Surely nothing Hollywood did in its darkest, most debauched hour could possibly justify the penance we're paying that allows Harlin to continue directing movies.

A slow-burn stunner, where nothing much of consequence happens, except life itself.

Director Goldmann, who cut his teeth directing videos for Shania Twain and Faith Hill, never misses a chance to punch-up an emotional scene with a contrived, heart-melting music performance by one or more of his stars.

Though Bush’s aims are admirable and his ability to slip into the cracks of an ancient culture impressive, one can’t shake the feeling that the tale of Tibet’s struggles against communist injustice deserves the attentions of a truly great documentarian, not merely a sympathetic one.

It's a sympathomimetic monoamine that stimulates the central nervous system! Hooray epinephrine! And that's all I'm going to say about Crank.

Tries hard but never makes the leap.

Do yourself a favor: Go rent Hardy's original film, watch it, and then try and get it out of your head. You never, ever will.

This indie rambler was my favorite movie of South by Southwest 05, where it premiered. But before I go any further, let's establish that Mutual Appreciation is not for you if you go to the movies to see things blown up or if you expect such conventional niceties as a three-act structure or lighting effects not achieved by yanking up a window shade.

It's the kind of story that shows more than it tells, a story that's forged in the spaces that exist in between characters and spaces.

Yet, like it or not, the MPAA ratings is a system in which we all participate – which makes this film important to see if anything is ever going to change.

The delivery in Idiocracy is frequently flat, but it's vision is dead-on.

The vulgarity is so over-the-top and the decent jokes too few and far between.

There are moments in Idlewild that resonate with the painful "if only" of missed opportunity, and more than a few that just make you scratch your head. It's like some wildly overlong music video, minus the sexy thump 'n' grind. It's all blow, no pop.

The sweetness of spirit and rapidly moving story will keep parents entertained while blessing the kids with a mildly raunchy good time.

Invincible is like a thick, sweaty slab of NFL comfort food.

Perhaps future generations of film scholars will embrace The Quiet as a B-movie that problematizes the oppressive gaze, but for now, it's a misfire.

Never manages to be either very funny or very compelling.

To be sure, Snakes on a Plane is going to inspire some highly readable graduate-school film theses. You may even want to re-enroll to pen one yourself.

It's an obvious nod to "Rock 'n' Roll High School" that mostly serves as a grim reminder of how far comedies about the education system have fallen.

The film's moody, dark palette and soft, inchoate backgrounds tend to lull the senses rather than actively engage the viewer. The magic practiced by this illusionist does not extend to the screen.

Mainly offers fodder for tweens who fantasize about glamorous Los Angeles lifestyles where everyone is skinny, rich, and on Prozac. It's a film where gays and minorities not only fit into stereotypes, but embrace them.

Factotum, for all its grim grind, is funny-serious, and smart-stupid. Just like you after four beers, and me after eight.

A relationship dramedy wields little power without an emotional punch. And when the theatrical (literally) climax attempts bold emotionality, one can’t help but wince.

It's a curiously dull Americanization of one of the finest examples of subtle, moody J-horror out there.

This could be a pilot for the WB. Hollywood choreographer Fletcher makes the jump behind the camera but displays a greater aplomb for staging than drama, and the movie is as fleeting as the last weekend of summer.

This comedy drags its feet, while the sappy sweetness will make you wince.

Half Nelson, with its bleakly hopeful view of humanity both damned and redeemed – simultaneously – is uncomfortably, almost exactly right.

It takes so long to get going and fails to generate the necessary suspense to keep viewers engaged, that the horrific final act is too little, too late, while at the same time nearly being much too much.

The House of Sand is a more transparently ambitious, prestigious "woman's picture" than Waddington's previous feature, 2000's "Me You Them."

Although the conclusion is heavily sentimentalized, Stone finds the common ground Americans can rally around for relief from the devastation: We are, in the final analysis, good people.

Its view of mankind is unkind, to say the least, but any race that can produce such remarkably garish gore as this is perhaps salvageable somehow, someday.

The Descent may not be everything you've heard, but man, it's also a lot of things you haven't.

It's a fine message, but, in the case of the film itself, a little originality would have gone even further.

