Shawn Levy

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.