Shawn Levy

There are ample opportunities for the film to soak in pathos, righteousness, farce, or pictorialism, and Payne manages to nod at those pitfalls without falling into them. In a way, it's just like Matt King's world: enviably plush but filled with the real pain of real life.

The performances are universally good, the 3-D is utterly gorgeous, and the nutshell history of the early days of movies is inspiring.

The result is a handsome but deeply fractured tale.

There's plenty of freshness and skill here, both in front of the camera and behind it.

Eastwood never manages to bring the past to life, even as DiCaprio and company dive gamely into the material.

Doesn't demand much of the audience, sure, but it doesn't provide much, either. It's as if an all-star gang of would-be crooks got together to rip off...moviegoers.

And while it may be true that Almodóvar doesn't have Hitchcock's way with terror, it's not clear that Hitchcock could leave the real world behind so wholly and convincingly as Almodóvar does here.

It's easy to imagine that some folks will find the film rapturous, but it's equally clear that there are others whom it will drive crazy.

It may not add up to a narrative, but it's a fascinating compilation -- a mixtape you may want to hear more than once.

It's a horrific tale, filled with fear, confusion, anger, disfigurement, and loss. Weissman and Weber don't milk the pathos and they don't have to. Their interview subjects are brilliantly chosen, not only for their specific vantage points on the events but for their eloquence and depth of feeling. Time and again, the spoken and visual record of what happened overwhelms you.

It hardly needs to hang its head around the original, and it bolsters Brewer's standing as a talent of note.

Despite the film's claim to be an anatomy of a pop culture craze, it's deeply parochial and has an opportunistic feel at its core.

Genuinely breathtaking.

It's a sports story, yes, because without baseball there's no Beane. But it's far more a tale of a man's triumph over himself and his doubters. And you don't need math to make sense of that.

The result is a gripping film about a subject almost too good to be true.

As the film accrues intensity and awakes the demon lurking inside its protagonist, you can see it as something more than a retro-cool crime story. Rather, it's a parable of good and evil and the nature of man.

It's never more than an intro to a man who merits volumes.

The film is enthralling, even as the tale becomes more and more dire, with scores of millions dead and societal upheaval imminent. The circumstances depicted in Contagion are terrifying, but the power with which the film is made blends the horror, as only the best art can, with beauty.

Begins with an eye on satire but dissolves quickly into grotesquerie -- and if the first tack was a bit narrow, the second is far too scattershot.

A story like this requires a villain worthy of decades of built up horror and rage, and Christensen provides a thoroughly credible stimulus for the nail-biting events of the film.

In some ways, Senna is as pure and clean as the man's sport: as actor/racer Paul Newman liked to say, the winners of auto races are determined, unlike movies, by objective criteria. And although it's a subjective judgment, it's hard to see how anyone wouldn't be absorbed by this fascinating film about a formidable driver and man.

A staggering movie about a reality so dark and painful and real that it almost crushes the mind to think about it.

One Day, despite its attractiveness, never manages to find a way to bring the conceit fully to life.

The film has visual and verbal flair, spry energy and deep wit.

The art of Miranda July, the former Portlander and hyphenate extraordinaire, balances on the edge of the cunning and the precious, of depth and naivety, of the fetching and (sorry) the revolting.

The film is a lively and absorbing document, filled with jaw-dropping materials, such as an actual audio recording of Kesey's first LSD trip in a Stanford University lab.

Lots of people have crazy stuff happen to them once or twice. Some people are magnets for crazy stuff. And then there's Joyce McKinney, who is like a factory where magnets for crazy stuff are made and warehoused.

At 118 minutes it's longer than "The Philadelphia Story" or "Annie Hall" or "When Harry Met Sally" or "500 Days of Summer" or, well, you get it. Working from a script by Dan Fogelman that wasn't overly bright or sharp to begin with, directors Glenn Ficarra and John Requa dawdle and stretch and repeat themselves, until what should have been light and brisk becomes leaden and overdone.

Never loses sight of the human beings at the heart of the conflict -- no matter what side of the conflict they're on.

It's one of those works that presents the deeds of both humans and animals and leaves you wondering which is the more civilized.