It's unlike anything else out now, and Williams, to his credit and our immense relief, has for the moment foresworn his usual giddiness in favor of a muted, hunched acting style that befits both the character of Noone and the overall tone of the film.

Silly, inconsistent, and completely frivolous, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby also happens to be one of the funniest movies this side of 2006.

The final payoff is a good one and relates to something tossed out in the film's opening minutes. Still, this is middling Chabrol, not as tight and suspenseful as his best work.

Even the most ardent of neoconservatives might find this intimate and nuanced documentary about life in occupied Iraq difficult to shake – all politics aside, it is the human element that ultimately defines a nation as a people.

The film is a wonderful choice for older teens and has considerable crossover appeal for adult audiences.

Thanks to Susan Seidelman for reminding us that romantic comedy is suitable for any population or age group.

For venturesome viewers, Jailbait would make a potent late-summer palate cleanser in preparation for festival season, even if you wouldn't make a meal of it.

Perhaps vice isn't what it used to be, or maybe Crockett and Tubbs just aren't all that interesting when removed from their appropriate time slot, but this may well be the dreariest and most monochromatic time you'll have at the movies all summer.

Years ago, when Allen's inimitable comedy style still seemed fresh, Scoop may have joined the ranks of "Sleeper" and "Take the Money and Run" as a comedy classic. Today it provides a pleasant diversion.

John Tucker Must Die will undoubtedly fade into obscurity like so many silly and sentimental teen comedies before it.

It all adds up to a peculiar whole; fun I suppose, but not what you'd call a picnic.

One wonders what its objective is other than the cynical obliteration of all hope.

It’s good to see that passionate cinematic rabble-rousing does not rest solely in the hands of the left.

It ends up seeming more real and more artistically, morally, and spiritually honest than any dozen bedrock documentary films you'd care to name.

The result is a climactic scene that is pretty near perfect: both laugh-out-loud surprising and endearingly inevitable.

Clerks II will find Kevin Smith's detractors saying that the filmmaker simply regurgitates the past, while his loyal fan base will applaud his return to the tried and true.

There are moments of great beauty throughout (the film was lensed by Wong Kar-Wai cinematographer Christopher Doyle), and Shyamalan's heart is nowhere if not on his sleeve, but even these moments cannot steer Lady in the Water clear of its director's zealously over-earnest pretensions.

Equal parts Ray Bradbury and rickety carnival spook show, this animated tale of a carnivorous, haunted house and the band of neighborhood kids who decide to put it out of commission feels maddeningly unfinished.

The conventional plot and absence of character dimension will most likely get the better of even the biggest Uma fans.

97% of the movie will make you need a shower. Possibly two.

As far as disposable entertainment goes, it gets the job done.

While the impressive cast inspires a sense of hope, The Oh in Ohio's childish storytelling, paper-thin character development, and general unfunniness combine to make one bad movie.

This oddly dispassionate film about a young man dying of cancer is the French antidote to those Hollywood weepies in which the heroine courageously faces her own mortality with every hair in place.

An intriguing, disquieting, but ultimately overdrawn nightmare.

It's all a bit much, yes, a bit exhausting, that's true, but then why on earth would anyone expect otherwise?

As a whole, the film has too little character and/or plot development to sustain narrative interest. What A Scanner Darkly excels at is mood and tone.

Once in a Lifetime's only major failing is the fact that the iconic Pelé is seen only in period footage.

Provocative and prodding, but apart from its queen bee Ellen (the marvelous Rampling), the characters are representational types instead of fleshed-out human beings.

If you shut down your brain and simply take in the wardrobe and performances by Streep and Blunt you'll have a swell time, like aimlessly flipping the pages of a fashion magazine.

Yes, this Superman soars, but he doesn't always take us with him.

Fans of the show will rejoice and a few newbies will become converts. In this heightened reality, there are no rules except to get the laugh. And they do, incessantly.

You’ll leave the film wondering why you've never seen a TV ad for an electric car, or why GM is all about selling Hummers these days.

For a film about looking for a sign, looking for solace, Room quite brazenly offers neither. It isn't an easy film, but the world's already got plenty of easy and easily digestible films.

