Paula Nechak

Outside of its star power, it reeks of indie film and doesn't hold much mainstream steam.

Sometimes so intimate it's embarrassing, and the messiness at falling in love at any age is disquieting.

It's an unashamedly old-fashioned and richly visualized evocation of a time when values were key, trust in your neighbor complete, and a way of life that should be simple is made unfathomably complex because of economic hardship.

Here's yet another take on "Pride and Prejudice,"...but all spiced up as colorfully as a dish of curry.

This collision of popular Emmy-winning TV shows is strangely uninspired and, well, a bit dull.

While there is a faithful following of kids, it just never seems as exciting or sad or emotional -- or as ablaze with personalities -- as what has gone before.

It's an unenlightening film that proves youthful anarchy is just as dull as a midlife crisis, and sadly, as predictable, too.

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

Writer and first-time director Thomas Bezucha certainly knows how to create warmth, ambience and situation.

Daring, gorgeous.

The film is a hopeful, rollicking, rocking, humorous, heartbreaking journey.

Truly raunchy but it's more sweetly stupid and silly than anything.

Call it "E.T." for a new generation.

Racing Stripes is oddly torn in tone: is it an old-fashioned family drama, a coming-of-age story or a crass comedy? Live action or animation? Unlike "Babe," it fails to integrate its conflicting personalities.

What Jeffs -- and Paltrow -- do capture is the shroud of tragedy that hovered over Plath.

There are a lot of terrific creative energies at play in Robots and they overcome an overreliance on amusement park sensibilities in the animated adventure.

Hunt and Johansson, two usually good actresses, are vapidly awful, teetering out of their elements in this shakily drawn period piece.

The film leaves an acrid taste with the viewer who sits through its long and winding tale of tortured courtship.

The restless, selfish, unfriendly people created by Lachow as protagonists only make the movie hard to warm up to. It's more akin to fingernails scraping a blackboard than an updated morality play.

It's compelling, poetic, rebellious, funny and one of the few movies that feels like it's been culled from another time and place yet broodingly bends modern societal taboos.

The film is dominated by computer-generated effects and they're most of its problem -- they don't give us anything to emotionally attach to or invest in.

The real humor comes, once again from Murphy, whose Donkey is so genuinely funny and clever that he very nearly steals the film. Except that it's stolen by Banderas as a rogue Puss In Boots.

A film that takes you by surprise, refusing to relinquish its grim, fascinating hold. Better yet, it has crept up on us without much advance promotional fanfare. The less known about its twists, the better.

Though the pop idol recently said that movies are his ultimate goal, the best thing about On the Line is its music.

So poorly constructed and so elementally banal that it's a shock the script was written by the same guy (Nicholas Kazan) who wrote such taut thrillers as "At Close Range" and "Reversal of Fortune."

Breathtaking visual accomplishment.

The film manages to make the ordinary extraordinary. It takes visual risks, tells its story subjectively through images and moves confidently to a stunning, imaginative climax.

A foreign film feel despite its strong American cast.

Who was Bettie Page? You won't find out in Mary Harron's chirpily cheery chronicle.

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.

Mullan is a great choice as Frank, playing the silent guy with all kinds of baggage perfectly.

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.

Brokedown Palace does have some plot implausibilities but Kaplan, manages to turn some hashed story lines into something substantial and emotionally affecting.

Feels the scratches of too much time and tinkling and is as disjointed as a dislocated shoulder.

Isn't so emotionally powerful as the Oscar-winning "When We Were Kings" but which -- in its more intimate way -- still packs a punch.

[Jarmusch] seems...to introduce gratuitous bloodshed that is out of sync with the engaging, offbeat tempo and dark, comedic moral fable that has come before.

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.

Flies coach instead of first class, despite a charismatic cast.

Not only did it not engage the adults, its lackluster story line didn't spread much illusion or magic over the kids in the audience either.

