Rene Rodriguez

It's not that Sahara is offensively bad: It's just that the picture, loud and busy as it is, never really finds its own identity.

Director Kevin Macdonald, an accomplished maker of documentaries making his feature-film debut, gives The Last King of Scotland the pace and crackle of a thriller, albeit a thriller with substance.

By shunning the clinical mumbo-jumbo, the movie allows the viewer's imagination to fill in the gaps, making Microcosmos a delightfully entertaining -- and often hilarious -- celebration of nature. [27 Nov 1996, p.4D]

This is a gleefully repulsive movie. Spun is bound to be described as bold and cutting-edge by those who confuse shock value with achievement. Most people, however, will just long for a shower after it's over.

Even a film as shabby and humdrum as Beverly Hills Chihuahua, which never musters up the wit and beauty of a single frame of "Lady and the Tramp," is not without its pleasures.

Technically a prequel to "Da Vinci" but could also pass for a two-hour episode of "24," rarely stands still long enough for anyone to deliver a monologue.

Last Man Standing is utterly bereft of humor -- Hill plays every scene perfectly straight -- and it's a drag. There's no cleverness to Smith's machinations, no joy in watching his plans come to fruition. [20 Sep 1996, p.6G]

Doesn't conclude so much as just stop, because Brooks, having come up with a great hook for a movie, didn't bother to come up with a satisfying story to go along with it.

The work of a talented filmmaker coasting on his own fumes.

This cold, generally soulless movie does feel like it was made by people who are taking themselves way too seriously. Remember the delicious anticipation you felt when The Empire Strikes Back was over? You won't feel that way when The Matrix Reloaded reaches its cliffhanger finale. You'll just feel relief.

This is a romantic comedy that makes the concept of romantic comedies appealing again -- that reminds you how resonant and transporting they can be when they're done right.

What a grand and dazzling route Coppola takes.

Duigan instead relies on a light, whimsical touch, with just a dab of fantasy and much beautiful imagery. The result has the feel and texture of a bewitching, richly gratifying dream. [11 March 1994, p.5]

Jodie Foster gives a bravura performance in Nell, but the film lets her down. If only the screenplay had been half as daring as Foster's portrayal of a backwoods recluse who's never ventured into the modern world. [24 Dec 1994, p.G1]

A shapeless, chaotic, overly frantic comedy that manages to make almost no sense, even if you're paying close attention.

Comes packed with so many plot twists and reversals, there's barely any room left over for a story: The movie is all clever gotchas and hoodwinks, without any substance to go along with them.

That's what The Sandlot repeatedly does: Confound your expectations. It's a charming and hilarious flick for kids (boys in particular will eat it up) that feels remarkably fresh, even during its occasional foray into cliche land. [7 Apr 1993, p.E1]

Smith's funniest, sharpest and most polished movie to date. It also is his most mature and emotionally engaging picture, even if it happens to contain one of the grossest sight gags I've ever encountered in a mainstream Hollywood film.

Cannot sustain the level of comic insanity the filmmakers hoped for -- no movie could -- although it's bound to play much better on late-night cable TV, especially when accompanied by a few beers and the occasional bong hit.

The biggest problem with Surviving the Game is that, after a rather lengthy and uninteresting buildup, the movie never delivers the action it promises. [19 Apr 1994, p.E2]

War is hell, and so are bad movies about war.

If The Tailor of Panama doesn't quite gel, the attempt is still worth savoring.

A wonderfully rumpled, loose comedy about the paralyzing fear of failure.

A movie about grief for people who don't want to be upset too badly. It's a half-a-hankie tearjerker, a meek, polite weepie.

In Murder by Numbers, though, even Schroeder can't keep his own boredom from showing.

In fact, by ignoring its McCarthyist roots, The Crucible becomes more expansive and timely. This tale about the Salem witch trials of 1692 no longer seems harnessed to the now-quaint fear of communism that swept America in the 1950s: And its subject -- the power of lies and the dangers of conformity -- seems more symbolic than ever before. [20 Dec 1996, p.5G]

Almodóvar has never been shy about experimenting with plot structure, but Bad Education is the closest he's ever come to a metamovie, the sort of self-reflective, hall-of-mirrors contraption on which Charlie Kaufman has built his career.

The Illusionist is dogged by an inert, stale aura that overcomes everything and everyone in the movie.

Ever the satirist, Payne mines humor from his characters, be it Randall's cockeyed pyramid-scheme ideas or the banality of a ridiculous wedding toast.

What distinguishes Spider-Man from most other comic book movies is that the film is at its most engaging when its hero is out of costume.

For all its splendor, The New World is really a love affair between Malick and his camera.

