Shawn Levy

Some truly memorable moments, but they come early and, as the film wears its way along, become increasingly hard to call to mind.

The film's best sequences -- the troubles of the young woman -- are gems adrift in a sea of Jell-O.

A frequently transporting depiction of the early and middle life of Ray Charles, the film soars on remarkable performances, a convincing sense of time and place, and, of course, the glorious music for which Charles was rightly billed as The Genius.

Because there was anarchy and randomness in Thompson's life and work, you find it in Gonzo.

Offers a lot of laughs, a heartwarming core.

Malick is a unique director of extraordinary gifts, of that there can be no doubt. If he ever chooses to shoot a script as fine as his technique, he will surely produce a masterpiece of the medium.

It's not great moviemaking -- it isn't as accomplished or funny as the best of the Farrelly brothers' films, say -- but it's got real appeal.

McGregor is a real charmer, a young Malcolm McDowell with a Scottish lilt; Brain Tufano's photography manages to be both rich and stark at once; Hodge's script has some genuinely arch lines. [03 Mar 1995]

In a film culture in which contrived tomfoolery and overinflated emotions stifle in their effort to provide comedy and romance, something as light and precise as The Puffy Chair feels like more than an exception; it feels like fresh air.

Racy, obscene, spirited and infectious.

The issues the film raises are truly profound and discomfiting whether you work in the media or just consume it.

It's a film that can leave you on the fence. There's great facility with non-pro actors, with unusual locations, with both intimate and epic-scale scenes. Yet at the same time, Takata's reserve overwhelms the picture and makes its efforts to elicit emotions seem clumsy.

Alas, Robbins is far more interesting than Cruise, and you wonder what the film would have been like if their roles were reversed -- if Robbins were the loser in search of redemption and Cruise the agitated freak in the basement.

Oacks more heat, acid, danger and drama into its brief running time than most films of nearly double the length.

As a fable, The City of Lost Children may not have a resonantly significant moral, but as a film, it is without a doubt the most incredible thing that the cinema has brought us this year. [22 Dec 1995]

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 dark, brooding, moody film that follows a grim narrative to a logical inevitability and is nonetheless fully infused with a spirit of humanity.

It's the sort of history you could nibble on for hours.

It's a fine debut, far more grounded, plausible and engrossing than most Hollywood thrillers.

Magic Mike doesn't sizzle often enough as either cinema or beefcake, though. It's medium-strength Soderbergh, which is better than the full-strength stuff most filmmakers can manage but not exactly the brand that keeps you coming back for more.

So rich, moving and surprising that a familiar story starts to feel new again. The details, the personalities and the final twist grab you until you're left truly shaken and inspired.

It's a film full of clever moments that may at first seem cheeky but come to feel inspired, with a third act (which only a churl would describe) that rises to a dizzyingly heightened level of metaphysics and mayhem.

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

A sweet and wise little film.

There's a lot of fascinating talk here and a genuine passion for ideas and words. But it's also a case where the messenger is so grating that we feel the perverse urge to kill the message that he carries just to spite him.

Impressively reframes the gun-control debate in terms that advocates of both sides might find fruitful, but Moore doesn't do anything to shed his reputation as a snot.

Johansson, fittingly, is the focus. In her face, as in the faces of Vermeer's handful of captivating subjects, the viewer intuits whole stories and worlds.

This is grand, inspiring entertainment of a sort that Hollywood aspires to and rarely achieves.

Creates a thoroughly curious combination of tension and eroticism.

A dull, uninspiring film that combines pedestrian acting, lackluster special effects and deadly pace with a pseudo-religious theme.

It’s an eye-opening and modestly funny look at a massive business and a culture with its own signifiers and language.

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

The overall cheekiness of the film far outweighs its preachy moments. For the most part, it's a brisk, funny and engaging movie that does genuinely exciting things with little bits of string and wire and such.

You'll gasp appalled and laugh outraged and possibly, watching the spectacle of a promising young lad treading desperately in a nasty sea, shed an errant tear.

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

Pieces of War Horse that may charm some eyes might well bore others to tears.

In the wake of everything we've seen on TV and in movies in recent decades, it's amazing that something as harmless as language can still stupefy us. As The Aristocrats demonstrates, there is real humor in the confrontation of taboos.

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

There is greatness in Martin Scorsese's Gangs of New York: titanic acting, violent poetry, moviemaking on a grand scale, a real air of daring. And there is flab in it as well, and confusion.

As a brief introduction to Belle and his amazing gifts, District B 13 is a treat. But as a movie its feet are dully planted on the ground.

Resembles an amusement park ride -- a visit to a house of horrors that ends, more or less, where it begins.

Brick is kinda brilliant and kinda demented, and you love it for the former far more than you hold the latter against it.

Although it tries continually to focus on the heart, it ultimately fails to ignite it.

