Mark Caro

The Rookie may be pushing buttons, but at least they're the right buttons.

It's as if the movie itself has been sprinkled with fairy dust, and good thing, too: The world of Peter Pan is, at heart, so troublesome that it might as well also be enchanting.

It's the simple pleasures that endure, so it would be curmudgeonly not to share Alice's happiness as she innocently sighs, "That Sam is so thoughtful. He promised to slip me a special tube steak."

Gripping in purely cinematic terms as an imaginatively told tale of sibling rivalry and the pressures of great expectations.

This is one of those films that can accurately be described as small. Mostly, you just appreciate the time spent with these particular people in this particular place.

A surprisingly insightful, non-judgmental meditation on a troubled marriage-with-kids.

Does it immerse the uninitiated into a new, fabulous world? Yes. To the book's many readers, does this feel like the real "Harry Potter"? For the most part, yes.

Mamet being Mamet, the story has far greater repercussions than whether the kidnap victim will be returned to safety. This is a tale of grand conspiracies, formidable forces, shadow warfare; the more that is revealed, the higher the stakes become.

A well-told story. It pits a compelling central character against a formidable adversary in an intriguing setting while keeping you riveted to the cat-and-mouse strategizing, surprise turns and a few moments of actual warmth.

Eighty-six minutes proves to be more than enough time to spend with these characters, but the Hughes Brothers make the case that this is a subculture as compelling as it is repellent.

(Mitchell's) Hansel may be small-boned and soft-featured in an androgynous way, but his Hedwig is a force of nature, burned out and jaded yet brimming with compassion and bursting with energy.

Control Room isn't a systematic dissection of Al Jazeera's possible biases regarding the U.S. or Israel; it's noted that Arabs almost invariably view the war with Iraq in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict while Americans rarely do.

Cunningham's and Woolf's novels are dedicated to capturing a person's essence through the events of a single day, and Daldry's film is faithful to that aim. But the range of life presented here feels constricted; the movie misses the sublime for all of the despair.

Stockwell deserves kudos for working mental illness into a teen story without making it the explicit focus, as in simplistic exercises like "Girl, Interrupted."

Shrek is something of a poignant hero here and not terribly ogre-like; Myers obviously wasn't being paid per giggle generated. Diaz's Fiona feels increasingly fleshed out, while the "annoying talking animals" provide most of the laughs.

While the movie's heroes lay everything on the line, Miracle is too content to skate along the surface.

Isn't exactly a good movie, but it turns out not to be bad, either. It's a romantic comedy that strains to be screwball but at least is likable.

The movie leaves us with the image of rich folks frantically dancing the Charleston because if they stop, they'll have nothing. The point is as untrue as it is simplistic.

This Civil War epic romance is exquisitely shot, lovingly designed and populated with talented name actors. In terms of pedigree and sheer, lush filmmaking, the movie has class written all over it. And that's part of the problem.

For a movie that begins so intriguingly, Boiler Room becomes boilerplate all too quickly.

Kutcher delivers a credibly serious performance as Evan, and he's surrounded by a skilled supporting cast.

The tweaking here feels affectionate, yet you soon suspect that these subjects make for awfully easy pickings.

At its best moments, Romeo Is Bleeding actually is the wickedly funny, violent black comedy it purports to be. [4 Feb 1994, p.C2]

Alternately sweet and mean, sophisticated and vulgar, witty and base, dazzling and ugly, charming and charmless.

The movie seems so convinced of its own entertainment value that it has neglected to factor in the elements that make a comedic thriller more than just a facile exercise -- i.e., suspense, tension, heart. Being amused by plot turns is not the same as caring, and Clay Pigeons never inspires you to grab your armrest or catch your breath. [25 Sept 1998]

Demme gets a lot of flavor and spice into his "Charade" remake, but he can't disguise that he's spiffing up leftovers that aren't so substantial or fresh.

Although Star Maps has some merit as a mood piece, Arteta's treatment of the audience has parallels to Pepe's treatment of Carlos, as he hammers home a message of no hope. [8 Aug 1997, p.K]

This is a profoundly unambitious movie, a '70s cop show spoof that aims to provoke a few giggles, and that's about it.

The movie may not be as toxic and ultimately hopeless as Todd Solondz's "Happiness," but it also fails to find humor, dark or light, in anything.

Even at a mere 82 minutes, the movie is guilty of killing time. It's not a complete Kaputschnik, but it's sure no Bellini.

Much of the value -- entertainment and otherwise -- of seeing a culture-specific movie is to connect with a larger world than your everyday life offers.

An innocuous teen film.

For those seeking the vibrant innovation of Tarantino's first movies or the sheer rush of "Kill Bill, Vol. 1," Vol. 2 feels like a dulled blade.

A serious movie made by seriously talented people, and I never quite came 'round to it.

