Marrit Ingman

The movie itself offers few real answers to the problems teachers face.

The quest for sexual happiness is a radical notion in these repressive times, as well as a legitimate basis for storytelling, but Shortbus doesn't quite delve as deeply as it ought into its characters' emotions.

Plenty thought-provoking, but it's not much of a movie and ultimately inspires curiosity rather than passion.

This is a film strictly for hardcore sentimentalists, despite its straight-ahead depiction of the harsh urban landscape in contemporary China.

The film has no script; it goes from moment to moment unhurriedly.

It's a call to arms, a call to pick sides in the deepening cultural, political, and spiritual schism between the two Americas of the 21st century.

It is a sweet, simple movie with a sweet, simple message: that children see the world differently and have much to teach the people who love them.

If it's not perfect, it still gives pleasure to the eye.

The best surprise is Yuan, the daughter of Hong Kong actress Cheng Pei-Pei. She has great screen presence and invests Lichi with a mix of kitty-cat cuteness and hellcat ferocity.

The film is often quietly humorous.

Though it’s as estrogenic as dong quai, this amiable adaptation of Karen Joy Fowler’s eponymous bestseller about six friends and their book club is thoughtfully rendered with a certain universality of spirit – in that sense not unlike the books of Jane Austen herself.

The kind of winking, disingenuous youth comedy that tries to play it both ways, dangling the twins as fetish objects and then yanking them back on the leash because, you know, this is a family film.

Moments of black comedy break up the melodrama – a newsreel depicts the song's "victims" and a Nazi secretary rages against her Duden grammar manual – but the overall tone is still that of a four-alarm weeper.

It's not quite masterful enough to achieve all its goals, but Zucker is undeniably ambitious despite its relatively lowbrow and farcical approach.

Yet as wonderful as it is to see a breezy, earnest romantic comedy that is so matter-of-factly gay-themed, Big Eden suffers somewhat, unsurprisingly, from some of the usual perils of a breezy, earnest romantic comedy.

Before the cocaine economy, Miami was a sleepy seaside hamlet, a "virgin city" with a permeable border and largely unprotected coastline.

It manages to be a watchable, even enjoyable movie about and for girls, and in our world of candy-coated sparkly pink c---, that's a rare and commendable thing.

Parents might appreciate a lighter hand with the barnyard whimsy and food fights, but overall the movie doesn't condescend about heavy matters (grief, healing, and blended families) and is pleasantly diverting.

A bright, amiable chronicle of the vivid lives of the women of Juchitán.

The movie is kind of a mess – all over the place tonally, hastily paced, and overly reliant on the ostensible truisms of romantic comedy.

A playground for Malkovich – enjoyable enough but not terribly deep.

The result is a lyrical contrast of two contiguous cultures, worlds apart in their definitions of family and love but brought together by mutual awe and basic human need.

This is your standard genre fare: Smart-a-- player gets schooled, finds love, and is redeemed in time for the final big game.

The film lacks the emotional resonance that made "Big" such a sentimental favorite with audiences of all ages.

It's got a good creative pedigree and confident execution – as well as nifty design, down to its Hammond-organ Photek soundtrack and desert chic – but this ensemble piece set in a rural mobile-home park steps off the trail into melodrama from time to time.

A charming surprise, the kind of neat little low-budget movie that seems more like a collaboration among friends than it does a corporate investment.

The script is really the heart of the problem.

The film veers toward sheer silliness at times, losing the sweetness that defines its strongest moments.

On the plus side, Costanzo is an appealing and likable young actor who carries the film easily; he gives the impression that he is thinking deeply and mildly amused.

This first dramatic feature by documentarian Evans is an important film but not necessarily a successful one.

Hallström's latest is fine but unambitious, content with what it is – an arthouse trifle for the masses.

The film is more of an old-school wartime yarn, crackling with the expected camaraderie among the hardscrabble volunteers.

This kindly and spirited film doesn't exactly break the mold of the heartwarming, humanistic boarding-school dramedy.

The movie gets goofy from time to time -- as when payola arrives in a vintage "Clash of the Titans lunchbox -- but the filmmakers and cast have the style and the swagger to back it up.

Garçon Stupide is interesting enough to merit an audience broader than its intended niche, though it isn't perfect.

Yaar has enough heart to redeem its cruder moments, and it turns out to be quite a little charmer.

If you like the character – his tooty yellow Mini, his busily working beetlebrows, his tendency to point and grunt and eat shellfish whole – then you will be rewarded with 90 minutes of such.

Pretty to look at, tamely racy, and fairly fluffy, despite its two-hour running time.

The real shame in the storytelling is that the people in this film are interesting and inspiring enough to warrant a real film about them.

Never mind the fact that romantic comedies about gay African-American and Latino men aren't exactly plentiful, let alone ones this good-natured.

The film’s resolution is more implied than complete.

With its wonderful veteran cast, its heart on its sleeve, and a love for the landscape that suffuses its technique, Don't Come Knocking is a peculiar but rewarding escape.

It's got practically everything you could stuff in front of a camera, with the possible exception of Rip Taylor throwing confetti. Dancing transvestites? Check. Elephants? Check.

Stuck somewhere between melodrama and the flat tone of an "issues"-oriented television miniseries.

There's a place in life for movies like this – goofy and lowbrow but never truly icky; the good guys are lovable losers and the bad guys have frosted feathered hair and unitards with inflatable codpieces.

When it's on, it's really, really on. But when it's not, it feels like it's struggling to find its style, just as Jerome is.

Can someone dial down Cuba Gooding Jr. a few notches? He's so hyperactive during this MTV Films production - which is comedically indistinguishable from "Sister Act," but with more marketable music - that his Vegas-showgirl drag act in the dreadful "Boat Trip" looks like Bressonian minimalism by contrast.

