Kevin Maynard

The overlapping dialogue and the comedy of famous people playing self-variations is pure Altman (Leigh, not surprisingly, has worked in three Altman films).

The script is pure Disney formula. Dinosaur offers next to nothing in the way of variation.

Yields beguiling nectar.

Smith and Fitzgerald are funny, feisty, poignant, and altogether realistic. Will they end up lovers, friends, side-by-side corpses? Their sharp performances make Series 7 as frighteningly addictive as crack, or even "Survivor."

Agnes Browne hums along as a series of pleasant vignettes, only frantically shifting to a single narrative track in its third act for the sake of an unbelievably upbeat ending.

Though far from a sophomore slump, Snatch, like "Smoking Barrels," is such a grab bag of other influences that it's tough to figure out what, if anything, about Ritchie's style is uniquely his own.

The entire ensemble is first-rate.

Writer-director Harmony Korine seems more interested in churning your stomach than in warming your heart.

Giuseppe Tornatore has long been a master of cheap sentiment ("Cinema Paradiso," " The Legend of 1900"), but his latest film is his most shallow, reprehensible exercise in nostalgia to date.

The year's first sure-fire Oscar nominee has arrived with flying colors.

So desperate to be rebellious and cool, that it's impossible to see it as anything more than one big case of "been there, done that" -- even if your drugs have already kicked in.

A gritty, well-acted urban drama with lots of humanity.

Relevant message aside, there's no good reason to sit through photographer Neal Slavin's directorial debut.

Too much of a locker-room melodrama to make for great tragedy.

Crawford's such a good-hearted guy, you can't help but want a cut from his clippers.

The movie's still thinner than a supermodel's waist. It's not just that the results are less than heavenly; it's that we don't know what the hell they are.

At their trenchant, tuneful best, the Barenaked Ladies take flip comic spins on serious subjects (alcoholism, heartbreak). But offstage, they have nothing of substance to reveal.

Deserves to be applauded for not casting Freddie Prinze Jr., but this sloppy, somnolent, strung-together flick pales when compared to such other teenage riffs on classic literature as "Clueless" and "10 Things I Hate About You."

Affectionately skewers the age of polyester pants.

Tries to have it both ways -- as a kitschy ode to bodybuilding culture and as a tragic story of a man who was persecuted for his dreams.

A big disappointment. It's toe-tappin' tripe aimed squarely at the undiscerning Britney Spears set.

The casting is sublime.

Has a credibly gritty texture, thanks in large part to Fishburne's generosity with his fellow actors.

Families already know exactly what they're in for, and they're likely to leave the multiplex high on the hum of a charming cast, sunny San Francisco locations, and a suitably happy ending.

There's nothing remotely bizarre about this boy meets girl meets boy tale.

The most obvious casualty ends up being Jennifer Jason Leigh, an actress known for her fearless choices, who is literally pissed on for her trouble.

Li's light touch and explosive fighting skills deserve a better vehicle than this overcooked pot of New Jack suey.

Not all of the jokes hit, but enough of them do that anyone who's ever filed, collated, or played Mixmaster DJ with the transcribing machine will find cathartic giggles in this breakout debut.