Ken Fox

Moritsugu's film is really just a loose collection of encounters between characters that at times barely hangs together.

Offers a rare glimpse into the hermetic world of the Satmars.

A tense geopolitical thriller that leaves a curiously bad aftertaste.

Eason balances the clichés of a fairly standard story with convincing realism and a powerful momentum that never flags.

Brimming with fun and a few great ideas, it's little more than a foggy memory the minute it's over.

While the film may drop a few of the novel's more disturbing moments, it still travels some emotionally rocky territory, and each of those actresses -- particularly Alison Lohman, who carries most of the movie on her young shoulders -- turns in a first-rate performance.

And if you can't figure out who [the bad guy] is the minute he first appears, you've either seen too few movies with mind-numbingly predictable plots or you've seen far too many.

Like any good soap opera, the script deftly flits among story lines, offering just enough tantalizing plot development to keep you sticking around for another bite.

With a little more plot, this could have been a killer.

John Carlos Frey's tough social drama has a slightly sensationalistic edge, but the disturbing fact is that all too much of his worthy film hews closely to the real-life experiences of undocumented immigrant workers.

It's a complex new approach toward putting memory to tape, and the result can be at times too theoretical, too personal and too opaque, but it's a consistently challenging work that's often sharply poignant.

It's strictly for the kids, and they'll be tickled.

It's really just "Rocky" in gleaming dress whites.

Meeske does offer insight into a way of life that may be finally gone for good.

The acting is superb.

It's hard to believe that this oddly mesmerizing film, set in large part in the vast subway system that snakes its way through Manhattan and its outer boroughs, wasn't made by a native New Yorker.

Levinson, who has directed enough films to know better, should recognize a stinker of a script when he smells one: Instead clever laughs he serves up sloppy schtick, dead spots filled with lame ad-libbing and Walken crooning "The Happy Wanderer."

Anyone who understands the meaning of the title or catches all the frog references scattered through writer-director Martin Curland's feature debut will have a head start understanding this confused and confusing comedy.

Aronofsky has given us a well-acted, gorgeously overwrought and luridly entertaining exploitation flick -- a midnight movie for future generations.

While Brosnan, an Irishman by birth, lays it on bit thick, his performance is surprisingly effective.

For what amounts to a fairly sentimental glance backward, the film is oddly styled; Andrew Dunn (who also shot the baroque "Monkeybone") favors oblique angles and lighting worthy of an Italian horror movie.

Atonal romantic comedy.

Broomfield's film is didactic, awkwardly acted by the cast of former Marines who are meant to lend the film credibility, and clumsily inflammatory.

An uncommonly smart and bittersweet romantic comedy.

Unfortunately, that imagination flags early in the first sequel to the grisly 2004 sleeper hit, though the bang-up ending nearly makes it all worthwhile and it opens with a set piece worthy of its predecessor.

This film's splendid visuals suit the subject, Spain's greatest painter, but its stilted dramatics are wholly at odds with Francisco de Goya's tumultuous life and times.

All that menace is simply decorative, and it's disappointing that Laconte never properly addresses the intriguing sexual undertones (like voyeurism, exhibitionism and sexual obsession) he uses to darken the film's palette.

Troche has bitten off quite a bit here, and it's too much for her to chew properly.

The soundtrack (Heart, ELO, Todd Rundgren, and an original score by the French duo Air) is spot-on and the costume design (pukka shells and knee-socks) is hideously accurate.

On the whole, it all goes down rather smoothly. Those left wanting more are referred to the RSC's monumental production, now available on DVD, or better yet, to Dickens's original novel.

Breezy, surprisingly poignant Spanish film.

Clumsy and amateurish. But it's also occasionally quite charming, and ultimately more commendable for what it ISN'T than worthy of censure for being nothing more than an inconsequential comedy.

For all the film's cleverness -- and it's often very clever -- it's as thin as its heroine.

Screenwriter Vincent Molina takes into account changing attitudes towards homosexuality and the resulting film never feels like the kind of thing we've seen time and again in the '80s and '90s.