Of course, you expect talking animals in a Disney cartoon; you just may not initially realize that Dinosaur is the three-dimensional equivalent of one.

The frustrating part is that Only the Strong Survive includes at least as many mundane moments as soul-stirring ones -- and the film isn't much more than a collection of moments.

Lazy, predictable and even dumb about what happens away from the tables. [11 Sept 1998]

Walken seems to run on his own alternative fuel source - he's always easier to observe than to understand - which makes him the natural villainous hero for Abel Ferrara's seedy King of New York, a film more interested in leaving impressions than spinning a smooth narrative. [11 Dec 1990, p.9]

The biggest factor working against Mouse Hunt may be its chilliness. Like some of the Coen brothers' work, it's so stylized that it often keeps you at an arm's length instead of sucking you into its whirlwind.

It remains an expertly assembled companion piece to its source material, with charms you can't overlook. But the great Harry Potter should be casting a more powerful spell.

The draggy ones make you restless while the best ones, like the movie's title ingredients, provide a buzz that doesn't last long enough.

So intent on driving home its worthy if not mind-blowing message that it becomes surprisingly conventional.

Mission: Impossible does provide enough old-fashioned fireworks for a big-budget summer spectacle. But despite the cinematic bravado, this mission ultimately represents a white flag being waved at the notion of updating the TV show. The movie seems to argue that because the Cold War is over, all the good global-conspiracy plots have become obsolete. The intrigue, instead, must turn in on itself like a snake devouring its own tail. [22 May 1996]

Action junkies may enjoy this non-stop barrage, which barely pauses for anything but the most rudimentary (albeit complicated) plot exposition.

Impresses more than it entertains.

This is camp, pure and simple, and unless the translators have taken far greater liberties than is apparent, the filmmakers know it.

This is "Ghostbusters" meets "Men in Black" meets a whole lot of butt humor.

The filmmaker's imagination is too rich for Spy Kids 3-D to be written off as a failure. But it's too bad that while the visuals have gained a dimension, the story has lost one.

Neither sinful nor particularly bad, the movie nonetheless diverts us when it should transport us. Its heroes' hearts may lie out at sea, but its soul never leaves dry land.

A point is being made about how a criminal creates his own myth, but the ways Read twists and embellishes the truth become progressively less interesting.

The movie's title refers to a comment about how people grow at their own rates. Miller's movie has its moments of impressive velocity, but it never quite takes off.

Crowe's chilliest movie. In part this is by design. Like "Open Your Eyes," to which Crowe is mostly faithful, Vanilla Sky is a head trip that merges thriller, romance and science-fiction elements while playing with our notions of dreams and reality.

There's some undeniable appeal to watching a well-oiled, built-for-speed machine operating with its pedal to the metal -- even if it's destined to wind up in flames before the finish line.

It's a dreary movie about a dreary character, offering little insight into her poetry or the mental illness that ultimately conquered her.

The absurd meets the violent meets the droll, and we just watch from the outside, never having been drawn in by anything resembling believable feelings or behavior.

Striptease has its moments, but by the clunky ending it has gathered more steaminess than steam.

Evans and Kelleher could have used the same premise to tell a different story -- one in which viewers could relate to some of the perks of being First Kid instead of just the inconveniences. Luke could show kids a more exciting world. [30 Aug 1996, p.C]

It's not naughty. It's nice. Naughty is funnier.

Yet the movie's no stinker. Like their video-game counterparts, co-stars Bob Hoskins and John Leguizamo somehow manage to weave their way past threatening obstacles and escape with their dignity.

In Uptown Girls Murphy is like a puppy in traffic; you're confident she'll reach the curb but only because the cars are swerving, not because her moves are so deft.

As Cruel Intentions progresses, you may come to realize that if a bomb suddenly blew up everyone on screen, you wouldn't particularly miss anyone.

Never Been Kissed features a fierce tug of war between the charm of Drew Barrymore and the stupidity of the script.

The movie Gray's Anatomy demonstrates that fully stimulating the senses isn't the same as fully engaging them. Gray still begins talking in his trademark plaid shirt with a notebook and glass of water at his table, but soon Soderbergh is sending him on a Disney ride of scenery changes, lighting effects and moody music. [1 August 1997]

Doesn't really work when examined in the daylight outside the theater doors.

The movie suffers from various technical difficulties - like choppy editing and songs that get cut off mid-groove - and in the end everything collapses in a heap. [05 Nov 1990, p.4C]

You can take the director out of television, but sometimes you can't take television out of the director. Although Garry Marshall has been making movies for longer than he spent creating such series as "The Odd Couple," "Happy Days" and "Laverne and Shirley," his work retains the scent of the small screen.

Looks sleek and moves efficiently, but there's nothing too distinctive under the hood.

