The film has lovely moments – Gehry buildings can be extremely photogenic, after all – but it doesn't sink its teeth in the way it probably should.

It's all poppycock, of course, but it's done with such vim and vigor and both narrative and visual flair that you care not a jot. Summer has arrived.

When it's on, it's really, really on. But when it's not, it feels like it's struggling to find its style, just as Jerome is.

It really IS fun to watch yet another oddball turn by Sutherland, and a marginally restrained one from Spacek. It's just not THAT fun.

Earnest, playful and eco-friendly, Hoot is a worthwhile visit for the tween set, but parents may role their eyes more than once at this flightless film.

It feels mechanical, more conceptual than realized, like a senior project by a particularly ambitious student who's recently read "West of Everything" – and who's lucked into working with a world-class actor.

Despite perpetual rumors of its demise as a genre, the Western is alive and well in the Australian outback.

Two Eighties genre staples – Disease-of-the-Week and Poppin' the Cherry – meet, shake hands, and mostly play nice in this sweet, if overly earnest feature.

Instead of using actors, Greengrass employed many of the actual air traffic controllers and military commanders who were on the ground that day. Also aiding his film's universality is Greengrass' use of little known actors in the central roles, preventing stardom from affecting our ideas about heroism and patriotism.

Like "Bring It On," Stick It is so much better than most of its insipid teen-movie peers yet like her earlier movie, Bendinger's new one is also not all it might be.

It is a rewarding tale for public educators, parents, and kids with big dreams.

Isn't it time to put Robin Williams out to pasture? There's precious little mirth to be had via RV after the comically nasty opening set-up.

Even though the movie is made with an abundance of heart, it's sad to report that the final result has only a weak pulse.

Mehta and her cameraman Giles Nuttgens capture the area's rich interplay of light and color, land and water, and riches and poverty.

Park is one sick puppy, and I mean that in the very best sense of the phrase.

Although made in 1969, this French masterpiece is receiving its first stateside release with a new print struck for the occasion.

The Death of Mr. Lazarescu is hopelessly depressing. Yet as a story of the callous impersonalization we inflict upon one another, the film is timeless.

Maybe America will prove me wrong by voting, but I felt like you were holding back until the end.

Always an intriguing (though sometimes unpolished) actress, Basinger has softened the rough edges over the years to become an extremely watchable performer who deserves better roles than those in which she appears onscreen.

Silent Hill's main attraction, for genre fans, certainly, lies not in its plot nor in its characters (you could place anyone in this particular township and whatever might happen, you could be sure it'd be unnerving), but in its relentlessly nightmarish imagery.

Cornish, in her first film seen stateside, is astonishing.

Repulsion's depiction of a young woman's dissolution into madness is one of the most harrowing mental descents ever depicted onscreen. (Reviewed 11/24/97)

The Celestine Prophecy's biggest stumbling block (and there are many to choose from) is that the film's dramatic arc hinges on John's awakening to the prophecy. But spiritual epiphany is tough to convey onscreen.

So lazy it's downright boring, something not even a naked Leslie Nielson (!) can salvage.

About as pedestrian as you can get.

Trite? Sure. Obvious? And then some. But a lesson to be taken to heart nonetheless.

It takes creepy, spooky, and altogether ooky to a hideous new level.

It's less cheesecake than angel-food: frothy, light, and delicious, sure, but two hours later you're ready for something slightly more substantive.

This sincere but ultimately empty indie film plays like Australia’s answer to ensemble pieces like "Magnolia" and "Short Cuts."

An intriguing export with crossover appeal.

The characters never come across as anything more than self-interested parties. It’s hard to have a rooting interest in any of their fates, and even less in the outcome of this movie.

There's so much information and so many finely honed arguments in this ultimately joyous film that it's liable to send audiences scurrying home to their computers to download the bands they've just heard.

In the end, Blackballed doesn't take home the winner's cup, but its genial stick-to-itiveness and reasonably well-aimed humor earn the film at least a good sportsmanship trophy.

Danny Aiello and Robert Forster also turn up in tiny roles that further serve to distract attention from the real business at hand.

Though not entirely incapable of provoking a smile (or two), The Benchwarmers strikes out. Again and again and again.

A dish of empty calories.

It's Banderas' film all the way, of course: he's one of those genuinely gifted, glowing actors who can nevertheless hold your attention through sheer onscreen charisma.

The only weak link here is Aniston's character – her Olivia, stuck in a holding pattern, feels like a holdover from Holofcener's previous, single-girl pictures, and Aniston underplays the role to the point of expressionlessness.

The film provides a window into the conversations and debates that occurred among soldiers on military bases and while in country, opinions shaped and altered by first-hand experiences and knowledge.

Technically, I Am a Sex Addict is a stellar achievement, as it coaxes viewers to accompany Zahedi down avenues of sexual desire that have had little frank exposure on film.

Stone still dazzles the eye, but this wholly unwarranted sequel is so outrageously preposterous (and so very chockablock with quotable examples of the fine art of bad dialogue) that the end result achieves a basement grandeur of near-epic proportions.

