Kevin Maynard

Intelligently written, sharply directed, and beautifully played.

Works so hard at being pleasant and ingratiating that it wears out its welcome.

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.

The flat, gross-out live-action bits, directed by (surprise!) Peter and Bobby Farrelly, don't jive with the zippy, Tex Avery-style animated segments, directed by former storyboard artists Piet Kroon and Tom Sito.

The most heartfelt tribute to women -- specifically, actresses -- he's (Almodovar) ever made.

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

Despite being full of Oscar-winning talent, this is still just a better-dressed, drawn-out episode of "Touched by an Angel."

As a snapshot of Hungarian history, Glamour's watchability trumps that of "Sunshine" — the droll absurdity of the former leaves a much deeper impression than the latter's bruising moralism.

Features a sexy, appealing cast, especially Guillermo Diaz.

Especially timely in light of the current escalation in Palestinian-Israeli aggressions, but this is one sad story that would pack a staggering punch in any political climate.

Thanks to the first-time filmmaker's attention to character, Gun Shy is worth at least a shot at a matinee.

Like its accordion-filled score, it's nothing but a golden moldie.

42 Up is filled with truth and poignancy as these people reflect on their first half of their lives, their goals, ambitions, and how they, for the most part, succeeded in reinventing them.

Populated with whiny, unappealing characters that are impossible to care about and flatly staged sitcomish set-pieces...this lame Canadian import's a real woofer.

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

A must-see for avid fans and a welcome primer for nascent hip-shakers everywhere.

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

Psychological thrillers depend on convincing audiences to suspend disbelief, but this one doesn't manage that for a moment.

The film ends with a surprisingly upbeat coda. But Startup.com leaves us with a sense that our heroes' idealism will be forever lost.

Frankly, there wouldn't have been enough shtick here to warrant an SNL skit. And if the material isn't even up to those standards, then who the hell green-lit it as a feature?

The appealing cast makes the most of the derivative story.

This is sub-par Aaron Spelling sludge all the way.

What's right as rain with Diary is the casting.

An enjoyable female buddy caper -- more "Outrageous Fortune" than "Thelma and Louise."

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

The film has an unabashed romantic tone that's matched by Wenders' usual flair for visual drama.

It's another subtle, fantastic performance from McKee ("Notting Hill," "Croupier").

A uniquely personal, vibrant mosaic of the American dream, and like a dream, it evaporates beautifully before our eyes.

There's really nothing more to this by-the-numbers, ailment-of-the-week fodder dressed up with a classy cast.

A technologically marvelous animated movie that's just as funny and inventive as the first, but also more emotionally engaging than most live-action films. This is clearly a sequel in name only.

A jauntily entertaining ride.

It's Zahn's heartbreaking performance that drives Riding in Cars with Boys.

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

Simply a pleasant diversion rather the paean to crazy-in-love classics it would so like to be.

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

Has a blithe tone and a capable cast, but Veber's script is 100 percent laugh-free.

Captures the embarrassment of foreplay, but it could use a few lessons in the art of seduction

The film is never less than a satisfying mix of compelling entertainment and social critique. The performances are uniformly superb.

Like "Pollock," Nora is a convincing portrait of the intersection between creative genius and crazy, all-consuming love.

Strives for folksy charm but ends up just lying there like a plate of kippers.

Love & Sex is nothing but pain and suffering.

A vanity vehicle for the dubious acting talents of Pras.

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

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

How well you respond to this handsomely mounted, cold-blooded tragedy will depend on your feelings toward Gillian Anderson's highly theatrical lead performance.

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

Strangely, what it most lacks is the genuine tension found in the first "Mission"'s signature set pieces.

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

It's the sum of things not spoken, things too painful to express, that's the heart of this quietly moving drama.

It's a sugar rush that'll leave you feeling like a rotten cavity.

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

The results are both savagely funny and poignant for anyone who's ever had a friendship that felt like their only connection to the outside world.

Black, who is creatively marooned in the thankless Chris Farley fat-boy role, deserve better, and so do we.