It's a soggy drama said to be inspired by actual events – too serious to be trashy, too trashy to be serious.

Less subversive and infinitely less intelligent than 1999’s Wahlberg-starrer "Three Kings," this movie does blow lots of s--- up real good and punish contemptible public figures otherwise left unaccountable for massacring African villagers.

You could call this film repugnant and abrasive, and Solondz would probably agree.

There are football movies, and then there's this 800-pound gorilla of a gridiron weepie, which should be penalized for roughing the viewer.

With its jellyfish direction, A Good Woman throws its actors overboard to see if they can swim.

It’s part camp, part trash, and part cabaret, with a delightfully retro Hollywood Hills palette and zingy dialogue served up with relish.

His (Law's) is the standout performance, probably because it's quiet and reflective and nuanced amidst the flurries of relationship talk.

Goofily funny, oddly tenderhearted mock-documentary.

The film is a pleasant surprise.

The strangest part is that half the movie’s arc is missing, but the credits promise its arrival in 2009 as Milarepa Part II: Path to Liberation.

I can tell you in two words why to see this movie, which is otherwise an unspecial Cinderella farce...and those two words are: Queen Latifah.

Critic-proof moviemaking, a candy pink wish-fulfillment fantasy prominently peppered with pubescent pop platters.

There’s not a sympathetic character in the bunch.

The eye candy can't quite compensate for the murky mess of a plot.

My cynical half hated it, despite the presence of Lane, who is so magnetic that she could prance around the countryside in the absence of plot and still be compelling somehow.

No doubt this effort will find its fans, as it should, but there's a lot of lost potential.

A compelling small-scale drama, and Lapica is a talent to watch.

But for what it is, I think it's pretty okay. It's not going to win an Oscar or anything. But I liked how it was actually made for tween girls.

The film isn't going to catapult Butcher to international stardom, but he holds his own in it and helps to sell its curious logic.

Works quite well for what it is: a wooly crime yarn with touches of humor and a satisfying, well-developed relationship between the schemers.

A slick, sexy little package with fast cars, big explosions, dazzling locations in the south of France, a trip-hop score, and about as much plot to fill a thimble.

Were it allowed to be dark, Duplex would probably be more interesting, possibly even with cult appeal. Call it a fixer-upper with potential.

Shot in just over a week with a minuscule budget, this artsy thriller feels like a one-off from Shimizu's Ju-on films but is probably worth a look for fans.

A good bet for family viewing. It's got a charming, simple plot, a smart Alan Menken score, and enough subversive humor to wring a chuckle or two out of Mom and Dad.

Wispy, cosmopolitan slice-of-life.

This is the kind of scrappy Seventies-throwback B-movie that fits the bill when you desperately need to see regular-seeming, occasionally inept people rise up against our corrupt criminal oppressors and cudgel them with pool cues and bits of blasted-off brick.

Has its charms, but for a movie about loving radically, it sure plays it safe.

The whole production is simply as mediocre and half-baked as Hollywood gets.

Comes across as stiff and uneven.

The characters are mechanisms who move along the plot arc from Point A to Point B. They’re not particularly memorable individuals.

What do you get when you mix Adam Sandler with SPAM gags, a trained vomiting walrus, a wall-to-wall soundtrack of calypso covers of 1980s pop hits, and Rob Schneider in native-Islander brownface? You get a pretty crappy movie, but for one major mitigating factor: Drew Barrymore.

It is funny at times – the teams for dodgeball break down into "popular" and "unpopular" – but Chicken Little is painful to watch for all ages.

Sweet enough while it lasts.

This could be a pilot for the WB. Hollywood choreographer Fletcher makes the jump behind the camera but displays a greater aplomb for staging than drama, and the movie is as fleeting as the last weekend of summer.

It's the most honest, refreshing comedy about love – gay, straight, or both – I've seen in many moons, and at the end everyone's problems are solved by a country-western dance battle with drag doyenne Jackie Beat on the mic.

Deschanel, as the token oddball of the gang, runs off with the movie.

The filmmakers assume familiarity with the show's documentary premise and in-jokes (e.g., deputy Garant giving all his commands in French), which will make the movie even less accessible to novices.

If the film had allowed them to fall in love in real time, instead of to the drumbeat of history, their relationship would seem immeasurably more nuanced.

Sort of annoying, and it doesn't do what you want it to do, but you know, it's so scrappy and persistent that it seems kind of cute in spite of itself.

Like a lot of sports movies, this biopic about boxing promoter Jackie Kallen is better than it has to be but not as good as it ought to be.

Tamyra, Tamyra, Tamyra. I didn't recognize you at first!

Everybody’s sleepwalking here. Vincent D'Onofrio is fantastic with Vaughn in a small part as his brother, but it's as if he’s running in during a break from "Law & Order: Criminal Intent."

Its characterizations are as bland as sand.

It starts off with a slick split-screen bang, but this high tech heist thriller is like a For Dummies guide to the genre.

This family melodrama is as subtle as a load of bricks and occasionally as painful, but it offers two of the most finely tuned acting performances yet this year.

The end of the film edges toward camp, and the sudden arrival of surreal dream sequences threatens to push it over the side. The movie is more sophisticated when it’s not trying to be complex.

Maybe America will prove me wrong by voting, but I felt like you were holding back until the end.

Half the time the movie wants to be balls-out weird, and it is. But the other half – the half with the good guys – is plodding procedural fare.

An indie grab bag.

There's nothing terribly wrong with Kate & Leopold -- it's just an awfully conventional upmarket romantic comedy.

There is great material here and ample food for thought, but the presentation is lacking.