As a filmmaker, Clark still seems more beholden to his roots as a still photographer: Images are sometimes worth a thousand words, but, ultimately, they will always be skin-deep.

Sandler is a post-Catskills goldmine of potential, he always has been, and when he's willing to break with tradition (a là Punch Drunk Love), he's downright revelatory. Not this time, though. This time he's just dying.

The lengths to which a parent will go to save a child can be gut-wrenching stuff, but Waist Deep rarely hits you in the pit of your stomach. Blame it on the lame screenplay, which unwisely (and badly) gravitates more toward the crime-spree elements of "Bonnie and Clyde" than the fierce parental instincts of, say, "Kramer vs. Kramer" or "Lorenzo's Oil."

A moving tribute to this legendary artist's life and career.

Racing junkies would be better off browsing the myriad of online drifting videos where the camera doesn't cut and the people don't speak.

A Tail of Two Kitties couldn't care less about its human principals, and all it wants its animals to do is air-guitar to "Cat Scratch Fever" and wear silly sunglasses.

Don't try to figure out a time-travel movie, it will make your head hurt. And if the movie stars Keanu Reeves, all the more reason to just stop, slowly put common sense on the ground, and back away from your capacity for rational thought.

Infinitely more entertaining than anything the WWE has done recently, this sophomore outing from "Napoleon Dynamite" director Hess is full of cheesy goodness, but it's Velveeta.

Alice Braga owns this film.

There's just not enough real heart to go along with the cutesiness.

The fact that Wordplay works as a film at all is a testament to its skill. The New York Times may never find a better marketing tool.

Never really quite great, it's still a good enough diversion for the family and should please adult fans of racing.

At the age of 81, Altman may show signs of mellowing, but he again emerges as a master filmmaker.

The movie doesn't quite add up beyond its performances.

It's a good bet for youth audiences (the PG-13 rating is for one instance of language) and finds plenty of thought-provoking subject matter courtside.

Utterly pointless remake.

Everybody’s sleepwalking here. Vincent D'Onofrio is fantastic with Vaughn in a small part as his brother, but it's as if he’s running in during a break from "Law & Order: Criminal Intent."

This French import is a worthy entrant into the adrenalized cadre of action films like "Run Lola Run" and "Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior" (which Besson produced). What District B13 lacks in story development it compensates for with stunningly realistic action.

A powerfully unique film.

It's all so goddamn realistic and reminiscent of real-life love (and how often does that happen onscreen?) that The Puffy Chair would be hell to watch if it weren't so funny.

Above all, there's Nolte, who hovers over the whole production like some sapient force of nature.

There's much to enjoy here – Ratner's pacing is fluid and fast and the film rushes along its busy, cluttered way with something approaching melodramatic snarkiness – but it's also terribly busy and cluttered.

Cavite isn't a horror film, per se – its nightmarish sense of unreality is thoroughly grounded in the geopolitical here and now – but the emotions it conjures from the audience can be traced straight back to Shockers 101.

As a film An Inconvenient Truth is a treasury of information. Attention may occasionally drift, but the film’s message of urgency is abundantly clear.

If you take this stuff seriously, one way or another, you're sure to be duped. You've got to hand it to Mr. Brown: So dark the con of man, indeed.

Like a lot of animated fare, it's overly busy, lacking the comic's gentle, contemplative air.

Unlike former porn auteur Gregory Dark's semenal 1985 cumshot opus "New Wave Hookers", this rote exercise in slasher-film tedium holds zero surprises and is about as arousing as Tracy Lords' singing career.

The most frustrating films are the ones that reach desperately for something great, but fall just short of capturing it. In his dark and twisted narrative debut, The King, British director James Marsh's reach extends so far we can hear his muscles strain, yet what he's reaching for is never quite clear.

This is one of those rare movies about children but not necessarily for them, and it treats its adolescent subjects with bravery and compassion.

It's all so much blood and brine signifying nothing, not even a good time. Now somebody do us all a favor and cut that albatross from around Petersen's neck already.

No doubt this film will please the pre-teen set, but they'd be so much better off staying home and renting "Mean Girls."

Despite employing every cliché in the sports-movie handbook, Goal! The Dream Begins tells a reasonably engaging story.