Paul Malcolm

The first REALLY great mythic film of the summer has arrived.

If you can't count on a British con movie to deliver at least a few moments of entertaining color, well, then what can you count on? Director Richard Janes' slight and wobbly Fakers comes close to shattering one's faith in a just and orderly universe.

A remarkably moving and disturbing film about the possibility of belonging and the genealogy of violence.

Storaro's gorgeous cinematography imbues every frame with an enthralling subjectivity.

It's finally a hilarious and cuddly flashback from the dog's point of view, to his training as a pup, that marks the moment when the film finds its sweetly moronic legs.

Shrek's first 20 minutes are so devilishly funny that letting go of pure belief doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

The film's intimate camera work and searing performances pull us deep into the girls' confusion and pain as they struggle tragically to comprehend the chasm of knowledge that's opened between them.

Baumbach weds his verbal gifts to a fresh visual acuity that brings layers of rich detail to a portrait of a family coping, poorly, with self-inflicted change.

A Rumor of Angels beats its wings furiously, only to sink back into spiritualist goo.

Proves too sincere to exploit its subjects and too honest to manipulate its audience.

Writer-director Fabián Bielinsky's devilish Nine Queens serves as further evidence that Argentina's film industry is at the forefront of a resurgent Latin American cinema.

A pure font of high-flying kung fu artistry, the likes of which has since transformed the way Hollywood's good guys and bad kick the crap out of one another.

At 60 minutes, the film never stops feeling like a guided tour, while we're wishing it was a sleepover.

Malkovich and Dafoe play off each other with a devilish hamminess.

With a brisk pace and satiric blend of nostalgia and violence, it's the sharpest, funniest comedy so far this year.

It's the zippy chatter among the Serenity's wised-up space pirates that gives the film most of its punch, but with only serviceable action sequences and largely cookie-cutter effects, you can still sense the void just outside.

A half-baked classic.

Kusturica's always masterful orchestration of chaos, coincidence and caricature really pays off as a sweet, soulful celebration of old friends, new loves and the mad scramble of life at the fringe.

Softley starts out a little awkwardly, as he tries to capture turn-of-the-century flux by opening several London scenes from disorienting, too-obvious camera positions.

While Stiller and De Niro can play hilariously off one another, the film -- despite its happy ending -- feels unresolved.

Torem drifts into formula and his initially promising film goes unbearably soft.

A tight blend of self-awareness, humor and fear.

Both funny and furious -- on why black people are different from white people.

It's whiz-bang, techno fun, with a touch of Latino flavor.

Far too complex and provoking.

A tedious exercise in ethical hand wringing.

It's amazing that anyone still thinks this kind of shit can fly.

The film's plainness, and the understated force of van der Groen and Petersen's performances, sharpen its complexity of feeling until all mawkishness is cut away.