Ken Fox

If you have the stomach - or the Dramamine - it's a touching, humorous take on Jewish life in contemporary Argentina.

A tale of conscience lost and found becomes little more than a smart but tepid ghost story for idealists and '60s survivors, and not a terribly spooky one at that.

Simple but deeply touching documentary.

They're answers that will either earn your respect, or further damn him as the architect of an American nightmare.

A bold, painful memoir that finds an innovative middle-ground between conventional documentary and a homemade, home-movie collage.

On the surface, nothing really happens, but to call it a nonevent would be to miss the point entirely.

Superbly acted by everyone involved (Rhames does his best work since "Pulp Fiction"), the film is really more about character than plot, though frankly, at more than two hours, it could have used a bit more of the latter.

Herek does capture the rush and crush of a stadium concert, and the music (more Leppard than Priest) isn't half bad -- in a disposable, arena-rock sort of way.

It's a mainstreamed, big-screen version of the bowdlerized, endlessly syndicated version of the show, not the raunchy original.

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

The writing is sharp and often blithely cynical, although not above using a shooting star to put a lump in the throat. The tone, however, is at times dangerously uncertain.

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.

About as subtle as a hammer blow to the skull and marred by a heedless mixture of fact and fiction.

Often thrilling, if overwhelmingly brutal, trio of interconnected short stories.

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.

Sensitive, extraordinarily well-acted drama.

Still passable popcorn fare, even if you'll barely taste it before swallowing.

Stylized to the point of poetry.

Interestingly, the real horror lies in the film's depiction of the era: The sight of guillotined bodies -- naked, headless and dumped under the shady trees of Picpus -- is truly shocking. Rarely has the horror of the Terror been so graphically and effectively evoked.

Even worse than its hypocrisy, gratuitous homophobia and cheap proselytizing, the movie is dull.

Starts with a bang and ends in a long, protracted whimper.

Beauchamp reconstructs the actual crime with disturbing immediacy, and his treatment of how Till's death galvanized a country makes this short film a good way to commemorate the 50th anniversary of a crime that still has the power to outrage.

Has everything one could ask of a true-crime expose.

The result is a confused mess of mixed signals that substitutes a brutal climax for any kind of satisfactory resolution. Parents should be warned about the frequent gunfire and a grisly death by hanging.

Tom Gilroy's debut feature is a little obvious, but it's an excellent showcase for the criminally underused Ned Beatty.

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

Handsomely appointed and faultlessly acted, but no more alive than a well-dressed corpse.

Belvaux is no Douglas Sirk, but the film is an admirable, if uneven, conclusion to an audacious project.

Brilliantly acted and lugubriously paced, Liv Ullmann's fourth feature as director — the second written by her mentor, Ingmar Bergman — will no doubt be manna to those who miss the brilliant acting and lugubrious pace that characterized Bergman's late-period films.

Thirty years down the line, not everyone looks as they once did, so even fans will have trouble putting names to aged faces. Newcomers, meanwhile, will feel hopelessly shut out.

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.

Both De Bouw and Decleir are superb.

Swinton lends Margaret an air of grace under pressure, and fleshing out feelings of domestic dissatisfaction -- a key element that otherwise remains buried in the subtext.

She's an adventurous, occasionally reckless filmmaker who deploys a full arsenal of cinematic flourishes, but Lemmons' lack of restraint gets in the way of her storytelling.

Hrebejk's film remains clear-eyed and satisfyingly complex right to the bitter end.

Beesley's film is perfectly in sync with the Lips' unique vision.

A superb performance from Torreton, easily one of the finest actors working in France today.

Sensitively played but ultimately undone by its unconventional approach.

This intermittently interesting symbolic tour through European history once again places ideas over aesthetics and technique.

The comedy is fairly light and the romance decidedly offbeat.

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.

A smart but disappointingly conventional portrait of an artist who had little use for convention.

The power of an otherwise carefully crafted film is undone by risky and not altogether successful casting.

This curiously empty film was awarded the Jury Prize at the 1997 Cannes film festival.

The film may be lighter in tone than Imamura's more recent work, but it still has a number of serious things to say about life in contemporary Japan.

The skating photography is excellent and, like the documentary's soundtrack, songs from the Stooges, Blue Oyster Cult and the Weirdos set the proper mood. But this dramatization does nothing Peralta's documentary didn't do better.

The shame of it all is that Kane somehow managed to assemble an extraordinary cast, whose fine performances can't surmount the tedium of his script.

The film is marvelously acted -- the Bolger sisters are a delight -- and Sheridan captures New York City's crazy energy as only an newcomer can.

