Ken Fox

The film is filled with the kind of choreographed carnage that became synonymous with Hong Kong action during the genre's heyday, but there's an elegiac self-consciousness to it all that acknowledges that while the best is behind us, there's still something to be said about its passing.

It's actually a clever commentary on documentary filmmaking, an pretty good monster movie to boot.

Ichaso tells Piñero's story through a sometimes disorienting series of flashbacks and flash-forwards, fracturing the time frame to suit the film's internal rhythms, rather than any coherent time line.

Whether you take the film as a deliberately vile act of filmmaking that unpacks rape-revenge scenarios while making a point about male desire, or simply as a deliberately vile piece of filmmaking, one thing is certain: It's about as close to a physical assault on viewers as movies get.

It's alternately stimulating and exhausting.

For all the blood spilt -- and there are gallons of it -- this is a surprisingly understated thriller.

Even if you think you know a little something about world music, Cuba's cultural riches may come as a surprise.

From the proposed constitutional amendment banning gay marriage and the president's opposition to the morning-after pill to his pandering to fundamentalist family groups, Cho has all things Bush-related in her crosshairs, and she's taking no prisoners.

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.

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.

By the film's end we feel neither sympathy nor, oddly, total disgust for this most loathsome of killers. We simply begin to understand, and perhaps that's achievement enough.

Multi-character drama that reveals a vivid cross-section of the city's inhabitants but fails to live up to the director's high ambitions.

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

The comedy is fairly light and the romance decidedly offbeat.

No matter that the setting is one of the most picturesque on the planet: cinematographer Jean-Max Bernard's camera would much rather linger all the skin and muscle Morel contrives to put on display.

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

While the film captures all the beauty of these extraordinary pieces, the details of Saint Laurent's legendarily turbulent personal life are glossed over with frustrating tact.

If the idea of playing Scrabble conjures up dreary images of dull evenings with aged family relatives, you haven't met the subjects of Eric Chaikin and Julian Petrillo's irresistible documentary.

This short, gentle film is surprisingly involving.

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

It's a conspiracy theory worthy of "The X-Files."

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.

Disco gets its due in this lightweight but entertaining look at the underground dance culture that flourished in New York City throughout the 1970s.

Mehta says it all so articulately and with such good humor.

If it's not an entirely wholesome portrait of the immigrant experience, it's certainly an entertaining one.

Packed with more information than can possibly be digested in a single viewing, the film will be a bracing eye-opener to anyone who hasn't considered the full implications of recent Congressional debates advocating further media deregulation.

Runge's coolly photographed, intricately plotted feature is always interesting in its execution, but disappointingly pat in its resolution.

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

Bleak political parable.

Not surprisingly, the film is strongest when its characters are simply hanging out, shooting the breeze and venting their feelings, while moments of high drama occasionally fall flat.

Terrific acting and fearless direction transform what might have been a silly exercise in the slightly spooky into a somber and deeply romantic mystery.

Entertaining documentary.

Touching, if cliched.

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

This raw and raunchy drama from director Henrique Goldman offers what few feature films have ever bothered to attempt: a realistic, wholly sympathetic look at the lives of transgendered prostitutes.

This surprisingly grim comedy-drama is about as good as director Joel Schumacher gets.

Hooking up can be as random, and as rewarding, as hitting the jackpot -- and helps makes "This Car Up" the best of a pretty good bunch.

Moore's film is unusually sharp looking for this sort of documentary, and comes complete with a nice soundtrack. But most important, it's as comprehensible as any "Dummies" guide, something even non-techies can enjoy.

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.

The first 45 minutes of this wickedly clever comedy features the smartest, tartest high-school satire since Alexander Payne's "Election."

It's essential viewing for anyone interested in the state of post-Apartheid South Africa.

Playing straight man isn't really Barrymore's strength, but former "Simpson's" writer Larry Doyle's script is funny and Stiller is even funnier; he turns even the more juvenile moments in something to laugh at.