The mystery is terribly plotted and the satirical elements are limited and not very funny.

A fascinating, often tragic history of a program the Soviet Union held up to the rest of the world as communism's ultimate technological achievement.

Crams more subplots, minor characters and comic situations into 100 minutes than most sitcoms burn through in an entire season. And that's not necessarily a good thing.

Viewers who remember Max Baer may, however, take issue with the way the film treats this charismatic fighter. In 1933, Baer became an important symbol of Jewish strength when he faced off against Hitler's favored fighter, Max Schmeling, and while reducing Baer to a bloodthirsty villain makes it easier to root for Braddock, it's an unfair bit of character assassination.

But one can only imagine how different the film might have been with, say, Parker Posey or Catherine Keener -- truly funky actresses with some real edge -- in the lead.

Nicely shot around New York City, this dodgy mixture of cutesy romance, dark satire and murder mystery uses the same central conceit as Neil LaBute's "Nurse Betty."

The Sisyphean ordeal at the heart of the film strongly recalls Roman Polanksi's 1958 short "Two Men and a Wardrobe," while Lachow's loose, improvisatory approach -- as well as the occasional self-indulgence -- feels more like Henry Jaglom.

An enjoyable, ultimately inconsequential crowd-pleaser.

Points for an interesting concept; demerits for the dull execution.

But if you stick around for those final credits, you'll also have the opportunity to hear Robin Williams deliver a clean but nonetheless hilarious joke, a reminder of how funny Williams can be when he's not trying so hard.

Begun over seven years ago and described by the filmmaker as a work-in-progress, the documentary still feels a bit incomplete.

The film is ridiculously overplotted, and very little of the plot serves any purpose other than to motivate what you can pretty well guess is going to happen from the outset.

The film's real strength lies in two excellent performances, from veteran Morse and up-and-comer Gosling.

It's a good thing that Cummings and Leigh have such talented friends: They may overstay their welcome, but it's the entertaining guests who end up saving this poorly planned party.

Even when the script takes a turn for the chatty, there's always something pretty to look at.

Everett remains a perfect Wildean actor, and a relaxed Firth displays impeccable comic skill.

If the banter lacks the often brilliant and erudite -- if showy -- sparkle of its predecessor, the acting is still first-rate, and the film will be best enjoyed by fans eager to spend another 90 minutes with a group of old friends.

In the grand tradition of "Beerfest" and "Bladels of Glory," this insistently ludicrous -- and not entirely unfunny -- two-joke comedy satirizes an old Hollywood standby: the big-comeback sports movie.

Fascinating, if slightly unfocused, film.

The film is content to relentlessly scream "Boo!" behind the audience's back rather than provide any real thrills.

Too many musical montages break the momentum, but overall it's an engaging piece of work, regardless of which team you play for.

Concise and well-researched documentary does a fine job of presenting a complicated issue clearly while maintaining a fairly objective middle ground.

The story's rhythm is so bogged down in unnecessary characterization that the film can hardly breathe.

Once the excellent Rhys and Corunder are off-screen, the film's overall staginess and the inconsistent work of the supporting cast become glaringly apparent.

A stew of silliness that's so ridiculous it's almost entertaining. Almost.

Fun without ever being particularly funny, this one-joke comedy-of-bad-manners features a hero who will either tickle your funny bone or make you vaguely uncomfortable.

The resulting collaboration is a strange beast;

A rare treat for anyone interested in the American folk revival of early 1960s.

Simple but deeply touching documentary.

While butching up their hero, Moreton and cowriter Dennis Hensley left out one key ingredient: charisma -- for all his macho swagger, the guy's unbearable.

What makes the film more interesting than it might have been, however, is the warm relationship between Glenn and Peter.

However stale the material, Lawrence's delivery remains perfect; his great gift is that he can actually trick you into thinking some of this worn-out, pandering palaver is actually funny.

Stripping away the false glamour generated by pop culture's undying fascination with the Mafia, this hour-long film tells the tragic but inspiring story of a 17-year-old Sicilian woman who risked — and ultimately lost — her life in order to reveal just what a nasty bunch they really are.

