Mary Elizabeth Williams

Surprising as it sounds, as far as examinations of trust, loyalty and identity go, the big metal dude's story winds up far more satisfying than the plodding Kubrick opus any day of the week.

Disappoints with its simplistic, hollow narrative and characters.

Wickedly funny, an ode to youthful overachievers that's as blackhearted as "Rushmore" was gently sentimental.

The most inventive and genuinely frightening horror movie to appear in years.

The whole vibe is so shrill and frantic that the truly accomplished actresses, like Bening and Bergen, are left to flounder. The less nuanced ones -- that would be you, Debra Messing -- are, to use the idiom of the movie, as pleasant to watch as a bikini wax is to feel.

It's a movie that succeeds, often beautifully, not by forcing its characters to be as naughty and gross and pathetic as men are. It soars by letting them be as naughty and gross and pathetic as women are. Three cheers for equality.

Liman's buoyant direction is almost enough to make one forgive the film its heavily appropriated plot (including its groaner of a punchline).

A surprisingly wise and funny meditation on the nature of what it truly means to be a man.

The sweetest, most sincere romantic comedy to come along in ages, and a luminous love letter to a great American city.

What ensues is "Beaches" meets "Pineapple Express." Which, I've got to tell you, is pretty much what living with cancer is like.

It's a feature-length reparation for the appalling live-action versions of Seuss' books we've endured over the last few years.

As it is, it's too restrained, too often -- too eager to gallop toward postcard sunsets on the beach when tequila shooters and lap dances are what the moment calls for. You'd think the combination of Diaz, Kutcher and Vegas would be good for at least a little sexy, silly fun. But don't bet on it.

What really elevates it, though, is the film's sharp wit and tender heart, both of which are conveyed beautifully by the fresh-faced cast.

The first half of the film leisurely examines the deterioration and possible salvation of the soul in a once-glorious, rapidly disintegrating landscape. (His Alaska is full of closed factories, wandering tourists and strip mines.) The second half, with its contrived setup and its individual journeys of self-discovery (harvesting kelp and building fires), is artificial and sadly undermines all that's gone before.

They've created far and away the most complex, appealing female character in a summer of soldiers, sword fighters and asteroid blasters.

It's a hit for the most surprising reason of all: because it's very good.

It's supposed to be visually exciting, but the result is more like a corpse-strewn Gap khakis ad than a triumph of technique. At least, based on the film's grainy texture and amber lighting, it's nice to know that the guy who shot every porn movie released in the '70s appears to be working again.

Farrell looks like he's having the time of his 400-year-old life.

So full of winning performances and so disarmingly uncynical in its affection for its characters, it manages to leave you with a Texas-size grin on your face anyway.

At times, the movie feels less like a coming-of-age tale and more like an extended promo for the Chinese tourism bureau.

Despite its stellar leading ladies, Anywhere But Here is still a predictable generation-gap drama.

May be the first midlife crisis movie for Generation X.

After an uninspired middle period, the "Shrek" series has, like the revitalized character himself, roared back to form.

I'd appreciate toilet humor more if it weren't so often so unimaginative.

Kate Winslet is a mesmerizing force in her own right, but too much of Holy Smoke turns out to be hot air.

Whether he's getting hit in the face with a dildo or cozying up to Martha Stewart, Knoxville is always affable, playful and able coax a laugh out of an audience by doing ridiculous things. He's a jackass all right, but he's a jackass in shining armor.

As a pleasant domestic comedy/action-adventure that, refreshingly, doesn't seem to hate its characters, Date Night is just fine. But is it good enough to merit hiring a baby sitter? I'd rather have some potato skins at the Teaneck Tavern.

What will likely draw butts into theaters for Friends with Kids isn't one star in particular, but the sum of its comic pieces.