Of course, no creepy movie worth its salt would be complete without an appearance by Udo Kier, and Parigi doesn't disappoint: Kier appears as Kenneth's louche, hookah-smoking next-door neighbor and, as always, is a disturbing delight.

Sensitive, extraordinarily well-acted drama.

Manages to create a great deal of ambiance and a few thrills on a shoestring.

If you're feeling open-minded and a little adventurous, this chilling exploration of the gender gap from Gallic bad-girl Catherine Breillat is worth a look.

Both Robertson and Keuck are frighteningly good, and director Coccio imagines their home movies so effectively that his film comes dangerously close to being a how-to manual for aspiring classroom spree killers.

Fox falters a bit with the narrative, but offers a fascinating treatment of the issues facing the descendents of Jewish victims and their German persecutors, as well as one of the most chilling birthday parties ever filmed.

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.

Cox, a fifth-generation Mormon whose own story isn't too far from that of Elder Davis, shows how much of Aaron's strength derives directly from his faith, while even the most homophobic of Cox's characters demonstrate a capacity for both charity and, possibly, change.

A little commentary would have helped put the tragedy of the Hillbrow Kids into sharper perspective.

The film is sponsored by Lockheed Martin with the cooperation of NASA, both of which are deeply involved in the development of the ISS, so it's not surprising that none of the questions that have swirled around this project -- like, who'll foot the bill if any one country defaults on its contribution? -- are answered, or even addressed.

Despite the inaction, the film culminates in a scene some viewers will no doubt find shocking.

The energy is infectious, and while the female empowerment angle is no doubt sincere, the whole up-tempo construction jiggles a bit too much to be taken seriously.

Aside from Bjork's astonishing performance, it's a grim tragedy that's deliberately drab and exceedingly painful to watch.

It's a brilliant impersonation; Smith gets Ali's speech patterns and Louisville accent exactly right, and astonishingly convincing facial prosthetics complete the transformation. But he never quite finds the man under the enormous image; those quintessential Mann moments, during which Ali is left alone to brood, feel surprisingly blank.

The film doesn't provide any narration or go out of its way to identify the participants, so it's left to the viewer to make connections and draw their own conclusions.

No one does deranged quite like Kathy Bates (the film's running gag involving Bates and the delicacies of Cajun cuisine is hilarious).

There are moments of wonderful insight, but while the booming, fully animated adventures of the Atomic Trinity (by "Spawn" creator Todd McFarlane) that Care intercuts with the live action at first seem a good idea, they ultimately upset the film's carefully established mood.

The entire cast is extraordinarily good -- many of them are, after all, actors by trade -- but throughout, Zhang is keen to remind his audience that this is only a dramatization.

Getting Irving's characteristic blend of quirky comedy and sorrow just right on screen has always been tricky, and writer-director Tod Williams' best efforts aren't enough to make the mix gel.

Deftly manages to avoid many of the condescending stereotypes that so often plague films dealing with the mentally ill.

Bleak and complex moral thriller.

Perhaps the only person more enthralled by the romance of train hopping than the latter-day hobos profiled in this great looking documentary from first-time director Sarah George is George herself.

Strong performances -- Baldwin's smoothly vicious Shelley is a revelation -- and Kramer's eye for the striking detail give the familiar material its own distinctive flavor.

Despite its shortcomings, it's an effective clarion call that will no doubt stir audiences to action, even if it doesn't quite prepare them for the important battle ahead.

A light, entertaining musical travelogue down the highways and byways of the Pelican State: taping performances, interviewing a few legends and dropping in on various musicologists for a little historical perspective.

Like its title, the film is ultimately an affirmation in the face of catastrophic negation, a bit obvious at times but nonetheless welcome.

Distinguishes itself from other such projects by dealing less with the event itself than its devastating aftershocks.

Huston, with a flawless Irish accent, is simply wonderful as the tough, foul-mouthed and very funny Agnes Browne.

Sumptuous historical melodrama.

And while Ivy League-educated psychologist Green considers himself a natural teacher, his teaching technique involves pitting students against each other and haranguing them with rants that run from gentle, good-natured ribbing to flat-out verbal abuse, delivered at an ego-crushing volume.