There's no bite or sting, nor is there a single moment when the film is anything close to scary. It isn't ever engaging, either; it's a dull, sluggish bum-out.

It's a breezy, homespun, relaxing thing...watching this laid-back picture feels, oddly enough, like a vacation from movies.

Hellraiser III manages to make even the fearsome Pinhead himself seem like. . .well, a pinhead. Clive, it's time to give these characters a rest. [19 Sep 1992, p.E5]

A surprisingly ambitious entry into a genre that felt bankrupt and over more than a decade ago.

By film's end, Leconte has made you believe these disparate men inhabit the same soul: The chasm between them is a matter of paths not taken.

A mean and exceedingly well-made little B-picture, but the questions it raises are far too complex to answer with a simple gunshot.

Lurking just beneath Water's serene, storybook surface is an unmissable, defiant passion.

Ultimately done in not just by its familiarity -- anyone who can't figure out where the story is heading hasn't watched enough Scorsese -- but also by the convenient coincidences and contrivances Gray relies on in order to pump the story into something greater than it needs to be.

Winds up suffocating you with its aura of bogus, store-bought nostalgia.

A fiendishly subtle horror movie, a goosebump-inducing exercise in suspense that uses your own imagination to scare you silly.

Feels like a miracle, a movie that exceeds even the most formidable expectations without straying from its singular path. All hail this King.

Vol. 2 isn't exactly disappointing, and like all of Tarantino's movies, I suspect it will improve with repeated viewings. But for now, Vol. 2 leaves you pondering what could have been.

For all its tangle of characters and plot twists, Van Helsing isn't the slightest bit involving, and more than once (especially whenever Beckinsale is onscreen), it is unintentionally hilarious. But it's the rare kind of movie where the badness just adds to the fun.

The most horrific -- and heartbreaking -- scene of any movie thus far this year comes at the climax of The Cove.

After starring in a string of heavy dramas, Andy Garcia lightens up and goes for the funny in City Island, a breezy comedy that fits the actor like a güayabera.

Impossible to resist.

Remarkably astute and devastatingly funny.

The film emits a subtle yet distinct John Hughes vibe.

Basterds isn't so revolutionary or so finely crafted as "Pulp Fiction" was, but it crackles with the same energy and imagination and chutzpah.

It's more interested in enlightening than entertaining, and Kidron seems to go out of her way to sap the life out of every scene. It's a horribly directed movie. [08 Sep 1995, p.5G]

The Getaway is more of a carbon copy than a new take on the same story. This new version is a bit bloodier, considerably sexier -- there's one particularly steamy love scene here -- and just as dull and irrelevant as the original. [11 Feb 1994, p.G5]

What makes the picture sail past its flaws is its earnest understanding of the desperation that drives people to regain control of their lives -- and the profound courage required to attempt it.

By giving the hero's inner plight so many dimensions, Superman Returns brings a richer, grander perspective to a seminal character without changing his essence. It's a profoundly personal take on a universal icon, made by a filmmaker who continues to improve with each movie.

A thriller boasting Mel Gibson's first starring role in eight years, elicits a gigantic wow -- as in ``Wow, does this movie suck!''

There's also something to be said for a movie that's content with telling a simple yarn, and telling it well.

In a simple, direct manner, Gunner Palace reminds you that the thousands of faceless, nameless troops in Iraq are still there after you switch off CNN.

Isn't exactly memorable, and as far as its prison setting goes, it has nothing on HBO's infinitely more brutal "Oz." But as late-summer time killers go, you could do worse.

It's all speed, movement and blood -- lots and lots of blood.

Watching this essentially good but misguided kid slide into a hopeless future is both transfixing and heartbreaking.

It feels like three movies stitched together.

Gigli's awfulness is of a rarer, more precious variety. It's the sort of bizarre, ill-conceived picture you can't believe exists, but are secretly glad it does.

Scary? Yes, in spots. Gratuitously gory? You bet. But, first and foremost, Zombieland is a comedy.

At its best when it simply lets Hoffman and De Niro play off each other .

It's the damndest thing, watching this light but genial movie self-destruct. It's as if writer-director Barry Levinson set out to sabotage his own film by gradually turning what should have been a minor subplot into the story's main subject.

Untamed Heart veers into the contrived and the schmaltzy too often to really work the way it wants to. But Tomei and Slater rise above the material. It's their characters, and their unique, touching relationship, that you'll remember. [15 Feb 1993, p.C3]

And unlike other recent dramas such as "Rendition," the film never feels like it's preaching. Instead, it just urges: Whatever you believe, do something.