Like a family visit during the holidays. Tensions run high, not everyone is likable but being there's an uneasy comfort because everything is so familiar.

A comic, loving, affectionate glimpse of the '80s, its music and fashions, and most of all at that hard-to-find thing called true friendship.

Although the start of the movie is a little fragmented, and the last quarter turns predictably rote, the middle is heartfelt, wonderfully diverse and empowering.

Brooks has made a movie that is about separation from convenience and having to deal one-on-one with a stranger in a strange land. The result is a profound and moving movie.

An original, well-crafted plea that uses restraint instead of titillation to make a cautionary tale that aches with pathos and power.

The two young actors -- Hutcherson and Robb -- are terrific and unpretentious.

The joy is in watching a talented cast make something crisp and fresh out of material that -- though perfectly adequate and enjoyable -- trespasses little into territory that's new or out of the traditionally plotted points of the genre.

Unfortunately can't transcend its theatrical roots and the actors, good as they are, seem like they're grandstanding.

In its austere visual understatement rests a ton of emotional power.

Dizdar humorously compares and contrasts extremes in economics and lifestyles and looks at the west through the eyes of an outsider.

A real dud, with few laughs, no characterization, little story, a cluster of stereotypes and clichés and just plain nothing for Foxx to do.

A big dud.

The film is many things: dark fable, gritty thriller, satirical social commentary, horror film and a love story that's blessed with a marvelous, near slapstick physicality.

Lurches toward an offbeat honesty but it also very nearly crashes in its quirkiness.

Scores high on nastiness, but it has as many surprisingly funny moments as offensive ones.

The film's only misstep is its again-used theme (especially when it comes to a woman's rite of passage) of exacting some punishing loss when our heroine pushes to transcend her limitations by seeking a better life.

While Shrek may trek into that dark territory and has some questionable values simmering beneath the surface, its characters are delightful enough and the film is just sweet-natured and visually sophiscated enough to avoid sinking into the swamp.

The film tugs at us. And we forgive it its faults because it never loses sight of what it's supposed to be even though the story has a manipulative edge and maneuvers our feelings.

The script, written 20 years ago by the late, great director John Cassavetes, still packs an emotional wallop. [21 Mar 1998]

There is a certain poignancy to a film that metaphorically examines the stages of a woman's life through each character.

It has a frenetic, unsettled edginess that chafes against its serene, woodsy, upscale private school setting.

Gorgeously evocative visually.

It's more strangely and elementally touching than its predecessors.

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

The Cockettes is a fascinating poke into the soul of the '60s and it moves past a simple chronology of a counterculture phenomenon to examine how this predecessor to glitter rock and camp movies, such as "The Rocky Horror Show," could ever have ascended to such heights.

An empowering film for children, showing them at their most capable, working through problems and finding innovative solutions to overcome what seems like an insurmountable obstacle.

What results is, for a film purporting to reflect the nobility of a beloved book, the propensity to slip occasionally into the fart and belch slapstick that passes for humor in just about every present-day animated movie. It's a misstep that pulls us out of our awe for the carefully studied world the filmmakers have lovingly labored to create.

In the end, dark comedy drives the film, but it's overwhelmed by a desire to be liked, really liked.

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

Quite long and violent enough to have made several critics squirm in their seats during a recent press screening.

The movie is reminiscent of the films of Claude Sautet but it has a grittier, more youthful appeal. Still, it's just as nuanced and rich in all its messy revelation. [21 May 1999]

Isn't very pretty despite its extraordinary look. In fact, the film is downright queasy and unsettling.

Has enough simmering beneath its sweaty, grimy and disconsolate surface to be more than just another rite-of-passage missive set in the '70s.

Though the cast is talented, the script is a mess. It's essentially a collision of missed opportunities.

Jindabyne is uniquely Australian, dealing with Australian issues, and it boasts a wickedly wry conclusion that -- for everything that has come before -- is karmically just.