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.

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.

It's refreshing that there's any moral at all, and that despite its warm and fuzzy trappings, the film floats actual ideas and sprinkles serious questions of ethics and morality atop the usual Hollywood syrup.

Brilliant, in its own twisted way.

Such a compellingly repulsive freak show it's hard to pay attention to any serious concerns.

Much of it is inspired, some of it is downright awful, but it does entertain, even as it threatens to drown its generally fine cast in a flood of blood and sundry body parts.

Lighter than helium but irresistible nonetheless.

For all its talk about sex, incest, insanity and the gory details of the Kennedy assassination, Mark Waters' adaptation of Wendy MacLeod's play doesn't really amount to much more than a lurid, thoroughly enjoyable little pot-boiler.

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.

Director Mike Barker has delivered a film that proves there's life left in the old genre yet, and does so with style, intelligence and surprisingly little violence.

It's a clever legal thriller, one that thankfully doesn't twist itself into a knots trying to keep audiences off guard.

This savvy adaptation of Robert Ludlum's action-clogged 1980 bestseller benefits from the fact that the filmmakers were smart enough to throw out most of the book's preposterous spills and thrills and concentrate instead on its intriguing central character.

Weinstock's trump is Moreau, a natural-born charmer.

The film often teeters on the brink of melodrama and is saddled with a sappy original score.

It can be funny, but the humor is too often based in stereotypical perceptions of Asians (they're short, they're laughably polite, they eat weird food), and Coppola shamelessly invites us to laugh along with Murray's character, who, believe it or not, thinks it's hilarious when his hosts get their "r"s and "l"s switched.

Amid the clutter, Weber -- who narrates but never appears in front of the camera -- occasionally allows a glimpse into his own mind.

Irving's dead-serious sense of spiritual purpose is here replaced with weepy sentiment and saccharine comedy. But knee-deep in syrup, the film manages to stand on its own -- mainly due to a terrific performance from young Smith and a host of winning supporting players.

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.

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

Sharp-edged comedy.

The similarities between this film and Michael Bay's overblown "Armageddon"are too numerous to ignore; the crucial difference is that this one is actually pretty good.

Rather than portraying these girls as one-dimensional victims, Harada offers a complex portrait of teenagers who've learned to make their exploitation work for them.

Both De Bouw and Decleir are superb.

The film is all a little Lit Crit 101, but it's extremely well played and often very funny. But beware: Solondz uses humor as a booby trap, so be careful what you laugh at.

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

Character and plot are the main event, and the film's got both in spades.

The music continues to speak for itself. Play loud.

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.

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.

Basically a one-joke film, but the joke is a good one.

More a reflection in a fun-house mirror than a portrait of the artist.

Neither Parker nor Donovan is a typical romantic lead, but they bring a fresh, quirky charm to the formula. Nor are their characters typical meet-cute types: David and Toni are imperfect people who are some how perfect for each other.

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.

What Garvy's oral history of the Students for a Democratic Society lacks in clarity and opposing viewpoints it makes up for with fascinating personal reminiscences of a turbulent time.

Excellent performances from Sarah Polley and Deborah Harry, and a sensitive script from writer-director Isabel Coixet transform what might otherwise have been little more than a disease-of-the-week cable melodrama.

Instantly forgettable but fun while it lasts, Disney's live-action adaptation of the classic cartoon is an ideal action-adventure thrill ride for kids who may be a little too young for the latest Bond extravaganza.

Bearded, burly and even balding, these "bears" are a refreshing change from the depilated, youth-obsessed men of "Queer as Folk."

Beautifully shot against Iceland's frozen landscape, the film is nearly as spellbinding as its strange heroine, whose essential mystery Gudmundsson preserves until the film's final frames.

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

A cerebral thriller that dares to ask a fundamental question: What, exactly, is love?

So while the facts of Frank's actual political career tend to fall by the wayside, Everly treats us to an insightful look at a remarkable public figure who first became famous for what he does in private.