The movie, which has more than 10 credited producers, feels like one of those slick, for-the-money projects Hollywood studios cook up via graph charts and marketing surveys.

Director Hector Babenco's sentimental, unconvincing adaptation of Varella's book, is a soft, simplistic look at a tough, complicated subject.

It's an uncommonly optimistic meditation on death and lament, befitting a filmmaker whose movies (Jerry Maguire, Singles, Say Anything), no matter their subject matter, always double as a celebration of life.

One of the amazing things about Volver is that Almodóvar once again manages to make a preposterous, overloaded plot seem sublime and organic: It's his profound empathy for his characters and their very human dilemmas and flaws that allows him to fling them into all sorts of odd places without ever losing sight of them as people.

The story of Paranoid Park may center on an extreme and unusual case, but it's Van Sant's understanding of -- and compassion for -- the hell of growing up that makes the film such a profound and lasting pleasure.

Certainly a grand-looking picture. For a film that's filled with CGI effects, there wasn't a single shot that looked artificial, and the production design is tremendous. But it's a hollow, boring spectacle.

The dialogue is sparse but well used -- it's refreshing to see a movie where people don't feel compelled to talk all the time.

The movie doesn't quite achieve the transcendent effect it reaches for, saddled with an ending that fails to live up to our expectations. But the experience of watching Babel is undeniably riveting: Even if the film doesn't really lead anywhere, you still can't take your eyes off it.

As the movie breathlessly cuts back and forth from a boisterous wedding celebration to a high-stakes soccer match, even the grumpy cynics will have been won over.

Has a crackling, almost farcical pace, even though its subject matter could not be more serious or complex.

It's a small victory, but Punch-Drunk Love knows how to reap epic delight from the most precious of details.

A rollicking, jumbo-sized swashbuckler, awash in sword fights, cursed treasures, plank walkings and hurtling cannonballs. This stylish, rousing movie has been directed with refreshing levity and wit.

The musical numbers are exhilarating, and the story unfolds against a delightful, ever-changing series of set designs, haircuts and fashions. But it's the performances in this look at the often- harrowing relationship between Tina and Ike Turner that you'll remember. [09 Jul 1993, p.G5]

It's a mean little movie, but it's also thin and repetitive, a premise in search of a story.

The problem with I Love You, Beth Cooper is that aside from Denis' speech at the start, everything else seems familiar.

The best moments in Walk the Line are the plentiful musical sequences, from Cash's initial foray into the Sun Records studio in Memphis, to his nights performing in high school auditoriums alongside the likes of Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis, to his landmark concert at Folsom Prison in 1968, where his dangerous, edgy persona was cemented.

It''s loud and flashy and fun to look at, but you''ll grow tired of it very quickly.

For the first time in the film series, Harris wrote the screenplay himself, which means the movie is practically identical to the book. In other words, they both stink.

The movie earns its R-rating with some graphic (and hilarious) sex scenes and a torrent of four-letter words, but this is a much more sophisticated enterprise than a mere gross-out comedy.

It's impossible to watch this beautifully chaotic, excessive movie impassively. You'll either embrace what Luhrmann has done here or run out of the theater, holding your head.

As a story, Mamma Mia! is a sham, a narrative so rickety it makes "Grease" seem like Shakespeare. It fails as a musical, too, since only about half of the songs have any bearing on the scene that preceded them.

It might have all seemed hip and edgy 10 years ago, but today, it just feels tired.

A hostage drama without any tension. It is a love story without any heat. It is as curiously empty a movie as we've seen all year.

I'm not suggesting Costner and Kutcher should run out and remake "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" just yet, but in The Guardian, the two actors turn out to complement each other well enough to make a lot of this supremely derivative and formulaic picture go down better than it should.

Buoyed by strong performances from Perez and Miami-resident Milian, Washington Heights overcomes the familiarity of its premise through its passion and conviction.

Food, Inc. argues that part of the reason why the food industry is so difficult to regulate is that many of the government officials currently assigned to watchdog roles were once employed by the companies they now keep tabs on.

The movie's exploration of prejudice within the military is certainly on target, but it's presented with all the finesse of a classroom civics lesson.

Cox's morose performance could not be less interesting, Harrison's visual stylings all feel borrowed from David Fincher movies and nine inch nails music videos, and the film's elliptical mysteries, which twist onto themselves a la Mulholland Drive, aren't interesting enough to ponder.

In the film's most frightening sequence, Countdown to Zero imagines what would happen if someone detonated a bomb in the heart of a major city, such as New York City's Times Square.

The movie itself is a nominee for Best Animated Feature, and it's good enough to pull a surprise upset over the beloved Finding Nemo. It's a mad masterpiece.