A difficult movie. Its obvious, heavy symbolism, glaring soundtrack and top-heavy themes threaten to make it implode, but it's saved by its performances.

Swicord has enough savvy to conjure up a terrific cast that compensates for her rote direction.

A shapeless comedy that is enjoyable to watch and often clever with its barbs -- and doesn't have very much to say.

Often as stillborn in pace as it is conceptually compelling.

For all its somber heaviness and reverential gravity, it never quite pulls all the elements and themes together.

The result is a movie that washes down without much thinking or introspection, provides some laughs and a tear or two, and dishes up a little something to mull over with its messages about friendship and loyalty in the face of naked ambition.

Since we never see Thomas, we can't care for him. And he's hardly a sympathetic "hero" in his treatment of women and his insistence that other characters honor his personal boundaries while he ignores theirs.

In the end, this is a film about retribution and justice within unjust circumstances. Each character has a personal code of honor -- Arthur, Charlie and Capt. Stanley are all given their dignity -- and it's that code that sets the film apart.

Terrifically fun entertainment; wonderfully shot and acted, instilled with spirit and life and able to woo us with its exhuberant freshness.

This nifty little addition to the Winnie the Pooh franchise boasts some nice touches.

A darkly funny journey about life ticking by and the change to make wrongs right.

Not only feels real, but it avoids preciousness and cute eccentricity and, in its lean, almost grave, cut-and-dried delivery makes more of an emotional impact because we're able to imprint our own memories of adolescence upon it.

Noyce's movie is a testament to endurance -- the camera caresses the landscape -- instilling us with a respect and reverence for it, its harsh ways and the attachment to it that Australia's indigenous people hold.

Provided you don't take it seriously, it makes for an addictively entertaining diversion that's as hard to stop watching as the books are to stop reading.

A terrific movie about middle-age malaise and a comedy of unusual wit and drollness.

More intelligent and thought-provoking than the usual dumb and dull-witted fare for children.

As dark as a Greek tragedy yet it has a vibrance and joie de vivre that can't be contained by grief.

Funny, eccentric and touchingly just, combining a unique interpretation of the time with an offbeat sense of humor.

Beautifully acted and conceived -- even if the final vision is not always totally satisfying.

The music is truly the thing in Songcatcher and it's awesome, haunting stuff.

So badly plotted and written that it rarely makes much sense, even with the elementary story line.

As entertaining as it is a viable, political message destined to make viewers rethink their stance on war.

In remarkably compact and quietly concise vignettes, we're introduced to each member, and immediately understand what they're all about.

The film is thriller, comedy and rite-of-passage story, but Boyle never loses sight of what's at its core.

There's not an original idea rattling around in the empty-headed but gorgeous-to-behold period film.

A pedestrian movie with a predictable romance at its heart.

Both sophisticated and elemental enough for all ages to grasp the message.

Original, imaginative and stylish.

It's a funny, insightful film whose feminist undertones don't overwhelm the story and characters.

Although budding star Mendes and Washington sparked in "Training Day," there's less chemistry between them this time as she glowers and frets in her role as a big-city cop.

Love. Lust. Recrimination. Jealousy. Resolution. This British female friendship melodrama has them all.

An indie film that was lavishly praised and won the Filmmakers Trophy at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, rolls along in the well-rutted, dusty tire tracks of other mother-and-daughter road trip

It may not exactly be a traditional love letter to his wife but actor-turned-executive producer William H. Macy has given her a plum part as Bree in screenwriter-director Duncan Tucker's offbeat road movie.

There are too few surprises and even less subtlety in the telling. We can only sit and wait for the next bomb to drop on this poor exploited girl.

Occasionally falters in its symbolism and storytelling, but still unnerves because we're never quite sure of our bearings, or whose "reality" we're watching.

Cruz is tough and sexy as the no-nonsense Raimunda and she's being deservedly talked up for an Oscar nomination in a tight best actress year.

