Tom Keogh

The look, the feel, the brood-y, brilliant cast: This is an oddly affecting movie, all right, a jellyroll of Bronte and Hemingway.

By creating characters from emotional wellsprings rather than concepts, Leigh thrills us with the possibilities that emerge when people are merely in the same room.

It is another sumptuous visual feast from the studio, full of endless images finely detailed and often lavish.

A wondrous honesty.

Achieves a kind of beauty through its overlaying enigmas, and Carrey.

Driver’s performance as an uncertain man getting through the day-to-day prosaic, quietly buoyed by passion and artistic commitment, is exquisite.

This is vintage Allen, his powers intact after a string of increasingly cranky, creaky films in the last few years.

Finally, there's a female action hero for the summer of 2000, and she's a . . . chicken. But a chicken to believe in.

So funny and smart that holding it up against its predecessor is as pointless as comparing peak episodes of "Seinfeld."

A very moving and surprisingly funny experience.

For all its strengths, Krisha can also be self-indulgent and artificial.

A film so driven by pure style that a script barely seems necessary in its first half, Boogie Nights becomes bogged down in a predictable aftermath of drug deals, post-stardom decay, cocaine-fueled nuttiness, and self-loathing.

The lure of Sling Blade is both elemental and hauntingly familiar, and I would not be surprised if Thornton's breakthrough film is one day considered a classic in its own right.

Soderbergh appreciates the value of having fun with a so-so script, turning its cliches into fresh experiences and infusing energy into the margins of a predictable story.

The filmmakers went for cheap laughs as well as for some a little harder-earned. The only thing pure about this film is the dog, and he's magnificent.

An exquisite trio.

Miike misses an opportunity to add even more resonance by telling us a little extra about each of the samurai fighting the good fight. But he's also busy shooting nearly an hour's worth of complicated fight choreography. Enthralling as that is, Miike's greatest achievement here is in giving us reason to deeply care.

A surprisingly vital film.

Mustang could easily have been a pure heartbreaker, but it isn’t. It is surprisingly nuanced and even something of an adventure tale about a fight for freedom and identity.

Whether or not Breaking the Waves succeeds as a profound work is something that's hard to say after one viewing, but it is certainly a wholly original piece of work.

A riveting and illuminating documentary.

Rohmer's trademark dialogue...is as poetic in its plainness as ever.

There’s a lot of exposition involved in making all this palace intrigue clear. But Zhang balances the talky sections with breathtaking outdoor scenes. Zhang’s trademark, preternaturally balletic fight sequences also do not disappoint.

That’s a lot for a viewer to take in, and as pleasing as some aspects of Your Name can be, there’s no question Shinkai’s overstuffed movie often trips over itself.

The story, ultimately, is about the classic conflict between a desire to cherish and protect one's unique gifts from a brutal world and a more practical instinct to compromise beauty.

Overpraised, intellectually soft, narratively unfocused, and thematically ambivalent.

The extent to which Black and Louiso help make this film terribly witty and caustic and worth every minute of its almost two-hour running time is immeasurable.

In all, this film is a major disappointment with a few powerful highlights.

Misshapen but magnificent vision of a soulful quest -- in the thick of misery and fear -- for the meaning of our lives.

The film distinguishes itself by what it lacks: simple, unrealistic answers to Perry’s regrets and the hole in his soul. His path to authenticity might not lead back to glory days, but contentment is closer than he thinks.

A very pleasant experience in watching life unfold in its own direction and time.

Firmly establishes Crowe as a standard-bearer of original thinking in the dispiritingly redundant state of American cinema. Don't miss this one.

What rescues “Diaries” and its grimy, cracked-glass look is its firm grip on Stephen’s incremental awareness that he and his misery are not the center of the universe.

Snappy heist film that keeps changing the rules of a mystery so that one is never sure whose hands are at the controls.

Don't let Croupier go by without a look.

Time to Choose tells us all is not lost — yet. But the hour is late.

Heckerling fails to crack the outer shell of the story and its key relationships.

One can be forgiven for leaving the theater feeling a modicum of hope, and for that we owe Warren Beatty something.

The would-be emotional centerpiece of his three-hours-plus adventure flick is the most juvenile romantic tale of 1997.

Its own, tough-minded antidote to the grab-the-brass-ring whimsy of its premise.

Levinson is at the top of his game with Liberty Heights, his instincts acutely cinematic, his purpose clear.

There’s plenty here to enjoy.

Beyond the fantastic contrivances of Gods and Monsters, these performances are startlingly human.

Hock handles that perennial sports question — what is the athletic limit of a human? — with interesting sidebars about the brain and physics. Such mysteries mingle with irresistible lore in this satisfying work.

Fascinating noir, which will long be remembered for its extraordinary lead performance by Catherine Deneuve.

One of the best films seen in many years about the mysterious workings of time and memory.

So compelling is writer-director Joel Potrykus’ unnerving scenario — with its largely ambiguous tone of horror dramatically offset at times by explicit frights — that a viewer isn’t necessarily bothered by a lack of basic story information about who, what, when, where and why.

A smart marriage of modest technical ambition, sophisticated material, and a hang-loose presentation that belies the production's no-frills sacrifices.

Certainly one of his (Scorsese's) most profound works.

This modest film’s heart is really in the mysteries of small moments.

This is a pretty leaden cinematic experience.

Ross might have been better served by dismissing verisimilitude altogether and going for a real fable-fable to make what is essentially a very simple point about the dangers and rewards of accepting life's beautiful risks.

As with Bill Clinton himself, Primary Colors forces one to take the disappointing with the good, the letdown with the promise, the compromises with the hope.