This is minor Disney at best, forgettable at worst.

Don't let your brain interfere with your heart, says Albert Einstein -- yes, that Albert Einstein -- in I.Q., neatly summing up the message of this sprightly romantic comedy. It's a movie with an inventive premise that works better than you'd think. [24 Dec 1994, p.J3]

If this rousing, technically dazzling movie doesn't get you going, then you probably didn't like football to being with.

Himalaya doesn't need a traditional story line to transport the viewer into another, fascinating world.

If Heaven doesn't quite achieve the transcendent power that Kieslowski might have attained, it comes close. One shot in particular, with the couple making love under a tree in silhouette, is a thing of quiet, sublime beauty that is eloquent in a way words never could be.

The story's historical setting is fascinating, but the movie is populated by thin, uninvolving characters.

Carries a whiff of disappointment: There's little here Mamet hasn't done before, and done better.

Awfully amiable and dull. Instead of honoring musical gods, the film seems to think Pat Boone was headlining.

Some episodes are funnier than others, but they're all underscored by a pervasive melancholy.

The dead-serious Man on Fire awakens a genuine sense of bloodlust in the viewer. This is a slick, big-budget, A-list production designed to stoke our basest impulses -- to make us long for, and cheer at, bloody, merciless vengeance.

Isn't exactly original: This is basically "Heathers" for a new generation, its satirical edges dulled, if still sharp enough to sting.

The result is almost suffocating: a movie that has been tinkered and fussed with until there is no spontaneity left -- no warmth or life or messiness.

Beautifully shot by the great Vilmos Zsigmond, the movie is watchable, sporadically amusing and ultimately frustrating, because Allen is capable of so much more, but doesn't appear interested -- or willing -- to push himself any longer.

So lazy and rote, it feels like a rerun the first time you watch it.

A grand, eye-popping film, a beautifully photographed epic with the depth of a Bugs Bunny Cartoon.

But even if the film is short on analysis and skepticism, Tammy makes for a fascinating subject anyway.

A blatant sell-out, a wink-nudge pander to Hollywood, disguised as satire.

Although it strikes a perfect balance between otherworldly, slimy menace and 1950s B-movie cheesiness, The Host's computer-generated mutant isn't what makes this frantic, wild picture so much fun.

As written, Seven Pounds would have always been a melancholy experience, but a lighter touch would have helped to keep you from noticing the implausibility of its plot.

Bad enough to make even James Gandolfini and Catherine O'Hara seem dull.

If you're going to direct a piece of crass, nonsensical junk, at least have the decency to release it straight to video, where it belongs.

Unfortunately, The Big Lebowski doesn't hang together, and it's not supposed to: That's just the way the Coens want it. In some circles, this will be celebrated as the brothers' refusal to "sell out" after achieving Oscar glory. But anyone hoping for a real movie will see The Big Lebowski as nothing more than a pleasant waste of time. [6 March 1998, p.5G]

Shrill and sloppy film.

Has all the depth of an episode of "Joey."

If watching people having their faces cut off, getting their legs amputated and having their throats tenderly slit is your idea of a horrific good time, you'll certainly get your money's worth here.

But most of Sniper is a bore. The details of their assignment are never spelled out, the middle of the film sags, and, in any case, it's hard to work up much enthusiasm for these snipers, heroic though their mission may be. In the movies, heroes must be larger than life: There's just not much excitement watching two guys hide in a bush, waiting for a clear shot. [3 Feb 1993, p.3]

In an effort to turn Brashear's life into a larger-than-life sermon, Men of Honor almost manages to make it all feel like an overbearing crock.

Grim stuff, filled with great sorrow and tragedy, but it's never maudlin or weepy.

The movie isn't a thriller, but it has the tension of a thriller, and its cool, icy tone, deliberate pacing and clean, antiseptic lines are reminiscent of Kubrick and Antonioni.

By the time the end credits roll, you're still not sure what kind of movie The Hunting Party is supposed to be, other than just queasy.

It is a testament to just how well Enchanted works that by the time a dragon is flying around New York City, you've forgotten all about the movie's high-concept humor and become invested in the plight of its characters instead.

The film's refusal to take its characters anything less than seriously makes it cut deeper than a Will Ferrell lampoon.

You know something's amiss when you're in the middle of a picture that runs under three hours and you're tempted to whip out your cellphone and send friends a text message that reads "Send food."

This new, presumably improved Chainsaw is just as humorless as the original, but it's also slicker, glossier and resoundingly artificial.

A slow, inexorable slog to the titular event -- a public execution so inconceivably violent and brutal the movie practically dares you not to look away.