There's such a good-natured heart beating beneath the cliches that it's easy to appreciate the film's willingness to poke gentle fun without a whiff of nastiness or judgment.

A hard film to shake and makes us think and think again.

Tries mightily to have the charm of "Bull Durham," but instead fields raunchy sex jokes, predictable story line, dumb dialogue and a lackluster love affair.

A mystery that isn't mysterious, a thriller that's barely thrilling.

Something doesn't quite gel in the end.

It has absolutely nothing to say -- no redeeming commentary about nihilistic, narcissistic society and its appetite for instant gratification -- which would have made it sociologically interesting, or at least sort of Faustian in theme. Instead Sex and Death 101 is as empty-headed as its protagonist.

A genre-twisting surprise.

In the end, it trivializes the psychological complexity of the girl's post-traumatic stress and betrays a game group of actors who struggle to find balance between the alternately dark drama and the silly, over-the-top melodrama.

Tinged with sadness, and despite overstaying its welcome a wee bit, remains an anthem of insurrection, melding its political and humanistic truths into an almost dreamily subversive film tinged with humor and some small hope.

The most fascinating aspect of the film is how the point of view shifts -- each character, as seen through another's eyes, is something else entirely.

If ever a film seemed poised to take over the spot occupied by the surprise indie hit, "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," it's Real Women Have Curves.

Funny for 15 minutes and then fades into mean-spirited cruelty and stupidity.

tTere are two things going for Melinda and Melinda: Woody's not in it and Radha Mitchell is.

A mess of incohesiveness and fragmented storytelling.

The film dwells more on the sensationalistic aspects than the sport itself but it's impossible to deny the tawdry entertainment value in this compelling film tabloid.

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.

First-time feature film director Max Farberbock has given a terrific visual style, resonance, sense of hope and power to the material.

Wanders off on story tangents that can't be called anything other than bizarre, but nevertheless oddly engages.

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

There is a ton of psychology and inference in this intriguing first feature by French director Anne-Sophie Birot.

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

The film is so well acted -- by Byrne, who makes Harry's internalized agonies and continuously carried torch for his ex-wife touching, and by Watson and Hoult -- that its more cloying moments, including a staged version of the musical "Camelot" (which is too long), are a moot point.

Exquisite and fragile in visuals and tone, yet has some difficulty with a choppy narrative.

Ok, I admit at first I was just laughing at the sheer gutsiness of South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone. But after 10 minutes, I was laughing at the script.

Sandler and Watson make something out of their underwritten roles, and that they do is testament to their talents: They make this punchy romantic comedy more engaging than it should be.

Unremarkable sequel to the 1967 hit.

Difficult to weigh and rate precisely because it deals with real life and real people.

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

Daniels gives a career-best performance.

The lapses in logic make a weak subplot about a serial killer on the loose just plain silly instead of provocative.

Works well as a metaphor for a more innocent time.

Unfortunately, the life has been sucked out of DiCamillo's story about a brave, unusual little mouse.

Shakespeare's comical, all-too-human tale of lust, foreplay and wordplay is buried beneath bad taste.

If you're a fan of Maddin's expressionist style, you'll find the humor within. Everyone else will be scratching their heads, despite Maddin's extraordinary visual imagination.

A harrowing, frustrating view of paranoia and ineptitude that may seem a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time but evolves more into a mystery.

Before the film flails, like a balloon losing air into a terrible finale, it has the audacity to lay siege to just about every xenophobic bias possible. No one -- or country -- is safe in this comedy and for that alone it's admirable.

A perfect example of form without content.

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.

The film strains to achieve the comedic gait of "Wag the Dog" or the improvised, overlapping style that so defined Robert Altman's Hollywood movie, "The Player."

Jordan unites his favorite actors -- Liam Neeson, Stephen Rea, Ian Hart and Brendan Gleeson -- with the swoony presence of the talented 29-year-old Cillian Murphy.

It works because it never tries to be more than the very personal memory piece it is.

