Kevin Maynard

Offers effortless charm, wit, and originality in spades.

Never the heart-wrenching emotional experience it seems intended to be.

Mesmerizing entertainment, but it's also a cop-out.

Eventually succumbs to fatal overlength.

A charming movie.

Almereyda never plays up the gimmickry at the expense of the performances, and as a result, his movie largely succeeds, despite an overabundance of pretentious pokes at our consumer culture and the risky casting of Ethan Hawke in the lead role.

Badly photographed, clumsily edited, and lacking any discernable cinematic style.

All in all, she comes off as quite a complex creature.

The politicizing is intense, but the actual game footage is even more engrossing; Carlson uses both digital video and 16mm film to put us squarely in the midst of the gridiron brouhaha.

Offers up keys and cakes and plunges its characters down a deep rabbit hole.

A new version of the greatest psychological mystery of all: love.

Just try not to smile while watching Jump Tomorrow.

The results are far more real than MTV's The Real World.

Plays out like a raunchy episode of "Felicity."

This bed-swapping crime story is ultimately too protracted, but Piñeyro's direction is richly atmospheric, full of noir shadows and strong period detail.

This fictionalized, frequently stomach-churning biography of Australian criminal Mark Chopper Read features the most bloody ear-severing scene since "Reservoir Dogs."

A punishing tragedy that could best be described as the anti-"Shine."

In spirit, 101 Reykjavík is so Almodóvar that it could melt the polar icecap.

Come Undone is the quintessential gay date at the art house.

Elevates the horror genre with a refreshing intelligence and humor -- too bad it's not half as good at generating scares.

Ultimately too slight and opaque to inspire much ardor.

As talented as Polley proved herself in "The Sweet Hereafter" and "Go," this is her best work yet.

Billed cleverly as a comedy from the heart that goes for the throat. If only Brooks had had the guts to avoid the schmaltz.

Plays like a Chinese "Cinema Paradiso," full of feeling without succumbing to sentimentality.

Worth navigating for its refusal to play to the crowd. There's certainly nothing safe or sweet about Weaver's performance.

This is nothing more than a bare-assed fart in the face of Smith's fans.

A fast, funny film that goes down like a cyanide-spiked piña colada.

It's the kind of flourish that makes you smile -- that makes you believe in the power of movies.