Traffic is a riveting, semi-documentary drama, and yet calling it that is a disservice to just how suspenseful and stylish an entertainment it is.

At best a vaguely Semitic episode of "The Wonder Years."

Reed's manic direction rarely lets up between show-stopping cheer numbers.

Doesn't come close to the pulp beauty and complexity of classic noir.

Together is unabashedly about people who need people. The film's satiric skewering of '70s liberalism works because it feels emotionally authentic.

A satisfying, sentimental trip.

Limp satire isn't worthy of its good intentions.

Croupier should please people who take their noir straight up -- with plenty of twists.

Yields beguiling nectar.

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

It's filled with far too much talk and it never justifies its length, but if you succumb to its old-fashioned Renoir style of storytelling, The Grandfather has its pleasures.

A watery cocktail of second-rate, Ab Fab-style bitchery and shameless schmaltz.

"Footloose" meets "The Full Monty" in Bootmen, a cliché-ridden tap dance drama.

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.

You could do a lot worse than spend two hours in the company of two such talented actresses.

Visually, Pitch Black is sleek and stylish in a post-apocalyptic way, and a scantily clad Radha Mitchell does a nice, more femme variation of Sigourney Weaver's Ripley.

Just try not to smile while watching Jump Tomorrow.

A sleek rip-off of "The Birds" that is fast, furious, and watchable, but lacking in the two elements most essential to a silly screamfest like this: scares and laughs.

Oy, it's such a pleasure that you'll be begging for Rush Hour 3.

The casting is sublime.

All this artful violence won't change your life, but Non-Stop is a satisfying quickie.

A detective story without a solution and a coming-of-ager without discernable characters.

Affectionately skewers the age of polyester pants.

Take the G out of Glitter and it's litter.

The biggest piece of supernatural hooey since estranged wife Demi Moore's "The Seventh Sign."

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

Election is a bracingly intelligent adult comedy that shrewdly captures adolescence.

Never better than middling, despite its best intentions.

Will take you by surprise as a romantic, fast-paced, entertaining spectacle that deserves to earn back every penny spent to produce it.

It's got enough hilarious moments that, all in all, the film's bite is as toothsome as its bark.

Most tenderly, the film deciphers the true meaning of its corporate-speak title in Franck and his father's impassioned struggle to ensure each other's welfare.

Unfolds like quietly engrossing short fiction, reminding us that there are few things more pleasurable than being in the hands of a good storyteller.

Makes for compulsive viewing.

An amiable but contrived bit of blarney.

Startlingly shallow even for a summer movie.

Fans starving for some song and dance celluloid may be satiated, but this movie version really shows the material's age.

This self-consciously kooky road movie about an unusual trio of bank robbers aims for Hal Ashby misanthropy, but hasn't a single emotionally grounded or plausible moment to justify its purely cinematic eccentricities.

Praise will get under your skin.

It's a tad too generic to be a slam dunk.

John August's script is exciting, witty, original material, and this film's got the talent to match.

Unsuccessfully attempts to fathom Kaufman's lunatic sensibilities, supplying scant psychological insight into what made the outrageous comic tick.

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

The real reason to see it is Brian Cox, best known for being filmdom's other Hannibal Lecter (he played the role in Michael Mann's "Manhunter").

A cross between a Hogarth painting and an MTV video, Plunkett & Macleane cuts quite a swath.

For all its pretense of critiquing our tabloid culture, it amounts to much ado about nothing.

Houston, we have a problem. It's called The Astronaut's Wife and it's an utterly predictable rip-off of classic '60s and '70s exercises in paranoia, from "Rosemary's Baby" to "The Parallax View."

Nico and Dani merely retells a not uncommon tale without significantly enriching it. It's just too familiar to play as poignantly as it would like to.

Best of all is the supporting performance of The Jackie Robinson Steppers Marching Band, a real group of high-school musicians in which the three girls all perform.

Strictly where the boys are: posing, posturing, and talking engine envy.

The Spy Who Shagged Me is impossible-to-resist summer fun that left me feeling, dare I say, randy for more? Oh, behave.