Lacks the cohesive flow of "Fantasia" and suffers from an attention deficit that seems to mark and flaw our current fast-paced technological era.

A delight and a surprise.

At times, the self-congratulatory tone makes for smug viewing and slow going. In spots, the pace is so all-exclusive that not every viewer will be able to get up and dance to it.

It's epic, sweeping, and genuinely engrossing for awhile, but then it stumbles. [07 Nov 1998]

Gorgeous in its gore and, for all its destruction, despair and death, concludes on an optimistic and vibrantly alive note.

There are two reasons Ramsay succeeds with a story that might at best be called morbid: She visually transforms the dreary expanse of dead-end distaste the characters inhabit into a poem of art, music and metaphor -- and she has the perfect actress to embody Morvern.

The actors are all well-cast, thoughtful and sometimes funny. Tabu was apparently not Nair's first choice, but after watching her in the role it's hard to imagine anyone else -- she's heartbreakingly good.

An edgy comedy with heart.

It's a taut, unexpected study that asks many questions about retribution and redemption.

While there are maybe two moments of genuinely clever humor, Storytelling is the work of a previously promising filmmaker who, having no new ideas, has morphed into a sniggering schoolboy intent upon being mean.

Fascinating, visually gorgeous cinematic study that will frustrate some viewers by its ambiguity.

A low-maintenance crowd-pleaser, but we've seen the entire film, in thematic snippets, before.

It's the chemistry between Vardalos and Collette that gives the film its magical dazzle. Despite Vardalos' ingratiating, big and breathy presence, Collette, as the pulse and conscience of these two dreamers, very nearly steals the film.

We leave hungry for more of the film's substantial, if less physically perfect, subjects.

Witherspoon is terrific.

Tainted by cliches, painful improbability and murky points.

The film, despite the occasional gross-out joke, can't disguise the fact that it's a sweet old sappy -- even dated -- love story. Only Molly Ringwald is missing.

Belongs to its trio of "bovine" voice talent -- Roseanne Barr, Dame Judi Dench and Jennifer Tilly -- who play with such tongue-in-cheek delight upon their public personas that it's hard to separate cow character from the celebrities.

This is simply another in a long line of utterly unnecessary remakes that, having nothing new to say, clutch at crassness and dumbness.

A sloppily scripted film that contains a silly and superfluous subplot about a crooked cop.

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

Never offers much enlightenment through its message.

Ullmann has honed a too-long and sometimes relentless film that delves into the selfishness of passion but also captures the elusiveness and unpredictability of love.

It's the script -- by director Mark Fergus (who also wrote the adapted script for "Children of Men") and Hawk Ostby -- that lets everyone down.

A decidedly mixed bag.

Chereau's film is disjointed and abrupt and it rages when is should be deft. We're given too little too late and, despite the lessons that lie within the affair, the lines between enlightenment and nihilism blur.

An awful, misanthropic, deadly unfunny and badly acted war-of-the-sexes travesty.

An almost too-sophisticated comedy, pitting the New World mentality and brash pugnaciousness of America against the staid arrogance of custom that defines the French bourgeoisie.

While the film shuns the glamour or glitz that an American movie might demand, Scherfig tosses us a romantic scenario that is just as simplistic as a Hollywood production.

The jokes run dry, the situation is redundant, the cast becomes tiresome and the running time is interminable.

Assails with its in-your-face, repulsively compelling (like a train wreck) brutality.

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

Darkly funny.

For all its moodiness, despair and disconnect, I've Loved You So Long is all about acknowledging human error and embracing ties -- to family and life -- that can't be undone.

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.

The performances by Davidtz, Weston, Wilson and especially Adams stand out as Morrison paints his character study with raw, true bits continually tested by the absurdities of pain life dishes up.

An odd charmer with a whisper of autobiography (Blitz makes his film's protagonist a stutterer, just as the director was in school) and it's made even better by young lead actor Reece Thompson.