It is unusually but effectively organized as an almost unbroken chain of intimacies between the small and large players in this story.

The unusual but revealing documentary Matangi / Maya / M.I.A., a hodgepodge of old video diaries, music videos, performances and interviews spanning decades, reflects M.I.A.’s passionate efforts to enlighten fans about victims of government oppression — while also getting people around the world dancing to her music.

[Roos's] dialogue (including an on-and-off voiceover by Ricci's pregnant, runaway sociopath) has a ringing clarity, his satire is low-key but quite real, and his actors mesh so perfectly you'd swear they rehearsed for months before shooting.

Cooke presents a case that the war on drugs in America is not only a no-win scenario, it is no longer (if it ever was) designed to be won as much as fulfill disturbing, narrow agendas in the public and private sectors.

T-Rex is ultimately about a remarkable (and likable) young person finding her personal power despite pressure from all sides.

A harrowing spectacle that makes one forget to breathe.

An authentically spirited popcorn movie.

Rob Schneider's stab at an "Ace Ventura"-like gamble for stardom.

This is still Ron Shelton in good -- not great, but good -- form here, and the rewards are plentiful.

The collapse of Office Space's second half is so egregious that one can't help but suspect Judge's Achilles heel may be his writing. It's not that he can't write -- it's just that his ideas tend to shine better within a pool of fellow scribes, as proven in his television career.

As he did in "Run Lola Run," he has clearly patented an original combination of cinematic eye and ear candy and a profound, irresistible fascination for the role of chance in this world.

A number of Kelly’s scenes play out like stand-alone sketches — some quite funny; not all of them essential — rather than parts of a whole. But that’s easily forgiven considering the candor of his insights and his strong cast.

It certainly has a place among the year's more accomplished productions.

An unusually clear, compassionate, and grownup satire about a rare subject: the true psychological underpinnings of young manhood.

Over the course of two-and-a-half hours, the film not only gets up on wobbly legs but learns to dance by the closing credits.

This much-anticipated but terribly underwhelming black comedy represents a seriously squandered opportunity.

Not a waste of time, but not quite in control of its destination.

Anime enthusiasts will enjoy The Boy and the Beast, but so will anyone who appreciates a good fantasy yarn.

If you don't ponder too much the script's muddled, self-serving influences, Arlington Road succeeds at discomforting a viewer and making one apt to look over one's shoulder for a day or two.

An accessible but savvy political satire.

Chalk this film up as an unusually intelligent thriller about that which scares us the most: accepting our accidents of fate.

The script by Liu Zhenyun becomes ponderous and redundant, kept on oxygen by its lead actress’s complex performance as a child-woman with enigmatic wisdom.

Director Gary Winick ("Sweet Nothing") ingeniously complements Draper's layered approach by modulating the film's energy in fascinating ways.

Lots of movies deal with friends and lovers of a certain age growing apart. But few can hear, as Thraves does, the sound of death chains rattling in the background.

Abittersweet fable about the raw joys of human revival.

All fleeting charm where it could have been one of the most memorable films of the decade.

Co-writer and director Lars Kraume brings muted colors and a claustrophobic, urgent energy to the procedural part of this story, while reminding us that not every moral hero looks like Captain America — in fact, like Bauer, they can be a rumpled, misanthropic mess.

If you like a little action with your war movies, or maybe some butt-kicking Resistance types and a Mission: Impossible-like finale, you won't be disappointed.

Simply a case of severe overreaching and the illusion that an overstuffed movie is an epic movie.

The basics of Draper’s story hold promise, but the film derails because Jack and Oliver just aren’t charming as social pariahs.

The best material gives the excellent Scott and Kroll plenty of love-hate energy: Robbie’s condescension, Bill’s passive-aggressiveness. It will look all too familiar to anyone who isn’t an only child.

Once at sea, The Perfect Storm collapses in a heap of spectacle and a dubious piling-on of scary incidents.

The film's very premise, while initially promising, doesn't hold up to lengthy scrutiny.

The film is simplicity itself.

As feverish and dark as this first feature by filmmaker Can Evrenol gets, there is a sense that something larger is at stake — an elusive explanation having to do with a recurring dream, twisted destiny and the bond of a promise.

Jim Carrey is magnificent as Kaufman.

Puts the Bond film series (this one makes number 19)-- back on track by stressing the fundamentals and applying a bit of authentic drama for a change.

A viewer might expect the film’s widescreen, busy images to fill with revenge-action sequences. But in its own way, Mr. Six is much more about a unique man adjusting an out-of-fashion personal code for a new type of crisis in the shadow of his mortality.

Few movies this year have been quite so rewarding with their 11th hour epiphanies.

If you're paying close attention, there is reason enough to find Up at the Villa a fascinating experience, almost an experiment in some ways, but it's not a fully realized work of cinema.

For Here or to Go? offers an insightful group portrait but lacks imagination in a romantic subplot and (except for a requisite Bollywood-style dance number) is visually dreary.

It is Foster who presents the biggest single problem, delivering a monochromatic performance that finds her character not much more than flinty and strained.

It's possible that Ritchie's most important asset is the comic constant within his characters' existential dilemmas. To a man (and, indeed, they're all men), Ritchie's anti-heroes are at odds, in either large or small ways, with their own natures.

When Phillips is out of the zone, however, Road Trip slows down, awaiting another redemption.

Ting, to her credit, is more interested in the battle between heart and head, instinct and obligation, than in what follows. “Already Tomorrow” is about ambivalence, not gratification, and is more interesting for it.