Marc Mohan

For most of its running time, it's a riveting rendition of a stranger-than-fiction tale.

The subtle menace of the would-be geneticist of the Master Race mingles with ordinary pre-teen foreboding to create a riveting cocktail of unease.

Ultimately, though, it's unfortunate that the movie tries to make so many oblique comparisons to more modern tragedy (paparazzi with sketchbooks; yes, we get it!), since Georgiana's life seems fascinating enough on its own.

The documentary's soundtrack is composed entirely of Source Family music, and some of it's not half bad.

It's not a bad movie, but Big Eyes might have been better off if it had sold its audience the same bill of goods Walter Keane sold America.

Unfortunately, the precision and presence Hurt brings to the table aren't enough to carry this warmed-over Southern melodrama.

It's just a shame that the search for the missing formula ends up feeling so formulaic.

The sort of movie that makes you feel like a heel for not liking it: Independently made and heartfelt, it also happens to have been shot in Portland. Nonetheless, the accumulation of cliches big and small manage to erase whatever goodwill its other features have engendered.

The longer it goes on, the more you're swept up into the jet stream of good feeling.

With a deft touch that veers from wry, absurd humor to appalled outrage, the Italian journalist and satirist Pierfrancesco Diliberto makes a noteworthy film debut with The Mafia Kills Only in the Summer.

A compelling examination of a complex topic.

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.

Graham is the most affecting character by far, having returned to India for the first time in 40 years to track down an old lover. His story unfolds in surprising, deftly handled ways, and could easily have justified a film of its own.

If your tolerance for envelope-pushing crudeness and deadpan delirium allows it, this crass comedy might be just what the gastroenterologist ordered.

What Johansson does in Lucy won't win her any prizes, but it establishes her ability to carry a movie that has some ideas, however half-baked, and has nothing to do with her obvious sex appeal.

The movie's centerpiece and peak is the operation itself, which Reichardt depicts with the pulse-pounding patience of a classic heist sequence like that in "Rififi."

In spite of its familiar outlines, director Rob Meyer's first feature benefits from an authentic script and performances.

At its more abstract moments, it's a treat for the eye and the soul.

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

Generally, thanks to solid performances and very nice cinematography, it hits, if not a home run, at least a solid double (or the British equivalent).

You're either on the boat or off the boat with something like this. But for those willing to brave the open water, it's an awe-inspiring ride.

At a full three hours, the movie flirts with wearing out its welcome about two-thirds through, but recovers to end up an exhausting, operatic black comedy that leaves you wanting more.

For his directorial debut, British actor Charles Dance tackles such familiar English themes as repressed desire and an arm's-length fascination with foreigners. Luckily for the slight story, he has recruited two of the most effortlessly brilliant grande dames of British film.

The scenes between Gainsbourg and Skarsgard are fewer and less engaging than in the first volume, and the dichotomy between them is simpler and more obvious. And that doesn't even include an ending that is as impulsive and deranged as anything Joe comes up with during all of her taboo-breaking adventures.

For those disappointed in the grim, gritty feel of the latest James Bond movie and who long for the absurdity of the Roger Moore-era entries, Transporter 3, ought to fit the bill.

There's potential here, as well as in Junn's touching relationship with a fellow resident at the home, for real intensity, but Khaou insists on sticking with a glacial pace and lip-trembling emotional repression when a little bit of melodrama might have gone a long way.

Once the story proper begins, it too feels slightly out of time.

The domestic and romantic turmoil all gets resolved a bit too neatly to seem realistic, but realism isn't the goal; this is comfort food, plain and simple, and achieves its modest goals in nearly effortless fashion.