You never lose awareness that Fraser and, particularly, Elfman are acting alongside creatures they can't actually see, and you constantly think you should be having more fun than you are. In the end, you want to ask the filmmakers: Is that all, folks?

Superior to 2001's "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider" in almost every way. It's better directed, more consistently acted, and its writing, while at times ridiculous, at least has a modicum of logic at its core. I still had to slap myself to stay awake.

As directed by a button-pushing Herbert Ross, "Undercover Blues" operates under the credo of "Grin, and the world grins with you." The ever-chipper Turner and Quaid try their damndest throughout, with Quaid often resembling a Cheshire cat whose face froze that way. throughout, with Quaid often resembling a Cheshire cat whose face froze that way. But all the pep in the world couldn't save this nonsensical mixture of low-rent espionage, low-ball slapstick and low-reaching cuddly family moments, like the baby's first steps captured in what looks like a Polaroid ad.

Waste in the health care system is deplorable, but waste on the movie screen isn't so great either.

No question, the new movie is amiable family entertainment, and Allen is such an affable actor that maybe kids won't begrudge him seeking romantic fulfillment in order to remain their favorite Santa.

The cinematic equivalent of Trix. It's just made to be enjoyed by certain folks more than others. Will girls like it? More than their parents.

Plays like it was made by people who are 30 going on 13. The movie is as flighty and mixed up as the adolescent girl at its center.

In the end the violence is too realistic (though not terribly graphic) to qualify as cartoony escapism, yet the movie lacks the sophistication, vision or satirical edge to lay claim to any higher purpose. It's merely dark for dark's sake.

Dances in circles until you tire of admiring it.

The movie grows more cloying and repetitive as it stretches well beyond two hours. Almost every main character boasts the same bashful, puppy-dog attitude toward romance.

Jonah may resemble an 83-minute Sunday school lesson, but at least it's a playful, colorful one, with spunky peas and tomatoes, chirpy kids' tune-- and bright animation that may not rival "Monsters, Inc." or "Shrek" but gets its points across.

Falls into a familiar trap, resembling a neatly wrapped made-for-TV homily. [26 February 1999, Friday, p.A]

By throwing so much weight to the love story and increasingly contrived setups, the movie does what you secretly, guiltily hope it will do: It lets you off the hook.

House Party aims for the mainstream and hits it- perhaps too often.

The movie's sole selling point turns out to be its sweetness. Sandler, Segal and writer George Wing obviously like all of the characters despite the constant ribbing, and Sandler and Barrymore are as cuddly as a pair of love-struck walruses. But only a sucker would get too close.

For such a rich visual movie, "Reloaded" tells far more than it shows; the pivotal scenes involve people explaining things to Neo. Too many plot turns resemble detours, and even the ever-amusing Smith feels like a red herring in the scheme of things.

You leave feeling like you've endured a long workout without your pulse ever racing. The exercise ultimately is product placement, with Bond the biggest product of them all.

Plays like a drawn-out outline of a better movie; no one got around to fleshing out the details or providing some soul.

Brightly colored, spiffily designed and easy to sit through in a harmless Disney sort of way, but the comedy never accumulates any momentum.

Even before the witness-protection/trial angle has been conveniently jettisoned, it's clear that the plot is no more than a compulsory ingredient in a previously tested formula. Workmanlike in its execution, reliably predictable throughout, the movie might as well have been called "Another Paycheck."

Lacks the energy and urgency of its source material.

The movie can't quite embrace its characters or their scene; Wahlberg even cracks a joke over the end credits that heralds the late-'80s ascendance of hip-hop, which, of course, spawned Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.

A professionally made movie, just not an essential one. There's little fresh or provocative here, and if you can't be shaken by this story, why bother?

We've seen Ali as the charismatic star of the real-time drama of his life. "Ali," for all its flashy filmmaking, just doesn't compare.

Manages to leave the impression that it was funny even though most of its jokes don't score.

An oft-told tale.

At 79 minutes, Love and Other Catastrophes is more of a snack than a meal -- one that could use a little less sugar. Now that Croghan has figured out how to bring characters she likes to the screen, her next lesson is to learn how to flesh them out without resorting to emotional shorthand.

Hellboy's adventures may take him to you-know-where and back, but the movie remains in limbo.

The Door in the Floor feels more about a situation than actual people. It's sensitively rendered, filled with those necessary evocative details, and it never rings true.

Mulcahy has toned down the fancy, self-conscious camerawork of the original, which he also directed, and pushes the story forward with enough flash and pop to divert viewers from the shaky premises. [01 Nov 1991, p.F]

cleverly conceived and professionally executed and to hell with that. It's a serial killer movie in the dime-a-dozen era of serial killer movies, with the selling point being that the murderer is played by a movie star. This way you'll like the guy.