Marc Mohan

A Band Called Death is more effective as a chronicle of the intensely close relationship between three musically ambitious brothers than as proto-punk archaeology.

Comes up with some decent jokes, including a talking car-based GPS system which doubles as a therapist, and a suggestive Yonica number titled "I Want to Blow You Up," but fails to surround them with a compelling story or characters who rise above the level of cliche.

When characters are required to grow old over the course of a decades-spanning story, as in Love in the Time of Cholera, it's still a hit-or-miss proposition whether the combination of makeup and performance skills will convince us that a character is 40 years older than the actor.

Theron makes Libby a bristling, emotionally crippled live wire, her anger, guilt, and distrust bubbling to the surface with the slightest provocation. She's neither quite as fascinating nor nearly as despicable a character as "Gone Girl"'s Amazing Amy, but director Gilles Paquet-Brenner is no David Fincher.

But if the notion that Austen was more reactive than creative in her writing is troubling, so is the idea that she needed Lefroy to make her into a great writer. "Experience is vital," he tells her. We should be glad this guy never got his paws on Emily Dickinson.

The characters are flat, too: Richard Gere plays your typical desperate, embittered war reporter; Terrence Howard is your typical cameraman/sidekick/narrator; and Jesse Eisenberg rounds out the standard-issue trio as your typical nervous rookie, in over his head.

Reese Witherspoon, whose production company made Penelope, contributes an inflated cameo that feels forced.

In addition to the slick but generic computer animation, it's also got an A-list voice cast: Nicolas Cage as Dr. Tenma, the grieving inventor, and Donald Sutherland as a scheming politician.

Only in the slightly overlong last act, as the family's misfortunes become truly existential, does director Kiyoshi Kurosawa take things to another level. Whether this is an extension of the film's social criticism, a comment on the absurdity of melodrama or straightforward audience manipulation, is anyone's guess.

The Railway Man wants to be two or three different movies wrapped up in one and ends up being a fairly mediocre version of each.

Delivers the expected thrills and groans.

Sayles has always had a gift for female characters, and Go for Sisters features a couple of good ones.

The weirdly earnest literalism of Besson's story is a weak point. His desire to make Angela satisfy both sides of the Madonna-whore complex is too blatant.

There are laughs to be found, as unfiltered improvisations on subjects such as Viagra, home electronics, pot cookies and the end of "Lost" come fast and furious.

The actions of both these vilified parties are so seemingly irrational that you're left feeling there must be some explanation, one that director Todd Douglas Miller either couldn't or wouldn't ferret out.

As a hypothetical, all-access documentary about the kookiest day in draft history, it's oddly satisfying, maybe because watching the actual, bloated spectacle (scheduled this year for May 8) is so often underwhelming.

Christensen, who played the James Bond villain Mr. White in "Casino Royale" and "Quantum of Solace," cuts a striking, white-haired figure as Segerstedt, whose principled tirades against Hitler ultimately earn him the enmity of his prime minster and even his king.

Paper Heart isn't the most cloying instance of earnest indie quirk to emerge in the past few months, nor is it the most charming, but the mere fact that such a continuum exists is reason enough to worry.

While In Bloom offers an authentic slice of life from a particular time and place, it never gets close enough to its characters, physically or emotionally, to really hit home.

The ensuing love triangle culminates in a frankly loopy finale that tarnishes the film's earlier insights and ensures that it will be only remembered for some hot and heavy bedroom scenes.

In trying to make Kalmen's story unique, the film inadvertently exposes him as the most typical sufferer of midlife crises you could imagine.

The line between fearlessness and idiocy can be a thin one, especially in this sport, and the doc never gets too far under Way's skin. But when he soars -- on a skateboard! -- above the massive structure that kept invading armies at bay for centuries, it's pretty darn cool.

The one unforgivable crime committed in this remake is the lack of the original's most famous line of dialogue: "Klaatu barada nikto." Would it have been so tough to squeeze that in somewhere?

Charles Grodin, in his first film in a dozen years, provides some of the best moments as Sofia's dad, while Mia Farrow is kind of creepy as her mom.

Though its characters aren't terribly complex, and its plot holds few surprises, the screenplay (in English, German, and Hebrew) amounts to a worthy treatise on the need to forgo revenge.

Israeli society is one that has ample experience processing grief, and Nina's Tragedies explores that challenge with humanity and humor.

There's fun to be had in the re-creation of indelible screen moments, including several with Scarlett Johansson as Janet Leigh and James D'Arcy as Anthony Perkins.

There's much to admire here, but less to like.

The East never goes as deep undercover as it should.

Overall, there's a patchwork quality to the movie, as if a batch of half-finished short stories were filmed before their time.

The quality that made her an ideal fan club president makes her an endearing, if unenlightening, interviewee.

A misfire, but a misfire from von Trier is still more interesting than a blandly successful Hollywood product.

It’s disappointing that, with such talent and seriousness of intent, the movie ultimately doesn't have much new to say. To paraphrase “The Simpsons”’ Milhouse, it started out like "Bonnie and Clyde," but instead it ended in tragedy.

The performances are solid and subtle, with Depardieu growing nicely into the brooding, smarter-than-he-looks roles his father tackled for years.