She (Blanchett) single-handedly forms the human heart of this engrossing, if ultimately preposterous, supernatural thriller.

Nothing fantastic or supernatural ever happens, but you can still feel cosmic forces at work behind the scenes, conspiring to repeatedly test the movie's characters, doling out reward and punishment in equal doses.

The fact that Swept Away got made at all implies there simply is no dissuading Madonna from her movie-star aspirations. Her tenacity is admirable, but it's also block-headed.

The good news about The Scorpion King is that The Rock turns out to be a charismatic, ingratiating screen presence.

At its best when it is at its most freewheeling -- when it tramples past logic, motivation and basic plausibility in its pursuit of a funny, whimsical kind of nonsense.

King Kong makes clear that Jackson has no contemporary peer when it comes to outsized, transporting fantasies that enchant in an era when special effects have become white noise.

This is easily the funniest of the Terminator movies (although not, it should be stressed, the lightest). It is also the shortest and most compact.

In Dodgeball, Vaughn is stuck playing the straight man to a collection of stooges, and he looks utterly bored doing it.

Although never boring and almost continually amusing, Extract doesn't work as a movie because you don't buy a minute of it, even as silly satire.

The genius of a feature film based on the 1980s TV series is that it can't help but exceed expectations that are so low to begin with.

As filler for the long, dry winter movie season, the movie is more than passable, and its sense of humor has a wicked, unforgiving spin that is decidedly pro-rodent.

An exuberant, appropriately cynical reinvention of the stalwart Broadway hit that deftly straddles the line between old-fashioned Hollywood musicals and experimental concoctions like last year's "Moulin Rouge."

You could describe Read My Lips as a love story, but that would make the movie sound much more conventional than it really is. See it now, before the inevitable Hollywood remake flattens out all its odd, intriguing wrinkles.

Traitor is "Syriana" for dummies, a globe-hopping, multi-character look at the war between America and Islamic terrorists that keeps things as relatively simple as an episode of 24. Not that there's anything wrong with that: 24 is a really good show. But it doesn't pretend to be something it's not, either.

Considering the talent involved, Fathers' Day comes off as a whopping disappointment. Williams and Crystal are a good team: You just wouldn't know it by watching them here. [9 May 1997, p.4G]

Lives up to its advance buzz as a showcase for some wonderful performances and a sharp storytelling eye by director Gavin O'Connor.

Comes off as an episode of "Beverly Hills, 90210" where, instead of spoiled rich kids, the characters are all ballet stars in the making.

This is a fiendishly complicated whodunit -- or, to be more precise, a who-done-what-to-whom-and-when -- told within the confines of thoughtful, speculative science-fiction.

Repetitious, uneventful and, in the end, dull.

In the sequel, Weitz lays on a pop song and slow-motion during a critical scene involving the sudden reappearance of a fearsome villain, giving everything an MTV-slick, teen-friendly gloss and reminding you this is just a movie -- a somewhat silly and hollow one.

There's enough gee-whiz bang in Richie Rich to keep young viewers entertained, though much of it is woefully uninspired. [21 Dec 1994, p.E1]

As far as its plot mechanics go, The Brave One belongs to the hallowed (if less-than-respectable) genre of exploitative revenge pictures.

Even when his scripts aren't working, Shyamalan knows how to frame shots and build suspense. The Happening, even more than his previous films, has a visual elegance and subtlety that helps to overcome the less successful aspects of the plot.

The film wouldn't work at all, though, if Sarsgaard didn't strike the perfect balance between snaky predator and love-struck fool.

With considerable passion and more than a little anger, Cronicas argues that our appetite for an increasing coarse and sensational type of news programming has skewed our inner compasses.

More than once during A Scanner Darkly, you find yourself wishing these characters would just shut up.

It takes a concerted effort to make a movie as relentlessly stupid and grating as 15 Minutes.

Half-Blood Prince is the franchise's “Empire Strikes Back” -- the episode in which the pace slows down a bit, the characters deepen and mature, the good guys take a big hit, and all hell is gearing up to break loose.

Collateral is a small, modest movie writ large by people so talented, they aren't capable of anything less.

The movie doesn't make you care.

This is more of a thinking man's action flick -- a small, intense film made on a giant canvas that finds Mann experimenting with and pushing at the boundaries of mainstream filmmaking.

If The Magdalene Sisters occasionally flirts with cartoonishness, the movie is tempered by Mullan's considerable filmmaking skills.

This is a theme tailor-made for Burton, although there are times in the movie when it feels like he's not taking enough advantage of it.

There's no denying the particular political slant of Why We Fight, but Jarecki's thoughtful, nonconfrontational approach makes it absorbing viewing, regardless of whether or not you buy his arguments.