What it doesn't have is a script that has anything original, cohesive, or, gasp -- funny -- to say.

The two women -- as well as the always marvelous Bill Nighy as Blanchett's "older" husband -- run roughshod over its third act flaws and, with their exquisitely detailed performances, make it better than it is. It's an actor's triumph.

Much ado about very little because it takes no stand and gives little insight into the Chopper's psyche.

Doesn't offer much texture or depth of character.

It's a quiet anti-war film full of lovely, heartbreakingly assured performances and real situations and responses.

Instead of making fun of the series' fans and their lifestyle, Galaxy Quest targets actors and how an onscreen image can forever lock a performer in a particular role. And that proves to be its saving grace.

Pawlikowski has made a gorgeously ambiguous film -- based upon a novel by Helen Cross -- that is blessedly hard to tag; in fact, it's a compilation of genres and moods -- comedy, romance and diabolical thriller -- and that is its core strength and freshness.

The director's tenacity has resulted in a breathtaking as well as heartbreaking adventure of life and death.

Its only constant is that it's strangely eloquent and quite original.

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

There's a vicious, crude nerve that snakes through this sequel and it leaves no group unscarred -- but unfortunately, women and the handicapped take most of the thrusts.

It resorts to a story line so predictable that its willingness to go so earnestly into unoriginal territory is doubly disappointing since its first half had so much more going for it.

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.

Because the subjects are all mellowing into grandparenthood and their abrasive, wilder days are behind them, this particular "scrapbook" isn't as heavy hitting and hard-edged as its predecessors.

When a film has to blare its racially and incendiary stance as obviously as Lakeview Terrace, you know it's trying too hard.

Though Signs & Wonders loses its bubbles and runs flat in its anticlimactic final moments, it's far more inventive and demanding than any movie of recent memory.

Pape Sidy Niang is terrific as the cop, Z, who is viewing America through a new immigrant's eyes.

A frothy and deliriously enjoyable souffle.

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

Don't give the kids any sugar before this one -- it's so hyperactive it'll send them into overdrive without it.

Though it does present the facts of Susann's life, it skims them so quickly and with such glorious glee that we never get a sense of who this woman really was.

It's LaPaglia's finest, deepest role and he's matched by Armstrong, who makes Sonja's undaunting optimism palpable within a trying marriage that's gulping for breath.

Gorgeous re-creation of another time.

If you can forgive some plot artifice and gloss, there's a seductively intuitive and resonant theme resting at the core of Jeremy Podeswa's haunting new film.

The teen parties and sidekick silliness are time filler, and not very good filler either -- why even Bruce Willis shows up in a scene that has nothing to do with the story.

An enigmatic but gorgeous film.

What emerges is a funny and sometimes aching movie that treads familiar dysfunctional family turf but still manages to eke out an emotionally toned balance.

The vapid plot line follows the same narrative arc as "Tootsie" but hasn't the heart or purpose of that film.

A radically disturbing and memorable movie whose images don't easily fade or diminish in power.

In some ways it suffers from the same unredemptive afflictions as Elwood and his gang: It's a bit flaccid and flabby and lumbers gracelessly along without self awareness or humanity.

Compassionate, potent documentary.

(Fiennes's) Onegin is clueless to anything other than the sensual world, and is finally more repellent than sympathetic.

Director Marcelo Pineyro imbues the film with mood and style and yet the violent climax holds little thrall as a lack of character development makes it had to care about the robbers' fate.

It demands people pay attention and look inward to find the private compass that will navigate us through murky sensibilities that are as capable of seducing us as they are Tom Ripley.

The real find in this lovely family film is Castle-Hughes, who makes Pai's confusion, emotional fragility and devotion palpable.

While the film is technically polished and visually breathtaking, it lacks depth and becomes little more than a lawless fairy tale packed with pretty people.

