Ken Fox

Through Carax's eyes, even squalor looks fabulous.

It's curious that the filmmakers choose to end the story without reporting on Weatherwoman Kathy Boudin's involvement in an ill-fated 1981 robbery of a Brinks truck in New York State.

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 cast is similarly impressive; they're American through and through, and thankfully refrain from affecting anything remotely resembling a British stage accent.

Each woman is a terrific interview, and if the climactic vision of these still beautiful ladies gliding through the water doesn't bring a lump to your throat, you surely have no heart.

Raunchy without ever devolving into flat-out prurience, Berger's oddly sweet comedy perfectly captures the naivete of the era and the unexpected wholesomeness of some of its adult entertainment.

Perfect introduction to a remarkable career, and a moving memorial to a remarkable filmmaker.

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.

If you're expecting anything resembling the beloved cartoon, you'll enjoy the title sequence and nothing else. If, however, you set your expectations just low enough, or are an easily satisfied 8-year-old, you might have a bit of fun.

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.

Svankmajer has crafted his finest live-action feature to date.

Zhang's film is sweet and sentimental nearly to a fault; luckily, he's such a master, you'll hardly notice how shamelessly you're being manipulated.

While at times overly familiar, the film never feels self-mocking.

Rather than concentrate on Ann's disappointed infatuation and providing a satisfactory reason for its failure, Minot and, one suspects, Cunningham in particular, chose to flesh out the character of Buddy.

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.

You just know that any film that opens with Nietzsche's aphorism about hope being an evil that only prolongs the torments of man isn't going to a comedy.

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's both very funny and very scary, and never descends to the level of spoof.

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

Eye-opening documentary by New Zealand filmmaker Alison Maclean.