While the film is undeniably melancholy, Moretti's trademark light touch keeps it from becoming overbearing.

This tale of teenage witches run amok is silly, juvenile stuff, and it doesn't even have the decency to stick to its own ridiculous logic. [03 May 1996, p.6G]

Winds up making a very good case for never going out of your way to help anybody.

There isn't a single scene in this story about a traveler from another planet (Jim Caviezel) who crash-lands on Earth during the Iron Age that doesn't remind you of another, better movie.

Fallen may not scare you, but it'll certainly haunt you. [16 Jan 1998, p.4G]

Fever Pitch is surprisingly devoid of jokes, or romance, or any of the other basic elements you'd expect to find in a romantic comedy. The only thing the Farrellys get right is the obsession.

It doesn't spoil any of the story's surprising twists to say that Three of Hearts ends up uncovering some poignant truths about the nature of love, the pressures of commitment and the limits to the compromises we are willing to make for the people we care about.

Aside from a disturbingly graphic depiction of a drowning, there is also death by fire, electrocution and giant falling objects.

Instead of delivering a pointed statement, this timely and energetic crowd-pleaser aims for -- and accomplishes -- something much more difficult: It makes you fall in love with its characters.

Hogan could actually hold his own in a supporting role in an action-oriented flick, but his casting here has all the subtlety of a WWF Wrestling match. Mr. Nanny, which runs a scant 85 minutes but feels far longer, has no business on the big screen and should prove encouraging to aspiring filmmakers: If somebody paid money to make this thing, they'll pay to make anything. [12 Oct 1993, p.E7]

The most surprising thing about Michael Bay's much-anticipated, blockbuster-bound Transformers is how funny the movie is.

No atmosphere, no tension -- nothing but Costner, flailing away. It's a buggy drag.

It's a redundant comedy, like hearing the same tired joke for the 100th time.

A very engrossing movie, the kind that gives shameless manipulation a good name.

There is so much that is wrong with The Alamo that it is easier to begin with what the movie gets right: Davy Crockett. As played by Billy Bob Thornton.

What Alexander lacks in narrative clarity, it makes up for with pomp and pageantry.

Serial Mom is one of the most consistently funny films in years, moving from one hilarious set piece to another just when you're sure it has nowhere left to go. [15 Apr 1994, p.G5]

There are 10 minutes of animation in the film, and it could have used a few more: They have a spirited, inventive energy that the rest of this well-intentioned but awfully melodramatic movie lacks.

The Wedding Planner dissolves into a mopey, leaden romance that piles on the contrivances before limping to its foregone -- and rote -- conclusion.

Harrowing and grueling, Lebanon ends on a gentle, hopeful note.

The movie is a polished (and irresistible) piece of crowd-pleasing formula and deserves to become a monster hit. But it is also a perfect showcase for the volcanic talents of the rotund comedian/musician/all-around wildman.

The film lacks the menace and danger of Sendak's book, along with the beautiful simplicity and delicated, understated portrait of a lonely, misunderstood boy.

Red Lights is actually an examination of marriage -- of what keeps people together long after the passion has fizzled, and all that's left is bitterness and resentment.

There's enough outrageousness and ribald humor in Kika to please Almodovar fans, and though the movie is far from being his most accessible, even newcomers will find much to like, provided they can follow his eccentric, offbeat rhythms. [6 May 1994, p.G4]

Nine Months displays its Capraesque family values with pride, and it will make you laugh, but there's something oddly mechanical about it -- much like Grant himself. Whether or not the actor lives up to his own hype remains to be seen, but judging from Nine Months, his fame has begun to dwarf his talent. [12 July 1995, p.1E]

It's a brutal, merciless, somber picture, utterly devoid of the heart-tugging sentimentality that always creeps into even his best films.

Loses its nerve in the final minutes, relying on a series of contrivances to arrive at an unconvincingly pat, happy ending. The story begged for a darker, more biting resolution.

As a whole, it's a bit of a mess, the work of bratty geniuses with talent to spare, but unsure of what -- if anything -- they're trying to say.

Witless, unoriginal mishmash of gangsta-drama clichés.

The slight but enjoyable Youth in Revolt finds plenty of mayhem to take advantage of Cera's against-type performance. Oh, the things we do for love.

The movie takes a completely apolitical look at the lives of its three main characters, focusing not on their differences but on how, in a way, they are trapped by their cultures.

It's the filmmakers' refusal to sugarcoat their tale's darker subtexts that makes Finding Nemo such a resounding piece of storytelling.