Walks such a fine line between what separates dreamer from stalker, that the film he made about it ellicits a variety of responses.

It's undone by a murky palette, silly horror-movie cliches, dumb dialogue and a confusing climactic sequence.

Delightful mix of swinging '60s style, road movie conventions and age-old romantic comedy tropes that coasts along on little more than charm, and does it delightfully.

Unfortunately, the film never really catches fire, despite uniformly high-caliber performances; Day-Lewis, surely one the finest actors of his generation, is excellent.

Through Carax's eyes, even squalor looks fabulous.

If Israel needs a Mike Leigh to capture the angst of its silently suffering working class, it could do far worse than Nir Bergman.

Without offering any hard and fast solutions to the essential mystery, this is a thought provoking drama about the nature of belief and devotion that never feels exclusionary.

It exudes a slightly stale air that does nothing to dispel gay stereotypes.

The film doesn't really go anywhere, other than outside for endless games of basketball, and the group-therapy environment allows for far too many young-actor monologues.

The detatched, fly-on-the-wall perspective, however, offers little insight into the strange gender game that's played out in the dark safety of the porn theater.

Easily one of the oddest romantic comedies since "My New Gun." It's also one of the most visually inventive, and if its charms very nearly defy description, it's nonetheless irresistible.

Ryan is raw and remarkably good, but the film's real star is New York. Draped in post-9/11 anxiety and brimming with a free-floating fear, the city hasn't appeared this threatening since the '70s.

This poky and indifferently plotted film isn't much of mystery.

Lacks the real emotional wallop these two fine actresses...seem ready to provide.

Fun for a while, but soon turns grating before ending on a startlingly tragic note.

Kurosawa's farewell film is full of sentiment, tears, toasts and songs.

Fans of 50 Cent, whose own endlessly exploited past keeps him surrounded by Kevlar and bodyguards, will probably see the film for what it is -- a weak, watered roman à clef -- while admirers of Irish director Jim Sheridan (My Left Foot, In America) will marvel that he had anything to do with such a trite variation on the venerable "Star is Born" scenario.

The always charming Deschanel manages to rise above most of the film's logy pretensions, but the usually excellent Clarkson isn't so lucky.

It may be an old story, but Berri draws fresh poignancy from this December-May romance by identifying so empathetically with Jacques.

The camerawork is crude and the editing seems almost accidental, but it's really all about the writing, which is strong throughout; Seaton has a sharp ear for convincingly conversational dialogue.

The film is filled with Miike's brand of imaginatively staged violence and hints of fetish sexuality, but his sadism, which reaches its apotheosis in 2001's sickening "Ichii The Killer", is tempered by a sincere romanticism and a number of lovely touches.

The film is really a timely critique of the ongoing insanity that has engulfed Israeli life.

There are a few inspired set-pieces -- Ruber's creation of a mechanical army is really quite something -- and the score by David Foster and Carol Bayer Sager is generally fine. But overall, this is a bloodless entry into an already highly formulaic genre.

Uncomfortable as the film is, it's a beautiful, sensuous experience.

Filled with forced yuletide cheer and mixed messages about the true meaning of Christmas, this loud and obnoxious holiday comedy boasts a fine cast and little else.

Sassone's hit-and-miss ethnic comedy is actually a retelling of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, with the Italian neighborhood of South Yonkers, N.Y., standing in for Verona.

Barratier has assembled an unforgettable gallery of faces both young and old, and prolific character actor Berleand plays the perfect villain.

Actor-turned-director Campbell Scott handles this enigmatic science fiction mystery with such gloomy restraint that it barely moves. That said, it never panders to audience expectations and is exceptionally well acted. Bill Tyler.

The set-up revolves around a draggy love triangle, while the climax -- slo-mo leap through the air and all -- could have come out of any direct-to-video action flick.

It's tremendous fun, thanks largely to a smarter-than-average script and some fierce casting.

Heartwarming is not always a bad thing.