Pete Vonder Haar

Carpenter isn’t a polished interviewer, but her candor and longstanding connections to the sport provide access that we wouldn’t see otherwise.

Shot Caller is Coster-Waldau’s show, and he’s up to the task.

The athleticism on display shames much of Western action cinema’s quick-cut hand-to-hand editing, and the final swordfight between Qi and Japanese general Kumasawa (Shaw Brothers mainstay Yasuaki Kurata) ranks as high as any in recent memory.

Golf's become such a ridiculously well-heeled pastime that it's refreshing to see it portrayed in its infancy, when clubs were carried like a bunch of kindling and the desolate greens of St. Andrews were more like the hazards of today's game.

Everybody Loves Somebody won’t reinvent the (third) wheel, but the knowing dialogue and convincingly human characters are a refreshing break from the norm and worthy of your attention.

The Hallow offers plenty of scares and is unnerving from wire to wire, wrapping up the second act with a bang and red-lining the tension until the end.

There's much to like here, and ample scares for your brains.

It doesn't hurt to have excellent support from the likes of Emma Roberts (as Ed's love interest Eloise) and Sarah Silverman, surprisingly winning as Ed's affection-starved mother. But it's Wolff and Rourke who have to carry the load, and for the most part they do.

Perhaps even more disturbing than the Dickensian in extremis ordeal of Svalka life — including her rational yet heartbreaking decision to give up her baby rather than raise it in the dump — is Yula's straightforward acceptance of her situation.

The movie works because Christina's desire to help these kids feels natural, and because she herself shoulders burdens that would drive most people to the grave, all without losing her faith.

Messina, making his directorial debut, keeps it simple. Alex undergoes a surprising amount of personal maturation in a week, but Winstead never lets the character bog down in excessive navel-gazing.

In spite of the tatty "coming of age" familiarity, Johnson's vision seems fresh and vibrant.

Glendon Swarthout’s 1988 novel offered a rare approach to those Old West stories by shifting the focus to the women and children who often bore its brunt the worst, and Jones has — for the most part — successfully captured this, often in devastating fashion.

The Calling breathes new life into a moribund genre by touching oft-ignored themes and offering a bit of introspection to go along with the obligatory slashed throats and biblical portents.

What makes The Dog so compelling isn't Wojtowicz's cinematic imprint but the place in history that was very likely denied him by chance and his own irascibility.

Biyi Bandele's Half of a Yellow Sun strikes an admirable balance between drama and history.

It isn't until the ending, which turns the squirm amplifier up to 11 and exceeded even my horrific expectations, that we finally see the story's potential realized.

Matti sets a brisk pace, utilizing the squalor and desperation of Manila's slums and prisons as well as powerful, against-type performances by Torre and Pascual to give us a familiar yet engaging thriller (with more than a few surprises).

The testimonials from a few of these people, with the realization they speak for tens of thousands, reinforces Inequality for All's sobering message while at the same time undercutting Reich's optimism.

Kinkle shows a deft hand at pacing and the gore is kept to a minimum.

With striking visuals reminiscent of Matisse and Chagall and a refreshingly (for domestic animation audiences) grown-up storyline, The Painting is almost reminiscent of, well, a work of art.

Desperate Acts of Magic is a pleasant little film.

Borat isn't just one of the funniest movies of the year, it might be one of the funniest movies of all time.

So who did kill the electric car? There are many suspects, and as it turns out, most of them are guilty.

A thoroughly enjoyable film, and ranks with Pixar's best.

I thoroughly enjoyed the street level perspective of the world being destroyed, it just would've been nice if they hadn't crapped out at the end.

Hairspray isn’t all that bad, frankly. The songs are catchy, most of the leads are engaging enough (Blonksy and Bynes especially), and there’s just enough low-key subversiveness to keep everything from getting too saccharine.

A visual triumph, and also a work of surprising warmth. No small accomplishment for a bunch of cadavers.