White's take on southern life is no more "real" than the stereotypes he's trying to disrupt, just cooler.

Anyone unfamiliar with Chomsky's work may be unsettled by his unblinking critique of the U.S. policy at a time when patriotism is the order of the day, and while he fails to offer any real solutions, his conscientious perspectives on the questions remain invaluable.

The subject can sharply divide even the most liberal-minded critics, but it's no secret on which side of the debate filmmakers Bathsheba Ratzkoff and Sut Jhally find themselves.

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

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.

Lacking the thematic depth of "On The Run," this brisk, bubbly jape never really transcends the genre it's emulating, and your enjoyment of the film really depends on your tolerance for bumbling misunderstandings and improbable coincidences.

Clever and offbeat.

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.

The overall effect of Demme's film is a little like experiencing Nazi prison camps through reruns of Hogan's Heroes, right down to the few bona fide laughs.

This gripping documentary contends that some shockingly sleazy efforts to undermine Clinton's character and authority were very real.

It's all about as white and bourgeois as you can get, but the film does take a few risks, and some actually pay off.

This gentle comedy marks the feature directing debut of writer Peter Hedges, a gifted writer who's perhaps best known for the screenplay based on his novel "What's Eating Gilbert Grape."

There's nothing unique about Zarhin's plot -- it's a standard coming-of-age tale with traces of "Good Will Hunting" -- but she portrays the intra-family dynamics with unusual honesty and accuracy.

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

It's easy to see why this violent, thrilling tale broke all box-office records in Thailand: Not only does it stir a sense of deep national pride, but Thanit delivers the goods when it comes to action.

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

There's something surprisingly sweet at the center of this grim prison drama.

A fun and fanciful comic adventure, based on the novel "The Death of Napoleon" by Simon Leys, that takes a great premise and runs with it.

True to form, Salles' version is an intelligent, brooding ghost story brimming with atmosphere, emotions and, above all else, water, but it's disappointingly short on scares.

Delightful Bolivian comedy, which also works as a sly critique of mass media.

A modest but well-done film with a little something for everyone.

Visually striking and viscerally repellent, director Denis Villeneuve's Quebecois oddity offers a nightmarish vision of one woman's unraveling, the likes of which haven't been seen since Roman Polanski pushed Catherine Deneuve off the deep end in "Repulsion" (1965).

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

Ironically, as the former U.S. ambassador to Saudi Arabia Chas Freeman, puts it, Iraq has become what the Bush White House insisted it was at the very beginning, albeit for altogether different reasons: a battlefield in the war against terrorism.

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.

Khoury may be a few years too old to play a minor still squirming under her father's thumb, but her performance as a timid young woman who finds strength while looking for a husband is quite affecting.

The voices of the architects, developers, public officials and contractors here discussing the specifics of particular sites, we're hearing the voices of a conflicted nation as it considers how to handle its tumultuous past while defining itself for future generations.

De Marken and Freeman preserve the group dynamic by dividing the screen into six parts, each mini-frame capturing actions and reactions from a different camera angle, and while the film drags in spots, the performances are unusually powerful.

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

Daring, ultimately heartbreaking.

Natali's film has a fabulous look, a nerve-wracking, claustrophobic mood, a number of genuinely suspenseful set-pieces and some sublimely stomach-churning special effects.

Flawed but undeniably provocative and brilliantly acted by Gosling.

Though the violence in this film never becomes physical, the psychic wounds these people inflict on one another cut so deeply you wish it would. It's a grueling experience.

The filmmakers don't shy away from discussing their frustrations with censorship or the depiction of women, but their work raises interesting questions about the ways in which restrictions can sometimes facilitate artistry and lead to a deeper consideration of the film's subject.

A mystery that's filled with genuine sorrow and capped off with a denouement that may take even seasoned mystery buffs by surprise.

What's amazing is how much first-time director Ganatra and cowriter Susan Carnival get right.

It's not a great film, but let's face it: Considering the source, this is as good as it was ever going to get.