It gives you all that you could ask for when you buy a ticket to a thrill ride.

The film is built as a series of (possibly tall) tales that don't add up to a plot, a theme or a purpose.

In some regards, watching Passione is like being cornered by actor John Turturro and forced to watch a slide show of his trip to Italy.

There's talent here, and creativity, but there's that rankling question at the core: Are we meant to sympathize with these outsiders or laugh at them?

The excellent news is that Yates and company took their time adding visual depth to the film -- they shot it as 3-D -- and the result feels immediate and real and not at all slathered-on.

It's contrived, but that doesn't keep it from being kinda nifty.

It's a bit insidery, yes, but isn't it a treat to be brought inside a hidden world by a movie?

As a director, Hanks makes some nice choices (Larry Crowne lives in a very naturally integrated suburb, for one) but there's little in the film that doesn't feel made-for-TV.

Not a great movie -- not even a great sci-fi action movie based on toys. But it is brisk and eye-catching, it builds to a truly impressive action set piece, and it's the most fully-realized 3D film since "Avatar."

The character who emerges in the breezy, somewhat meandering Buck is plain-spoken, heartfelt, compassionate, witty, and wise. His horse-training technique is based on understanding the psychology of animals and on attuning his human and equine clients with one another.

In comparison to others who struggle against real travails (the young Buck Brannaman, say), he (O'Brien) seems spoilt, entitled, impatient, shrill and mean.

The Trip doesn't really go anywhere you didn't see it heading, but it's worth the journey.

The result is as much a revelation of the artist's craft as it is of the man's heart and mind.

An extraordinary thing, and one that I shall likely esteem for a long time. Philosophically, though, it's still mired in the primordial ooze in a way that will, I suspect, forever make me hold it at arm's length.

It's spirited and funny and deeply entertaining, a summer movie for kids who think like adults and adults who feel like kids.

The message here is vital, though, and Siegel retains the gift of making you dream of making a difference.

They say that history is written by the winners. Well, this is the story of Saint Laurent as told by his surviving partner. And it's, oddly, less about the man than about his things.

Allen's filmmaking technique isn't what it once was, true. But at age 75 he still manages to keep a spry pace going even if something less than impeccable craft hobbles the photography and editing.

The delicacy of the film might frustrate some audiences. As if watching a listless young relative do nothing in particular with his or her life, you sometimes want to shake these folks by the shoulders and tell them to get in gear. But then you realize that life has many gears and that moving slowly and somewhat aimlessly is no sin.

The chief thing he (Susser) has going for him is Gordon-Levitt, whose intense immersion in his overwritten character is laudable if the result isn't exactly likeable.

Kung Fu 2 does almost NOTHING to advance the story, to deepen the characters, or to charm, amuse or entertain.

It's not that Hangover II is a notably bad movie. It's more that nothing in it seems to justify all the effort spent to add a new but nearly identical series of episodes to the original.

Incendies was likely a crackling thing to read, but it's not quite so vivid as a finished film.

There's plenty of blood and screaming and mayhem, and it's not particularly well-staged, shot or cut -- though I suppose actually caring about film craft denotes one as a spoilsport in this context.

The film feels superficial even for something set in the fashion world, and after chronicling Sassoon's unlikely ascent, it all starts to feel air-kissy and fluffy. There is a great story here, though, and Sassoon is undeniably inspirational.

At once breezy and substantial, but it could have been more powerful if it were, paradoxically, sharper and blunter.

It's lovely, truly, but so heavy-handed and slipshod that it's probably best enjoyed with the sound off -- an option they're not likely to offer at the movie theater.

It starts as clever, but it ends in real feeling.

A diabolically well-made film about a 14-year-old girl who's raped by a pedophile who grooms her with online chats and sexts.

It is, in a way, the first glimpse of the cinema, right there at the dawn of humankind. And it is utterly remarkable to see.

It's clear that Weerasethakul knows exactly what he wants to do and that he does it in his own way. And that's why his film, even if it can't be recommended to everyone, blossoms inside you the longer you allow it to.

The acting is superb across the board, and the film moves dreamily yet with razor-sharp precision, building to a sequence of deeply felt climaxes.