This grade-Z programmer is a painfully earnest, clichéd, amateurish waste of time.

Plays out like a raunchy, substandard WB soap.

Dares to substitute wit and warmth for the standard gay indie tropes in tackling its tale of an unconventional couple.

Even if it sometimes skips, it's consistently wittier and more idiosyncratic that most studio movies.

Ultimately too slight and opaque to inspire much ardor.

It's so plot heavy it never finds its nimble comic rhythm.

A disarming helping of Capra-esque corn served up by writer-director Rob Sitch.

A profoundly moving human drama, a quasi love story about two lost men who form an unlikely friendship.

Plays out like a raunchy episode of "Felicity."

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

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

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

Only Elaine May shines, in a weird and wonderful turn. Her loopy character has such a struck-by-lightning demeanor that she's always delightfully off in her own comic orbit even in the tritest of scenes.

Liam is mostly an emotionally devastating chronicle of the disintegration of a family. The entire cast is superb, but Frears has cast two screen naturals in the lead roles.

The rapper-ever-increasingly-turned actor -- is having the time of his life, big pimp styling in a flashy wardrobe as he guts and struts.

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

Shows its roots early on: Mixing the high camp of "Strictly Ballroom" with Monty's gritty milieu, the film comes off as little more than a contrived composite, despite the best efforts of pros Rickman, Richardson, and Griffiths.

This jailhouse jam is quite a haul.

The only reason to sit through On the Line is for some entertaining, if fleeting, musical moments.

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.

It's a coffee-table movie, but what saves it are a couple of performances.Rowlands puts a spin on every line reading, Harris quietly mines regret, and Shields, assured and sexy, has never been this good.

The film's a vacuous bore.

It's such a sensory experience; in its best moments, the film washes over you like a fever dream.

A raunchy, scattershot, but often hilarious spoof.

Nolan's engrossing, backwards-ticking noir will run you so thoroughly in circles that you'll need to see it at least twice for maximum enjoyment.

Despite Arteta's best efforts, I eventually stopped caring about their bond because Chuck's character is conceived as such a two-dimensional yuppie.

Banderas may have been crazy to make such a heady directorial debut, but it's hard not to be charmed by his ambitions.

This talky, self-important flick is a bore of biblical proportions.

Makes for compulsive viewing even though its noirish plot doesn't make a lick of sense.

The man (Apted) behind the excellent "7 Up" series has put a human face to science, making the seemingly abstruse both accessible and easily relatable.

The film's greatest flaw is its miscast leads, who conjure up zero dewy-eyed, wish-fulfillment magic.

Too much of a study in formalism to register deeply on an emotional level.

Offers little in the way of splendor in the grass.

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.

This is a second-rate Woody Allen midlife crisis comedy without the laughs.

Even if the great debate that pits artistic integrity against corporate compromise doesn't thrill you, see Cradle Will Rock anyway. It's marvelous, provocative entertainment; art for art's sake.

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

Starts as light, fluffy fun but becomes so blithely preposterous that it ceases to exist.

Optimistically explores how vastly different people can come together, and how any journey is more about what happens along the way than simply getting from one place to another.

It's a pleasure to watch these unhurried, character-driven vignettes when such great actors are anchoring them.

The more we realize that we're stuck in the company of a totally relentless loser, the drearier the entire experience becomes.

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.

The entire ensemble is first-rate.

Along the way, we end up losing patience with our couple-to-be because they seem too smart to endure the indignities ceaselessly heaped on them.

Faithless, filmed mostly during Sweden's endless winter, will chill you to the bone.

Oddly, Bully's only moments of power come at the film's end, after the crime takes place.

Brooks' least satisfying film in quite a while.

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

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

A witty, if overextended, take on pornography.

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

Proof of Life won't hold your heart hostage for very long after it's over, but here's looking at Russell Crowe -- he's the real deal, sweetheart.

For the most part, it's when the women do the singing -- that Songcatcher really comes alive.

One more attempt to pass off chopped liver as foie gras.

Never less than riveting.

Zahn's dazed and confused, droopy-mustached dude steals every scene he's in...a movie that will make you smile and put a lump in your throat.

