Peter Brunette

One of the most troubling views of the human race I've seen in years. Luckily for us, its depressing, almost pathologically ironic vision is redeemed by the sublimity of Solondz' filmmaking. I first saw the film at Cannes last May and it's haunted me, both for its nastiness and its brilliance, ever since.

Harron's adaptation of Ellis's novel is brilliant, probably better than the book itself.

Breaks no new ground and is tedious in the extreme.

Little Voice is that rarity, a filmed adaptation of a stage play that actually works.

Fancher seems uninterested in developing real suspense, or incapable of it, at least until the end, when there's plenty of it, but artificially imposed.

What makes the film ultimately successful, though, is the outstanding comic talents that inhabit it, especially Zahn and Macy.

This reprehensible and deeply unfunny film is obviously critic-proof.

Ambitious and perversely fascinating.

A completely different order of cinematic existence than any other film you're likely to see in the near or distant future.

It has its moments.

As the late Stanley Kubrick's swansong, it fills the bill magnificently.

Tries so hard to push all the pre-ordained buttons, and it's so anxious to be liked, nay, adored, that it left me sullen and uninvolved instead.