The film is, in fact, an adaptation of Anton Chekov's "The Seagull." This provenance also explains why there's something slightly old-fashioned about the whole business.

It's a real shame that the first half hour is a disorganized ramble that risks driving away the film's audience; a little artful editing would have gone a long way to fixing the problem.

Actress Jane Horrocks is so good in this drama that you'll hardly notice -- or care -- that the rest of the film isn't quite up to snuff.

This provocative, at times languid, documentary from German experimental filmmaker Gabriel Baur is something of travelogue through this unexplored frontier, a mixed-up, shook-up borderland where nothing, especially not an individual's gender, should be ever be taken for granted.

Dazzlingly colorful.

Wang's film offers an interesting look at the rapidly changing face of Beijing.

The surprise is how utterly original his (Woodley's) gorgeously mounted curiosity seems.

Chock full of personality and irreverent detail.

Shot for next to nothing, Buck's film features some lovely cinematography, two strong performances from newcomers Monda and Kelly, and a funny bit by Nancy Daly as Roberta's sweet 'n' sour boss.

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

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

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.

Its subject -- ethnic profiling during a time of international crisis -- could hardly be more contemporary.

The real stars of the film are Francois Emmanuelli's vibrant production design, Klapisch's flair with inventive optical effects and above all Barcelona itself, captured here in all its baroque brilliance.

Stony and statuesque, Michelini is an excellent casting choice: Her impassive face and dispassionate voice serve as a carefully constructed protective mask that hides her pain, and which she rarely lets slip.

The pressure often shows: For all its charm, the dramatic moments are awkward and the final act feels rushed and under rehearsed.

Virgil's naïveté isn't entirely believable, but his essential goodness is, thanks to a solid performance by Jordan, and that's really what makes this modern urban tragedy unusually affecting.

Blends history and mystery into an entertaining, if somewhat slight, romance.

An engaging bit of entertainment.

As a treatment of yet another unexplored corner of the Nazi nightmare, the film is revelatory; needless to say it's also heartbreaking.

Touched with eerie dream sequences, the film casts a strange spell that's enhanced by the rhythmic, almost sensual depiction of the painstaking art of embroidery.

Hate the holidays? You're in luck: Here's a bottomed-out Santa story.

Surprisingly, it works: The overwhelming natural expanse of the New Mexico desert is perfectly balanced by the psychic space Charley and Arlene create - the space where all the real action takes place.

Compulsively watchable.

The film is slow and somber during the windup but pretty scary in the follow-through.

Supremely silly on the surface but full of sophisticated sight gags and deadpan humor.

The folks at Jim Henson Pictures have wisely opted not to mess with the late Jim Henson's winning formula; the crowd-pleasing soundtrack features hot '70s funk classics, the Muppets are as cute as ever and there are more than a few flashes of adult humor to keep grown-ups laughing right along with the kiddies.

Beneath the heavy accents, wild gesticulating, slaps to the head and garish flocked wallpaper, there's an awful lot of heart.

The scene transitions are sometimes jarring, but the story unfolds like a particularly juicy bit of small-town gossip, one that's told by a particularly vivid storyteller.

A wonderful premise that delivers solid laughs and has a heart as big as the state in which this farce unfolds.

It's good fun, and the whole debate raises some interesting questions about larger questions of authorship and whether or not it ultimately matters who "Shakespeare" actually was.

Grim tale of good and evil.

It's overtly about provocation, set in a tony Danish suburb where a group of men and women living commune-style in an empty house are discovering their "inner idiots" by pretending to be developmentally challenged.

Although Zach Braff's promising writing-directing debut is a bit affected, few actors with behind-the-camera aspirations succeed as well as the Scrubs star does with this melancholy romantic comedy.

That Techine manages to coax a somewhat happy ending from this staid, somber film is heartening proof that what doesn't kill us might indeed make us stronger.

Though "Pulp Fiction" is the obvious point of reference, but this hugely entertaining Mexican crime comedy is actually closer in spirit to "Go," Doug Lyman's underrated 1998 lark.