Duller-than-a-Vitalife-convention compilation of talking heads.

As intriguing as the premise sounds, Mission to Mars hasn't a single moment of real suspense.

This historical epic about the "virgin queen" of England's early life moves with the crackling urgency of a contemporary political thriller.

A funny, frenetic, and often quite touching microcosm of the Big Apple life itself, essayed by a pitch-perfect cast and boasting authentic urban flavors.

Whenever Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon resorts to flying fists or soaring sword battles, the Force is definitely with it.

Covers some bases, but it feels like the Cliffs Notes version of a grander epic.

Lynch's faith in the kindness of human nature has been renewed, yet thankfully he's never maudlin. Instead, he wins over our emotions with the film's understated beauty.

It's the funniest, saddest performance of the year in a film of uncompromising wit and heart.

A sentimental slice of 1950s Italian-American life that doesn't soft-pedal its characters' simmering prejudices within their insulated community, or pander to their dreams of getting out.

It's dull, two-dimensional, and totally toothless.

Despite the film's impressively epic look and an interesting cast of young and old actors, it ringingly sounds the same dour note over and over again.

Too often, the movie is more forced and frantic than actually funny.

Juggles a few too many subplots, cramming in more issues than your average nightly newscast. But more often than not, this is a film to savor.

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

A mockumentary about small-town beauty pageants that's so confidently unfunny it's DOA.

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

Hard to watch -- not because of its unflinching realism, but rather for its mawkish reliance on every boy hooker flick from "Midnight Cowboy" to "Johns."

A riveting, unsentimental tragedy of unrequited love.

This predictable romantic comedy outing has occasional flickers of ingenuity.

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.

This is one of those movies in which there are only two types of people: officious yuppie pricks, and the beautiful folks who stop and smell the daisies. What keeps it (barely) from being completely intolerable is Keanu Reeves' hilariously awful lead performance.

On the whole, this documentary is best-suited to hardcore fans.

It plays out like an endless series of scenes we've seen before.

This one's still worth checking out -- especially for the naturalistic performances by the feisty Touly and the rest of the young cast.

I'd rather go on an all-Crisco diet than sit through Poor White Trash again.

Considerably less fun than a marathon of Star Search episodes.

A miserable western that is clearly headed downward toward the latter destination.

It's amiable enough, but the only real opportunity here is to see Walken step out of the shadows.

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."

Its emotional sweep is ultimately undercut by murky characterizations and generic plotting.

Hellish matrimonial misfire.

If you're looking for refuge from summer movie bombast, it's frequently intoxicating.

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

Offers effortless charm, wit, and originality in spades.

A charming movie.

Engagingly silly sub-"Moonlighting"-style banter.

A fitting tribute to these displaced children because it so simply and elegantly personalizes their place in the most horrific chapter of 20th-century history.

Should be shot at sunrise. Or strung up by the neck from a tall tree. Or at least run out of town by a big posse.

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.

The most poignant (if hard-hitting) depiction of childhood to show up this year.

This is certainly the best studio movie of the new year to date, and Douglas might even be remembered at next year's Oscars.

Has its funky charms.

An audacious but underconceived blend of fiction and documentary that questions the idea of race and identity in America.

Basically one elaborate joke about male modeling and all the vanity, emasculation, and fatuousness that attend it. Fortunately, it's a good joke.

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

Director Roger Michell ("Persuasion," "Notting Hill") has made his finest film to date.

Skeet Ulrich continues to disappoint in one high-profile project after another.

A literate, dialogue-driven treat delivered by a cast that truly savors the script's wicked wit.

Crude and witless.

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

This is such seductive entertainment that you might as well stop grousing and give in.

There's lots of sweet music to savor in this snide industry satire.

Captures the emptiness of small-time lives as evocatively as Peter Bogdonavich's "Last Picture Show."

Flock (don't walk) to the theater to see Chicken Run.

There's no spirit of adventure to separate this one from the pack.

A modestly entertaining ride.

Proudly wears its heart on its sleeve, but it never becomes so swoony that you'll reach for your hanky.