This devastating film is buoyed by Dequenne's bravura willingness to go all out; she's a baby-faced kid when the camera focuses full on and an exceptionally beautiful young woman in profile.

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.

As has been the case with most of Shepard's plays, transfer to the movies spells doom.

After its midway mark, just lumbers until it fizzles out.

It lacks, despite the remarkable techno effects by wizard Stan Winston, originality and charisma.

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 light and airy and, unlike the land-locked planes, runs the risk of nearly floating away into innocuous obscurity.

It's a solid study in paranoia and gamesmanship.

It assaults us with violence, brutality, sexual confusion and anarchy and has enough bruising, punishing humor to keep us laughing with relief.

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

You walk away wishing they had more than this scant and often shoddy material with which to enjoy their rollicking and racy good time.

The biggest tragedy about Milos Forman's foray into the life and times of Spanish artist Francisco De Goya is the waste of so much great raw material.

This sci-fi film noir craves a passionate center, an intoxicating core or some pulse that makes us want to keep taking that first step into dark waters, but it leaves us drowning in its quiet tedium instead.

Allen has avoided his usual stable of jokes and one-liners, and the result is a film that feels and looks fresh from the maestro of urban angst.

What it lacks is the wit or even the cynicism to lighten the emotional load.

Even knowing the happy outcome, Butler masterfully keeps us on the edge of our seats, and communicates the full horror and seeming hopelessness of the crew's situation every step of the way.

The film is not without its flaws, but it sports a terrific production design that integrates magically into the story -- as well as another top-notch performance by Anthony LaPaglia.

Is Queen of the Damned worthy of its hype or should it have a stake driven through its dark heart? The answer lies somewhere in between.

Much of the monologue feels more self-deprecating and politically intoned than laugh-out-loud hilarious, yet that's pretty much what segregates Cho from less personal stand-up comics like Ellen Degeneres.

Tepid and only sporadically amusing.

But the irony of Les Destinées is that while Assayas is a pro at examining the inner workings of present-day connection and nuance, he's so overwhelmed by the sheer historical scope and detail of this massive saga that after three hours we're starved for emotional involvement with such inaccessible characters.

There's something essential and emotional missing in this character-driven piece. It's more an admirably performed and observed study -- of a time, place and three very different people -- than it is the heartbreaking and engrossing story it could have been.

A fresh, well-written comedy that doesn't lag, casts its actors against type and has a real love for its characters.

It isn't quite like watching a train wreck -- it's more perverse and anti-climactic -- but it's as hard to shake once it's passed.

The film is so full of ideas and so dense that its narrative splinters, moving tangentially, and ultimately is weighed down by its rant and rhetoric.

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.

Rich with insight and cinematic style and beauty, the film tells a uniquely moving and inspiring story. Unfortunately, it takes some stamina to distill its message from its overly long, overindulgent love affair with itself.

Nettelbeck has created a movie recipe that ladles great dollops of dessertlike joy and equally dark tragedy around her strong-willed heroine. It wouldn't work without actors capable of finding vulnerability, humanity and kindness in sometimes inaccessible characters.

"Shrek" had some refreshing, genre-twisting innovation but Cats & Dogs plays it safe and nice instead and, by not taking risks, doesn't quite make it out of the doghouse.

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

Makes a case that despite human inability to empathize with the emotional lives of other animals and creatures and to believe they are here only to serve our needs and convenience, birds are as capable of courage, violence, affection and commitment to family as we are.

Sticks in the mind and simply won't go away.

More chic and movie-savvy than its predecessor.

A bafflingly unfunny comedy.

Starts slowly, takes a turn for the better for a couple of reels and then, not having much to say or anywhere to go, flatlines into something akin to "American Idol."

Can't find its rhythm and stride. It plays it far too safe and slick.

An insufferably insipid comedy with a cruel subtext.

Istanbul-born director Ferzan Ozpetek has outdone himself with this wise and ruminative mystery about memory, unfulfillment and yearning.