Someone should send him (Kerry) a copy, if only to remind the senator of the days when he was willing and able to speak with the courage of his convictions, and when he had a lot less to lose.

More convincing are the performances from Jenkins and Allison Janney, as another of Jesse's old profs. Both these pros bring more depth to their supporting characters than either of the promising, but, alas, young, leads do to theirs.

Like Someone in Love meanders with intention toward a bittersweet resolution, but then pulls the rug out from under you in a cruelly ambiguous shot.

The environment is one of unrelenting cruelty and misanthropy, which certainly brings out the novel's darker themes, but can be something of a slog to watch.

Fiennes and screenwriter Abi Morgan deserve credit for crafting something more nuanced than a mere scandal-airing demonization.

Spoofing the pernicious effects of television, especially the so-called reality genre, doesn't require pinpoint aim, and at times Luciano seems as much a target of ridicule as the superficial, oversexed entertainment served up on the tube.

The performances are solid, and Juuso has a particular charisma. The actors do a commendable job of revealing unimagined layers to their initially one-note roles.

For a film that shows the folly of failing to take the female orgasm seriously, Hysteria ends up taking a silly angle on a potentially fascinating slice of secret history.

White God holds some fascination. But as an indictment of the evil that men do, it's all bark and no bite.

Once the quartet makes it big, things get predictable really fast. Eastwood seems to forget that audiences made The Jersey Boys a touring sensation because they love the songs, not because they want to see yet another "Behind the Music"-style tale of fame and fortune not being all they're cracked up to be.

Since the revelation of Wall Street's culpability for the 2008 economic crisis, though, the arc of Changez's transformation feels almost clichéd, despite Ahmed's earnest, effective performance.

Sometimes those kinds of movies work (just ask the Duplass brothers) and sometimes they seem like the cast and crew had more fun making them than you do watching them. This one sits somewhere in the middle.

Even if her turn in Bright Days Ahead feels overly familiar, especially after Deneuve's recent "On My Way," Ardant is still possessed of the same Gallic poise and presence, and generally a joy to watch.

The world depicted in Mark Romanek's Never Let Me Go is among the more beautiful dystopias in film history.

Of all the roles where the star has played a character transformed from ordinary to goofy ("The Mask," "Me, Myself & Irene," "Liar Liar"), this is the one where he seems the most human, achieving that elusive quality in a Carrey film: tolerability.

Like "The Reader," this film treads unsteadily over the terrain of German guilt.

Even if Salles' film can't possibly capture the impact of its source, it's intriguing enough to rate a place in the ever-expanding mythology of "the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live."

Isn't meant to be a depressing experience, as each of these unfortunate souls recovers a sense of pride in themselves and their tribe through music.

Here's a movie that's jam-packed with bizarre sci-fi concepts, political allegory, a fascinating international cast and some truly over the top set pieces. But for just about everything maniacally cool in the movie, there's a flaw, sometimes a near-fatal one.

If Like Father, Like Son had set up a genuine conflict here, this could have been a fascinating, even gut-wrenching, melodrama. Instead, writer-director Hirokazu Kore-eda stacks the deck by making Ryota such a highfalutin jerk and Yudai such an exemplar of cozy, loving family life.

Now that cinema technology has made a live-action "The Lord of the Rings" possible, these versions are likely to be displaced. They'll retain a nostalgic charm, though, especially for those to whom they were the first peek into the fantastic world of Middle Earth. [24 Aug 2001]

It takes an almost bracingly explicit attitude toward issues of sexual intimacy, to the degree that just seeing this film might count as therapy for some married couples. The PG-13 rating is justified, and should be taken literally, though I can't imagine too many parents bringing their kids to this one. Talk about an awkward car ride home. 

Wants to be both a hot-button, ripped-from-the-headlines statement movie and a crowd-pleasing, rip-roaring action thriller. It ends up meeting each goal about halfway.

Unfortunately, the movie isn't a real success, as director Roger Michell ("Notting Hill") is both too ambitious in the story he tries to tell and not ambitious enough in the way he tells it.

The performances are solid, the cinematography is stunning, and the setting is intriguing. But the whole thing feels bloodless, hitting us over the head with its understatedness. Anytime a film's soundtrack features The Shins, James Taylor, and Nick Drake, you know you're in for an overly laid back time.

The movie shifts awkwardly from slapstick firearms training sessions to tender campfire kisses to straightforward suspense (who are those mysterious trench-coated figures?). Combined with unconvincing behavior from all of its characters, that's enough to leave this a disappointing realization of a potentially fascinating idea.

Ultimately, though, it's hard not to feel like Hou is saying more explicitly and expansively in nearly two hours what Lamorisse managed to convey in only one-fourth as much film.

He's good, but Depp can't quite annihilate the self-consciousness that makes some of his more light-hearted work shine. Too often, it feels like he's channeling other actors: here he's Jack Nicholson with Hunter S. Thompson's nose, there he's an Irish-American Ray Liotta.

The juvenile performances are impressive, as they usually are in foreign films, and Spiridonov handles some grueling material with impressive maturity. But the movie comes undone with an abrupt and preposterous finale.