An enjoyably preposterous thriller. [13 Oct 2008, p.E6]

The straightforward approach is crucial, because the movie is constantly doling out so much information -- so many names and places and theories to keep track of -- that it borders on the overwhelming. Occasionally, it's a little dull, too.

Even in its somewhat unwieldy form, Catch Me If You Can is charming, sparkling entertainment.

This time, the actors don't seem to be making up the movie as they go along, and they're guided by a gifted director who has earned the right to have some guileless fun.

No matter how much good will the actors generate, Showtime eventually folds under its own thinness.

Unlike so many Hollywood thrillers, which too often rely on implausible or telegraphed twists, Transsiberian is carefully structured and designed to make sense when you replay the events in your head.

The performances are shaky, rendering Latter Days as a movie that you've seen before, and done better, too.

The Little Rascals is nowhere near as annoying as it could have been -- you will actually catch yourself laughing in spots -- and the tykes will love it. [05 Aug 1994, p.G5]

Although it is never explicitly stated, Manda Bala essentially argues that when the middle class disappears, the rich and the poor end up feeding on each other, like the frogs that go cannibalistic at the frog farm that gives the movie its central metaphor.

Won't appeal to everyone, of course, particularly those who blush easily. And parents who take children to see it deserve to have their heads examined. But for those who don't mind a little bile in their eggnog, it's the perfect antidote to all that prefab Christmas cheer.

In its best moments, the movie works much like an inspired episode of The Twilight Zone, raising provocative What if? questions about human nature that linger long after the end credits. [30 Aug 1996, p.5G]

One of the most searing experiences to be had at the movies this year.

More than once during The Fast Runner (Atanarjuat), it's easy to forget you're watching a movie.

A sluggish, soporific dud, the dreariest big-budget science-fiction adventure since "Dune."

Hilarious and socially astute.

Yes, the Naked Gun series is showing its age, resorting to spoofs that have been done countless times before (there's a long, mostly unfunny parody of prison movies) or sketches that simply don't work (like a lame Thelma and Louise takeoff.) This type of rapid-fire, joke-a-second comedy is on the verge of cliche -- imitations like Fatal Instinct, National Lampoon's Loaded Weapon, and the Hot Shots! series have turned what was fresh and rollicking into a formidable challenge. Audiences have grown used to this style of stupid humor, so if a movie is going to employ the Airplane! format, the jokes have to be funny. [18 Mar 1994, p.G5]

In his quest to capture truth and honesty, (Korine) has made a movie that is practically impossible to like.

For all its derring-do, Cutthroat Island is sluggish, flat, tiresome. Watching it is like being stuck on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride for an endless two hours. [22 Dec 1995, p.4G]

Knocked Up is filled with comic exchanges and bits of business that, while not essential to the central plot, keep the movie's comedic energy chugging (like Debbie's throwdown with a doorman at a popular nightclub who won't let her in because she's too old).

Shine a Light provides the clearest and most intimate viewing experience of the band to date. It is also a happy circumstance that the group, now in their mid-60s, have rarely sounded tighter.

By turning Brooklyn's Finest into a morality tale, Fuqua lets the movie slip right through his undeniably talented fingers.

Does anyone openly admit to enjoying these things? Small kids may find Ernest's slapstick antics mildly amusing, but even the most fervent Ernest fan (if there is such a thing) will grow tired and annoyed very quickly here. [12 Nov 1993, p.E4]

But as rich a comic turf as the huge egos and even bigger neuroses of Hollywood types would seem, For Your Consideration always seems a bit too tame for its own good: It never busts out the way you hope it would.

The vilest film of the season.

A thoughtful, audacious meditation on love and relationships that finds a group of wildly disparate talents clicking together in perfect unison.

Gummo isn't so much a movie as it is an experiment, and, taken on those terms, it is a fascinating piece of work. Repellent, disgusting and ugly, yes -- but still fascinating. [23 Jan. 1998, p.5G]

Mysterious Skin bears all of Araki's hallmarks, from its stylish compositions and lush colors to its willingness to confront difficult subject matter head-on.

The same premise could have been turned into a satirical comedy, but Better Luck Tomorrow opts for a more corrosive, challenging route, one whose troubling, morally ambiguous ending offers no easy resolution.

Intentionally designed to rile as much as entertain.

There is no faulting the big set pieces, which are shot and edited skillfully. But without involving characters to go along with them, those sequences make for awfully empty movie calories.

Achieves an assaultive intensity that adds a level of visceral excitement to car chases, mano-a-mano showdowns -- even simple conversations. It's a style that takes some getting used to -- the images flit by at near-subliminal speeds -- but proves tremendously effective.

Such smooth, crisp entertainment, you barely even notice it has nothing new to say.

