Nathan Lee

Mr. Hernández doesn't always grab what he's reaching for -- his talent soars untethered by discipline -- but the thrust of his effort lights up the sky.

One of the more disciplined entries in the LaBruce oeuvre, Otto is sexy and silly in just the right proportions, a cult item with a real heart.

Feels destined to please a campy coterie of fans and no one else.

Like most flower-power nostalgia trips, Eight Miles High has the irksome effect of reminding the audience -- whether too young or too square -- that it missed out on the grooviest moment in history, man. But as these things go, this one goes with flair.

This sort of thing was indulgent enough the first time around; transplanted to the mumblecore milieu, it's intolerable.

Mindlessly repeats the archetypal "Chainsaw" scenario.

The American version of Kiyoshi Kurosawa's "Pulse" mimics the plot fundamentals, but lacks any traces of Mr. Kurosawa’s creepy minimalism and conceptual rigor.

Starts promisingly, with a sharp comedic bite and genuine compassion for this fraught family dynamic, but soon gives way to the kind of compressed, schematic psychodrama endemic to (if no more welcome on) the stage.

Moves from clever mock documentary to groan-inducing conceptualism. Mr. Fox may well have put his finger on certain shared impulses between these repellent bacchanalia, but his manner of drawing them out is heavy-handed.

Of all the shoddy, insipid qualities of Bangkok Dangerous, the most egregious is the most fundamental: The film is simply dreadful to look at.

Reunion overflows with catharsis -- at least for those on screen. This may not be quite the moment to solicit our sympathy for self-absorbed beneficiaries of Ivy League privilege.

Infantile, irreverent and boorish to the max, Postal explodes with bad attitude and lousy filmmaking.

Subjective or not, the movie is a bore and an eyesore.

Skips back and forth in time, trying to piece together who did what, when and why. The only question really worth asking here: Who cares?

Harold is the type of one-note dead zone ideally suited for a bathroom break while sitting home on a Saturday night, alone and semidrunk, in front of the television. At feature length it's enough to make you tear your hair out.

Looks like a comedy, acts like a comedy and sounds like a comedy, but it isn't funny. This is a problem in a movie that aims for laughs.