Even though Spurlock, a totally likeable Everyman, is in the middle of it at all times, "PWPTGMES" never feels like the work of, oh, Michael Moore.

The combination of immediacy and intimacy in Armadillo is exceedingly rare.

This isn't at the same level of quality as Yen's "Ip Man 2," which played earlier this year and was one of the best martial arts movies in a long time. But it is entertaining, even if it does ask you to suspend boatloads of disbelief.

If this sounds like cheesy melodrama, that's exactly how director Francois Ozon ("Swimming Pool," "8 Women") wants it.

Like the bits of home life its pioneers have brought with them to an alien landscape, the careful craft grounds the film in a reality that is as much felt as it is observed.

The film is as one-sided and overstacked as anything her prosecutors dreamed up. And the craft of the thing is so pedestrian as to crawl.

There simply isn't enough footage of their protagonist just being Bill Hicks the guy and not Bill Hicks the comic. Surely he had some interviews or other artifacts they could have used along with all the comedy routines.

Rubber is engaging, brisk and smart enough that the audience wins, too. It's grand, mindless fun that makes a thoughtful point.

There's some great fun in the film, and a bit of unexpected wit, and lots of action, much of it ludicrous but some quite engaging.

A gentle movie with heart, spirit and wit.

This is hair-raising, clever and winning entertainment. Even if his protagonists aren't entirely what they seem to be or think they are, Mr. Jones is, it's increasingly clear, the real thing.

It's a film that's at once too much and not enough, laughable and groovy, dead serious and a total joke. And I mean no disrespect by any of that.

Is it dreary, stingy and strained? Well, yes: it's Jane Eyre, after all. But it's also robust and full-blooded and forceful: it's Jane Eyre, after all.

It's certainly all Araki up there, and the film is handsome and swiftly paced. But it also feels terribly routine and even, strangely, for all the trangressiveness it strives for, retrograde.

If you've got the stomach for it, it's a treat.

The crudeness with which Mottola made "Superbad" suited that film; here, a similarly rudimentary technique detracts and distracts.

Ugly, dull, bloodless, dumb, and phony to its core.

The effect is to turn a brain-optional shoot-'em-up into a military recruiting commercial, which may not be an accident.

Ultimately, The Adjustment Bureau shifts from paranoid dystopia to a more hopeful tenor, and that weakens it slightly.

It's woeful as a documentary history -- a real missed opportunity.

The real star is Katz, who has stretched into a longer and more plot-driven form without diluting any of his talents or compromising his personal vision. And the other star is Portland, which is so beautifully and truthfully rendered.

It's a breezy and charming film in all, well-acted, playful and filled with real joie de vivre.

The ensemble rolls gleefully with the script's twists (which aren't all that twisty, to be fair), and the film piles up laugh after laugh agreeably.

Has its heart someplace worthy. But its head -- not so much.

A hodgepodge of bits cribbed from such films as "Centurion," "Apocalypto," "300" and "Gladiator."

An absorbing, entertaining, amusing and wrenching film.

Yet another, albeit sparer, Iñárritu gloom-fest.

Very good Leigh -- maybe even, given Manville's heroic work, great Leigh.

An energetic, witty and altogether well-built martial arts drama that is familiar in many ways but distinguished by its high level of craft, its sincere sentiment and drama, and the forceful charisma of its star, Donnie Yen.

Simple enough for children, deep enough for adults, clever enough for cynics.

Weir is the real deal, and his gifts more than repay the time you invest in the film.

The result imparts something of the emptiness of Johnny's existence and, if you're not partial to either the fellow or the technique, might very well drive you up a tree.

Has enough kicks and verve to keep the winter blues at bay, at least for a little while.

It's a heck of a character to chew into, and Spacey, never afraid to play a devil, enjoys himself a great deal.

It's a heavy, moody film, mimicking in its form something of the mental state of its central character, which is a nifty trick. But the quality of the craft doesn't draw you in, nor does Gosling's aloof and inward performance.

It's a fine, absorbing work, built with brilliance and without excessive showiness or flash. It feels, in fact, like a classic virtually upon its arrival.