This gentle and somewhat slow moving romantic fable has a quiet sweetness all its own, and is thankfully free of the inscrutable ponderousness that often infuses the films of Yektapanah's mentors.

Lunkheaded but entertaining action flick.

The film is marvelously acted all around, and the fact that there isn't a false note in the entire film is especially impressive given Kureishi's melodramatic contrivances and the fact that his characters are clichés whose behaviors are predictable at nearly every turn.

A little too derivative of much better movies to succeed on its own. However, in the context of recent Chinese movies, it's a pretty amazing piece of work.

A fine, straightforward tribute to a sports giant who faced blatant prejudice and paved away for the likes Jackie Robinson, Hank Aaron and other minorities who dared make a place for themselves as heroes of America's greatest pastime.

The film is merciless in its depiction of death and suffering, Pitt and Corbet are perfectly cast, and Watts, who also served as executive producer, gives a disturbingly raw performance.

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

The music continues to speak for itself. Play loud.

Mark Orton's overused fiddly score is nice enough, but can't disguise the essential emptiness of overlong scenes.

This far more modest production is a much more interesting film (than "Anywhere But Here").

The film fires off too many intriguing plot possibilities that remain nothing more than that.

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.

It's quite an achievement and makes a strong argument in favor of traditional animation — this is the first Disney feature since "Dumbo" (1941) to feature watercolor backgrounds, and they're beautiful. But beautiful illustrations and a funny premise can't save this well-meaning kid flick from its dully plotted story.

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

An enjoyable, ultimately inconsequential crowd-pleaser.

The whole lighter-than-air lark whizzes by like a brisk, kandy-kolored dream of the 1960s, flavored by a Saul Bass inspired credit sequence; a slinky, Henry Mancini-esque score; and a stunning array of period sets and evocative locales.

Flawed but undeniably provocative and brilliantly acted by Gosling.

The acting is superb.

No doubt captures some of the horror and the chaos of the actual situation, but it makes for a loud, often confusing, and always bloody two and a half hours.

Takashi Miike's frenetic comic yakuza thriller embodies the best and worst this notorious Japanese genre auteur has to offer: It's endlessly inventive, consistently intelligent and sickeningly savage.

A sloppy, self-indulgent valentine to the theater, delivered with all the grace of a letter-bomb.

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.

Grim tale of good and evil.

Perleman has little control over his characters; they simply go to pieces in the most ludicrous ways. He has even less control over Kingsley, who soon slips into full-blown Yul Brynner mode.

If nothing else, this utterly charming -- if ultimately inconsequential -- road picture proves that there is such a thing as German romantic comedy.

A grim meditation on faith and betrayal that focuses on a relatively obscure corner of Holocaust history: the fate of the Catholic clergy under the Third Reich.

A modest but finely tuned look at small-town life.

Brilliant, in its own twisted way.

It's never dull: Shalhoub's direction is smart, the dialogue is tart and the Adams' family shares a palpable intimacy that translates directly onto the screen.

Neo-Gothic fantasist Tim Burton and writer John August (Big Fish) play it strictly by the book for this darker but far more faithful adaptation of Roald Dahl's cautionary 1964 young-adult novel.

A slow and pensive tone, but for all its lyrical pretensions it lacks real poetry.

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.

Heartfelt but only intermittently interesting documentary.

The devout will no doubt enjoy this picturesque dramatization of an inspirational story many have known since childhood; others may understandably expect something more.

The film lacks the turbulent social context of the 1950s and '60s that lent resonance to the personal uncertainties of Ibgy's forebears -- Holden Caufield, Ben Braddock, et al. But Culkin has a way with quip-heavy dialogue that transforms what might otherwise been irritatingly, solipsistic posing into a great performance.

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.

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

This sleepyheaded atmosphere, augmented by the languid songs of Lou Reed and Arab Strap, hangs so heavily over the film that the viewer is lulled into a state dangerously close to unconsciousness.

This curious blend of fact and fiction is ultimately worth the trip -- just don't forget to pack the Advil.

What the film lacks in general focus it makes up for in compassion, as Corcuera manages to find the seeds of hope in the form of collective action.

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

This breezy romantic trifle isn't nearly as clever as it imagines itself to be, but it's smart enough not to take itself too seriously.

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

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

Even during the most intense moments, it's hard to shake the impression that the conspicuously buff-and-polished Justine is only visiting this drab world, her miserable life an interesting career move.

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.

After nearly a decade of duds, Wes Craven reasserts his claim to being a master of suspense with this solid little airborne thriller.

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.

An engaging bit of entertainment.

For the first time anywhere, filmmaking brothers Craig and Damon Foster capture this rare event as it happens, and it's something to see.