Stephen Hunter

Demonstrates that sometimes the simplest stories are the most profound, and certainly possess the most moral authority. It's a film that emphasizes loyalty and sacrifice, values that have become jokes in most other films these days.

That's the movie: It's taking us inside the burqa to the woman.

Matthau was merely worthless, while Thornton, God bless his soul, rises to the actual level of sociopathic. I love it when that happens.

It's nothing less than a spiritual journey set in New Jersey.

Boasts the purest of Disney raptures: It unites the generations, rather than driving them apart.

It's the best kind of movie: so alive in its storytelling that only in retrospect do you realize that the ideas represent a metaphysical inquiry.

Far from great but greatly entertaining.

What an amazing little film. God love the French. They make movies with ideas in them, other than: How many cars can we blow up?

It's funny as hell, and I am proud to say that as a card-carrying white guy, I got three, or possibly even four, of the 239 jokes.

It's a whimsical tale of war and redemption, of faith, hope and even some charity...It's quite a treat, as a matter of fact.

With a cast like this, The Exorcism of Emily Rose is a superior performance vehicle and on that count alone is never less than riveting.

It's pretty funny. You don't actually watch it so much as indulge it and admire its cleverness.

Lynch's new movie, Mulholland Drive, is a trip and a half: It's like playing Twister and Scrabble simultaneously while high on LSD. Oh, and it's dark out.

Such a feast of outlandish pleasures it'll send you home steam-cleaned and shrink-wrapped.

The movie is one of the best American films in months and months and the best comedy since I don't know when. It even makes you sorta kinda like Matthew McConaughey.

The movie is exquisitely directed by Anand Tucker in an anti-documentary style that sometimes fractures the time sequence, sometimes re-creates moments impressionistically instead of objectively and is vivid in style.

Ferguson builds a compelling case of bad judgment, error, stubbornness and arrogance.

Though it's not as good as the brilliant "Capote," it's nevertheless a riveting, well-made picture.

It's slight but in a haunting way, like a half-remembered dream.

Possibly without meaning to, the younger Wexler has made a superb examination not of professional cinematography -- really, who cares? -- but of the eternal bad business between fathers and sons.

For two hours, the bliss of the brainless fluff is yours for the asking. It cheerfully puts the escape back in escapism.

The movie builds slowly to its grinding climax, and the suspense -- the standard by which a thriller must primarily be judged -- is first-rate.

Frequently funny, just as frequently repulsive, it's filmed in Waters's trademark deadpan style that some adore and some loathe.

A considerable kick, though it would have helped if one of the boys had wiped off the lens of the camera once in a while.

The movie is an epic adventure with a rigorously moral point of view.

The movie is one of those brilliant and rare blends of paradoxical elements -- both the tragedy and the folly of history, the weight of inheritance, the pressure of the ideal, lots of fairly steamy sex, even a secret agent or two.

Great sword fights, great acting, fabulous sword fights and, of course, really cool sword fights.

Lawrence is miraculous, as always.