Gere has never been better cast.

It's bottom-feeder entertainment wrapped up in high-minded airs.

Even though Lower City ultimately leads nowhere (the movie doesn't end so much as simply stop), you won't mind having taken the trip.

Angry, potentially offensive movie.

This rich, emotionally complex movie finds Almodóvar venturing into trickier, more fascinating territory, even if his themes.

Grisham is an expert at hooking the audience, and he fills the edges with legal details that, realistic or not, are always fascinating. Runaway Jury is an adequate, unremarkable piece of work, but as they say in the book world, you won't be able to put it down.

The fragmented style is distracting and ultimately annoying, robbing the story of its suspense and drive while contributing nothing except self-conscious style.

Although there's no denying the threadbare nature of the script, watching Murphy riff can be a formidable entertainment on its own.

After a promising start, this ambitious but ultimately clunky and unwieldy movie dissolves into a pile of ideas in dire need of dramatization.

A passable adaptation of Kinney's novel, but no replacement for the real thing. Read the book, then see the movie.

Altman seems lost here. We expect Ready to Wear to go behind the glamour of the fashion industry, uncover the pimples and scars on those flawless faces and bodies, wrinkle a few overpriced cat suits. But the movie is as superficial as its subject. [24 Dec 1994, p.G1]

An overwhelmingly tactile experience. Scott brings you so close into the action, the grit and smoke and blood seem to spill off the screen and into your head.

A high-tech freak show, a gallery of grotesqueries that are fascinating and repellent.

The problem with Saved!, which is often bright and likable, is that its central point -- extremism, religious or otherwise, is bad -- is too obvious for a satire.

A dreamy, passionate ode to freedom -- of thought, of expression, of every person's innate right to simply be.

Aside from its South African setting and flavor, there isn't a lot in Tsotsi that differs from its legion of similar Hollywood counterparts. But the movie's heart, along with Hood's refusal to sugarcoat the grim reality, wins you over no matter how many times you've seen this story told.

Celebrates a larger-than-life heroism that is, sadly, all too rare.

The movie is essentially a vehicle for Smith, but the actor more than rises to the challenge. Rarely has attaining the American Dream seemed so impossible or daunting or so intensely, profoundly satisfying.

The most enjoyable piece of pop fantasy of the summer; sleek, elegant, exciting and wildly, outrageously imaginative.

There are other filmmakers who might have been drawn to a comic book as enchantingly ridiculous as Hellboy. But there are none who would have turned in a sleek $60 million picture as daringly silly, playful and imaginative as this one.

The tone and mood of Shutter Island are different on the screen from on the page -- the shadows darker than you imagined, the violence more ghastly, the blood redder.

Chasing Papi leaves you wishing Hollywood would just forget about Latinos altogether. If this is how they really see us, I'd rather not know.

Full Grown Men marks the feature debut of director David Munro, who was born and raised in Miami and shoots Florida like a native.

Despite the great care and research that went into the movie, Frost/Nixon pales in comparison to Oliver Stone's "Nixon" when it comes to humanizing the infamous leader.

The first Hollywood horror flick I've seen that seems like it was made specifically for 12-year-olds.

I will tell you what The Village is not: It is not scary. It is not all that interesting. It isn't even much of a movie.

Despite a last-minute attempt to bring poignancy to the tale, you don't walk away from Overnight feeling sorry for Duffy as much as you are glad you never met him.

Unfortunately, The Island grows dumber as it goes along, gradually disintegrating into a generic good-versus-evil spectacular that not only defies all known laws of gravity and physics, but also suffers from the lack of morality that plagues Bay's films.

Sitch keeps the tone consistently light, scoring big laughs all the way to the film's climax.

For the story of a man who made his mark on pop culture by being a likable buffoon, the irritatingly arch Confessions of a Dangerous Mind takes itself way too seriously.

The fact that Innocent Blood works so well comes as a surprise, since Landis (Oscar, Spies Like Us) hasn't made a satisfying movie in years. But this second foray into the comedy-horror genre seems to have revitalized him: At times, Blood rises to the level of some of Landis' funniest stuff, including Trading Places and Animal House. [25 Sept 1992, p.G5]

For all its Buck Rogers-style derring-do, gorgeous vistas of an Art Deco New York and sepia-toned cinematography, Sky Captain is a static, uninvolving experience.

Does King's tale play a part in the film at all? Kind of; half of it is there, but they've left out the really scary images from the story. The only thing The Lawnmower Man accomplishes is to remind you how boring it is to watch someone else play a video game. If they ever start marketing this virtual reality stuff, however, someone's going to get very rich. [9 Mar 1992, p.C4]