Paula Nechak

What remains is a sumptuous-looking film that sniffs at but ignores deeper Freudian implications.

Strikes a universal chord, no matter what rung of the popularity ladder we were on in high school.

This bloodless, nuanced little thriller carries small weight save for Huppert's enigmatic, thrifty performance.

Certainly kept the toddlers (including mine) at an advance screening engrossed, but for parents and reviewers, it was more of a struggle.

This journey is clunkily rendered, clouded by an avalanche of murky symbolism.

If you can forgive some woeful casting and a plot that is as creakingly thin as an old staircase, you can enjoy director Christopher Nolan's The Prestige.

Lawrence uses the stand-up forum less as a weapon to blast us with his incisive, razor sharp insights into life, sex and ethnicity than as a pulpit or confessional to chronicle his rehabilitation and reformation.

Works best when it devotes itself to the small group of main characters featured on the show.

Attempts to do for "The Big Sleep"-type detective movie and film-noir genre what "Blair Witch" did for horror films.

Craig's got the stuff but the ending of this cake is soggy for its protagonist and audience.

Meanders as aimlessly as its drugged-out characters.

It's a methodical, friendly fairy tale in which everyone is good and the outcome is a given.

There are some nice ideas floating around this ambitious film, as well as attempts to say them in a unique way.

Disney seems intent upon overdosing audiences with the little guy proving himself against a seemingly superior force.

Often unsettlingly funny, though it ultimately recedes into a dark womb of despair.

Would be totally unexceptional if not for its visual telling of the Apollo 11 flight and the fact that the movie is impressively shot - the first animated feature film in 3-D.

The Village goes up in smoke (and mirrors). It wants to find a profoundness that hints at something deep and dimensional, but it hasn't the courage of conviction to stay on course as an unabashed ode to innocence.

(Arteta's) yanked an eerily accomplished performance out of his lead actor.

Wenham and Porter make the film better than it should be.

The film is inherently calculated and cold, so smugly satisfied with itself and its surprise final trick that it seems to be running its own con to convince us the script's house of cards is actually substantial, original and slick.

There's something flat and obscure about this well-acted stalker movie.

It's not the direction that feels flaccid in this film. Surprisingly, it's the stories themselves, which provide a bit of a giggle but little else.

Director Martha Coolidge attempts to keep the film grounded in reality, but the movie flutters away from her control.

Outside of a smart performance by Shawn Hatosy as Tim Dunphy, there just isn't much that's enlightening or new in this intimate recollection.

The actors navigate tough characters through emotional mayhem with such intense determination it's a shame they're undercut by the intrusive voice-over.

It's a well-acted but rote and strictly by the book "war movie."

Takes itself awfully seriously. It feels a bit like a grudge piece, laboring to grasp at large themes, but it is as trivialized as the capricious world it explores.

A heady, impressionistic mixture of biography, fantasy and social history in which it isn't always clear which is which.