Lawrence Toppman

Corpse Bride had me at the maggot.

All of Barnyard is odd. Oddly funny much of the way, oddly serious when it makes room for the early death of a beloved character or the hushed birth of another, oddly musical with its melange of hip-hop and reggae and hard rock and bluegrass.

Whatever you feel about Truman Capote, you won't be able to turn away from him here.

Anderson leavens the lunacy with a few acts of sudden and extreme violence or avert-your-face sex, which seem as extravagant as the rest of his notions. Perhaps they’re in there to change the flavor of the humor, the way Mendl might put a bitter coffee bean in a chocolate torte to keep it from cloying us.

A director needs to know how to pace the tale, where to place the camera, how to draw out a shy actor or get out of the way of a strong one. Those skills are rarer than you'd think. Sarah Polley, who never wrote or directed a feature film before Away From Her, has them all.

The longer film makes Donnie's intentions clearer, explains the time-travel theme better and also leaves us in no doubt as to Frank's identity.

Polished, thoughtful and touching.

The sequel is faster, funnier and wilder, with more cunningly contrived computer effects.

You won't forget Nobody Knows, the quietly harrowing tale of four abandoned Japanese children.

Seeing Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is like having a second date with the woman who made you fall in love at first sight.

Keaton reminds us what a fine actor he could always be.

The first movie I'd have enjoyed more asleep. That's not because it put me to sleep, but because it may be the most dreamlike film I've ever seen.

Vaughn delivers every line with his usual deadpan glibness, which suits the part. But I smiled as I watched the big-bellied, multi-chinned actor connecting with the porcelain, model-thin Witherspoon.

Lynch does "explain" what's happening via a plot twist two-thirds of the way through "Drive," which will satisfy you (as it did me) or leave you asking, "Is that all there is?"

The giddiest and funniest animated film of the year.

You don’t often hear the adjective “uncomfortable” used as a compliment. But you’re seldom going to come across a movie that makes you as uncomfortable as The Diary of a Teenage Girl yet seems as true to life.

Spielberg has never made a more sophisticated and less sentimental picture. He and writer Tony Kushner craft it like a historical thriller.

The presence of Robert Redford gives the character weight, if not depth, because we bring to the film everything we know about the actor from other movies. Redford’s characters have seemed unflappable for more than 40 years: sometimes cool, sometimes cocky, but almost always master of a situation. To see him beginning to flounder is to see a new Redford, one who catches us off guard.

Marston doesn't develop the characters, except for the strong-willed and quick-witted Maria.

McNamara's too mentally adroit to let Morris pin blame or guilt on him, and the director's not interested in shaming him.

An experience as tender and troubling as any you're likely to get - or not likely, if this subject puts you off.

One of those documentaries about a family train wreck that makes you wonder how people consented to have their tawdry laundry washed so publicly.

Haneke peels back the layers of Georges Laurent as slowly and dispassionately as a scientist dissecting a diseased mouse. The ending arrives with the power and inevitability of Greek drama.

Almodovar still populates his work with characters you'll see nowhere else in movies.

It's tense, strangely funny in a lot of spots and – if you grew up loving old-fashioned, seat-of-the-pants baseball, as I did – the most depressing movie of the year.

Its familiar story has pleasing quirks.

The two most frightening concepts in Room, one of the most remarkable movies of 2015, are freedom and the lack of it.

Reveals the drama and degredation so powerfully that it ranks among the all-time heavyweights of sports movies.