspires confidence even in material as pre-fab as this. [6 Dec 1996, p.59]

In addition to the strong script, the ensemble performances are topnotch, with no one hogging the limelight.

The best performance is by Rampling. (The) camera hangs on her, knowing that nothing escapes those wise, sad-lidded eyes.

Best of all, and worth the price of admission, is Cedric the Entertainer.

Another perfect little gem from Iran in which the simplest story unleashes a torrent of emotion.

Lohan's good work in movies like "Mean Girls" and the "Freaky Friday" remake is a faint memory as she struggles through antics, unfunny pratfalls and squirmingly bad set pieces.