But jaw-dropping trailer aside, there isn't much movie here.

The backdrop of exotic pagodas and wartime woe isn't nearly potent enough to buoy the feeble drama that plays out in the foreground.

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.

This one's all labor pains, and, in the end, nothing gets delivered.

An intermittently irresistible entertainment.

It's "Shampoo," 30 years after. What a surprise, then, that this effort ranks lower even than the Steve Martin remake of "The Out-of-Towners."

If you haven't seen his (Crudup's) work before, Jesus' Son could be the one that makes you his biggest disciple.

Gets to the funny bone, but it could've cut deeper.

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

A trifle of a farce fashioned into a '30s musical that gaily trips as much as it lightly skips, but nonetheless marks a welcome return to form.

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

The wrap-up's pretty charming, as are the performances, but the film's too heavy for its soufflé-ready ingredients.

Pie has some nice surprises and is enjoyable in a smutty, sitcom way. It offers up the outrageousness of "There's Something About Mary" without wallowing in cruelty.

After an uproarious first half, Saving Grace arrives at its conclusion somewhat hastily and conveniently.

Why waste the price of a movie ticket when you can see wildebeests cavorting for free from the comfort of your own recliner?

This avenging cat gets no action whatsoever. Neither does the movie, despite a terrific cast and a heap of street style.

Though similar thematically to "Anywhere But Here," Tumbleweeds is a breath of fresh air that busts the cliches of dysfunctional mother-daughter sagas.

This is nothing more than one more run-of-the-mill, surprise-free, suspense programmer.

Some moviegoers are bound to take issue with the trick, "Sixth Sense"-style ending (or cynically see it coming), but The Others is mostly spooky fun, and a strong calling card for Amenabar.

All of the interviewees are compelling, whether proudly showing off bruises and bullet holes from on-the-job scuffles, or voicing their opinions about how the profession has changed.

Moodysson's teen protagonists are more complex than both the high school stereotypes (the nerd, the jock, the beauty queen) in films like "American Pie" and the self-absorbed philosophers on "Dawson's Creek."

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.

An intensely involving, Ibsen-esque human drama populated by complex, sympathetic heroes.

Reitman has truly lost his gift for comic rhythms, cluttering up the film with running yuks that aren't that funny the first time and certainly don't improve with repetition.

Works best as romantic melodrama and is least convincing as a psychological suspenser.

Though unflinching in its savagery, Amores Perros is always compulsive viewing.

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 movie is as schmaltzy as I'd feared, and yet De Salvo does elicit some nice performances from her ensemble cast.

By the time Rock Star reaches its cop-out, "All About Eve"-ish ending, the only thrashing that should be going on is of the filmmakers, for bungling such a promising premise.

Slow as a funeral dirge, the movie's all talk about art and passion and obsession without anything to show for it.

What ultimately keeps Titan A.E. from taking off is an ordinary script.

There are only a handful of great music documentaries ... but Temple's film deserves a place in the canon.

Though frequently brutal and off-putting, Beautiful People is a must-see.

The film's title accurately captures the sensation of sitting through it -- stay home.

Born Romantic feels less like it was born than assembled, in a kooky Britcom factory. It's no "Four Weddings and a Funeral," but it's certainly a happier conception than last month's "Maybe Baby."

Dippy, funny, and fast-paced enough to be a guilty pleasure.

As classic romantic comedy goes, it ain't no "Tootsie."

All that this really amounts to is a lot of hot-headed, hairy men threatening each other -- whenever they're not dancing on table tops, that is.

Who the heck green-lit this garbage heap anyway?

While both leads are appealing enough, it's the stuff on the sidelines that keeps All Over the Guy entertaining.

American History X is a crash course on how to make a message movie that resonates with crackling power.

Every frame of Scott's film is gorgeously lurid and baroque, but it just hangs there like bad art, even during the gore-spilling, Grand Guignol climax.

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.

Such a witless, bombastic, by-the-numbers hunk of millennial hooey it made me nostalgic for Commando. This one throws in every hoary hellfire cliché.