If ever an English-language film needed English subtitles it's this.

Members of what used to be referred to euphemistically as the "raincoat crowd," will probably enjoy Winterbottom's experiment more than most.

The film's real star is the stunning Montana landscape, beautifully captured by cinematographer Paul Ryan.

Even after it becomes clearer which side of law Harris is operating on, the film continues to work as a taut -- if violent -- police thriller.

A wickedly entertaining bit of domestic tragedy.

While there's plenty of Shakespeare, Lawrence and Yeats scattered throughout John Brownlow's screenplay, there's precious little Plath -- no doubt the unfortunate result of the stranglehold the Hughes estate still maintains over her work.

The meat of the matter is fight sequences, and rather than being goosed with now-common digital effects and Hong Kong-style wirework, it's all real and all breathtaking.

Totally daft and a lot of fun.

The swooping helicopter shots, the POV camerawork from the front seat of a 800 hp trophy-truck and the propulsive soundtrack will have your heart racing towards the finishing line along with the drivers.

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

A tense geopolitical thriller that leaves a curiously bad aftertaste.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

An enjoyable, ultimately inconsequential crowd-pleaser.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

Through Carax's eyes, even squalor looks fabulous.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The film is at odds with itself, trying to present transgendered characters as resourceful and tough as nails while the plot habitually reduces them to traumatized masochists and helpless victims.

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.

If it were possible for an entire state to sue for defamation of character, Iowa might have a strong case against writer, director and star Matt Farnsworth.

A ludicrous foray into psychological horror.

There's also precious little chemistry between the players. Only Mol has any charm of which to speak, and, frankly, she deserves much better.

The film is an encouraging effort from McCrudden -- he manages to avoid the staginess of the recurring two-characters-in-a-hotel-room set-up -- and features a standout performance from Williams.

Performances are really what count in a character-driven romantic comedy like this, and each is well above the indie average.

Sadly, the only aspect of this well-intentioned film that doesn't feel completely formulaic is its refreshingly unromantic picture of an inner-city neighborhood in the early '70s: Life in Nicetown is hard and very, very poor.

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.

This is a film for hardcore film fans and Francophiles. Everyone else may find little to sustain them beyond the pastiche and shots of Paris.

It's a far more interesting film; unfortunately, it's locked inside a maudlin coming-of-age story that barely registers.

The final moment of Minac's film is a powerful tribute to Winton's heroism and the magnitude of his achievement, easily eclipsing the 90 minutes that precede it.

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

The real irony is that for all its integrity, the film isn't nearly as thought-provoking as Steven Spielberg's recent "A.I. Artificial Intelligence" or "Minority Report", and nowhere as entertaining.

What should have been an important addition to popular films about women's rights winds up being the most insulting courtroom drama since "Ally McBeal" was put out of its misery.

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.

What is grating is the filmmakers' perennial tendency to underestimate their audiences; their lack of faith leads them to drive home each nuance with a hammer.

With its flashy, music-video style edits, rock-scored montages and septuagenarian cast, it’s hard to say who, exactly, is the right audience for this unusual comedic drama.

The all-too-vivid simulation of terrorist attacks, including a prolonged scene of a building collapse in which people are seen plummeting to their deaths and crushed under falling concrete, may strike a very different chord with post-9/11 American audiences.

Unpleasant stuff, and Clark pounces on the material with his usual relish and a discomfiting combination of moralizing and prurience.

Formulaic film recounts the tumultuous birth of Israel.

Well-acted first-feature.

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

Quite possibly the final word on a much-maligned genre.

Once the star of some of the finest movies of the '70s and '80s, Keaton has begun making just this kind of chick-flick comedy with increasing regularity at least since 1996's "The First Wives Club," and it's gotten so she's not even trying to get into character anymore.

Not much to laugh about -- or shout about for that matter.

Surprisingly, some of the best moments come from supermodel Crawford and singer Connick, two acting tyros not generally known for their dramatic skills.