There are occasional moments of wisdom, drama and emotion, but we never quite forget the blunt confession of one of the founders of the world championship, who admits that the whole thing began as a joke. Psst, buddy: it still is.

A feel-good movie that doesn't think it needs to rub people's noses in the happy stuff to get its points across or eliminate all the disturbing shades to make a uniformly glowing whole.

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?

It's a sexy thriller, tautly constructed, deeply acted and heartfelt, despite a cool and knowing tone.

It's a fascinating patchwork.

There's no reason to actively dislike the film, but that's not enough, not at today's ticket prices. Just because you're not despicable, after all, doesn't mean you're the pick of the litter.

Mikhalkov plays the jury foreman, allowing himself a bit of business that eventually erases itself, amounting, effectively, to nothing. Alas, too much of this splashy film is just like that.

Undefeated puts us inside his locker room, and you simply cannot fail to be moved by the human affection, commitment and passion you feel there.

Gets under your skin without you quite being able to say when or how. It has the tact to let you draw yourself in to it.

It might have poked a bit more into Clash's personal story, but as a story of man and puppet it's grand.

It's not a question of agreeing or disagreeing with this film's point of view to say that it isn't as often convincing as it is convinced.

It's got a bust-out performance from Eckhart that's worth remembering.

Warts and all, Factotum feels very close to the real thing.

A work of gentle, continual hilarity that feels far more ordinary than other Coen works and yet has every bit of the originality and exactness that makes the brothers' best films so wonderful.

Fairly lightweight, going after targets we can all agree deserve the needle. But there are five, six, seven gags you've never seen before -- real surprises- -- and the film deploys them smartly to keep you laughing and unsteady for the duration.

With its sweet soul and sharp mind, it's one of the most heartening films of the year.

What Machete does have -- and what saves it from itself -- is comic bloodthirst, shameless vulgarity and the determination of Rodriguez and Maniquis to wink at their audience at every moment.

Studded with sturdy acting.

"Juno" was accused (wrongly, in my view) of having things both ways: being cute and cynical, edgy and sentimental. Young Adult, despite the fun afforded by Theron and Oswalt, seems content to have things neither.

Ultimately, a heart in the film to go with Rebney's considerable bile.

You nevertheless can't help but be swept up in the kids' enthusiasms and aspirations and gobs of energy.

It's played with real zest and energy, and if you can stand the heat it gives off it may charm you despite yourself.

There's powerful craft here, and Larsson's story has more than proven its ability to grip. But missing almost entirely is a sense of urgency and discovery.

The chief problem with Shadow Boxers is that it's too short.

If any of what he says makes sense to you -- and even if it’s only a small piece, it’s terrifying -- then you’ll want to invest in gold and organic seeds and friendly relations with your nearest neighbors. You know: JUST IN CASE.....

An unforgettable movie with a message that is likely to add wrinkles to your conception of what it means to be a good steward of the Earth.

May not be as successful as it is ambitious, but you could do worse than to spend a few hours there.

Burstyn is astonishing, forsaking all vanity to make silly biddy Sara a fully dimensioned human being.

Three impeccably cast actors are fully engaged in something like a psychological thriller that has much of the crushing weight and lingering pain of grown-up life on this Earth.

It IS a film that deflates you too often, despite its efforts to impart a sense of soaring. In the end, where the Wild Things are is in your imagination and in Sendak’s pages, not in this big-hearted but ultimately faint simulation.

There's a lot of pleasure in seeing a mature filmmaker put together something so intricate with what seems like so little strain.

A draggy affair livened occasionally by bursts of color or raw emotion, but just as often convoluted and hackneyed. It's a case of a film taking on, admirably, more than it can chew.

It's a little depressing to see such a thrilling talent deployed in such an ordinary and sordid movie. Training Day isn't awful, but it's absolutely nothing special.

The best thing about the film is the acting of the guys.

It's fast, it's sure, it's violent and it's fun, even as it sometimes pushes the limits of ready coherence or dramatic plausibility.

The storytelling -- the script is co-written by Verhoeven's old collaborator Gerard Soeteman -- is messy, and the result never feels real or human or vital.

The film may have its troubled spots, but its poignant depiction of human tenderness more than compensates for them. [18 Nov 1994, p.17]

So filled with riches that it seems a bit unfair to single out Szabo and Fiennes, no matter how outstanding their work.

The film is big and sprawling and moves with fiery energy -- there's little or no exposition or explanation between scenes or episodes, yielding a breakneck pace.

It's witty, gripping good fun.

The picture is Logue's entirely, and without him, it might not be worth a visit.

An old-fashioned romantic adventure film strongly acted, ably directed and written with stolid sobriety, the film feels, save for a few moments of verbal or physical intensity, as if it could have been made 60 years ago with Ingrid Bergman in the lead.