Despite a third-act tendency to gather a few spare genre clichés as it rolls along (Guns! Drugs! Angry siblings!), Robinson's film is a cut above the rest.

Much of the original film's geniality – and all of its pro-environment stumping – has gone missing; what we have instead is a watered-down likeness that curiously turns disaster flick in its too-scary third act.

Of course, Slither isn't for everyone, but if you've a yen for gallons of grue and a smart, sassy story to boot, you couldn't do better than Gunn's hellishly fun horror show.

Gordon-Levitt already proved in last year's "Mysterious Skin" his captivating command as a dramatic actor; with Brick he further demonstrates his remarkable dexterity and range.

It's the most honest, refreshing comedy about love – gay, straight, or both – I've seen in many moons, and at the end everyone's problems are solved by a country-western dance battle with drag doyenne Jackie Beat on the mic.

At the end of the day, Johnston's childlike stream of unrequited love landed him on MTV, Atlantic Records, and now a feature-length theatrical recounting of his life. Take that, Satan.

Several steps shy of a satisfying lesson.

You don't have to be a student of Buddhism to be entranced by the dreamlike images that form Coleman's intimate portrait of Tibetan monks.

As a narrative film, it's confounding and oblique – but still gorgeous to behold.

As with all of Lee's films, there's much more going on beneath the surface than is immediately apparent.

Stay Alive has none of the vicarious thrills of, say, "Konami: Silent Hill 2." It's barely even Pong unplugged.

The questionably good news put forth in this documentary is that vanity apparently survives everything.

It is an observant and effective study in character and setting, suitably grave and distinctively realized.

I give this the BOMB!

One of the most eloquent tales in ages of dysfunctional love – between a man and his ideals, between a country and its government, and, in the end, between Evey and V.

Ultimately works a great deal better than you might expect.

Its kooky hybrid of slapstick gender jokes already had whiskers on 'em in Shakespeare's day.

For a film that's ostensibly about modern American society's love affair with addictive behavior – sex, drugs, rock & roll – its bark is much worse than its bite.

With its wonderful veteran cast, its heart on its sleeve, and a love for the landscape that suffuses its technique, Don't Come Knocking is a peculiar but rewarding escape.

Deschanel, as the token oddball of the gang, runs off with the movie.

Aja's version, while a killer ride in its own right, never manages the nagging subtexts Craven so handily injected into the proceedings. It's a topnotch nightmare, but this time you wake up.

There are precious few surprises here, but parents will find director Robbins' breezy remake a painless affair and, judging by the yowls of laughter from the peanut gallery at the screening I attended, the kids will be barking all the way home.

Not in recent memory has a movie so short – 90 minutes on the nose – been so stagnant and stubbornly slow to build. And that's exactly the point.

This is an unpleasant film, but Argento, whose bloodline positively seethes with unpleasantness, is, in her own right, a master cinematic stylist of the first order.

Game 6 is ultimately a curious dud.

It's still just cops and robbers, but with Donner at the helm, it feels like so much more.

But for what it is, I think it's pretty okay. It's not going to win an Oscar or anything. But I liked how it was actually made for tween girls.

No background material is going to help the viewer who isn't already aware of why a Fugees reunion is such a cool thing to witness, but it's impossible not to get caught up in this party's good vibe.

Jovovich, who's shown sensitivity in her dramatic work, looks spectacularly bored as she power-kicks her way through one bloody pile-up after another. That boredom, like the mystery virus at the center of the film, is contagious.

The movie isn't perfect – Spielberg-slick, its power is sometimes dampened by melodrama that overstates its message – but it is compelling and thought-provoking and topical as hell.

What Tsotsi fails to explain is how the mere introduction of a baby can melt the cruel cycle of criminality and disregard for others.

A wretched experience from start to finish.

When you've got Maya Angelou and Cicely Tyson in the kitchen, laying on the sophomoric laughs is just plain stupid.

It's not just a bad movie it actually manages to suck the very hope out of the air, leaving behind a cinematic vacuum populated by mobsters, sadists, pedophiliac demon-people, and an overwhelming sense of futility that just makes you want to run in the other direction.

Many are the times the viewer stares disbelievingly at the screen, furious with Murray for not asking follow-up questions or simply refusing to see the need to prove the veracity of the story.

The man whom the FBI described as "extremely eloquent, therefore extremely dangerous" here seems about as threatening as Mother Teresa.

Boasting that your film features "two of the six writers of Scary Movie," as this film's marketing campaign does, is like bragging that you came in second in the annual Bulwer-Lytton Bad Fiction Contest.

With Eight Below, Marshall has created a family film that doesn't pander, preach, or poop out. That alone is a rare thing.

The problem lies not in the plotting alone. Roth's direction does nothing to bring clarity to the story and its characters, and his blocking of the film's action scenes is downright muddled and vague.

This is really Reygadas' show all the way. And what he's delivered is a sad, tawdry picture in which all hope for salvation lies with God.

Despite the film's abundant gory effects, its best technical achievement may be its English subtitles, which move about the screen for better visual and emotional impact, and sometimes dissolve into poofs of blood or other colored effects.

Sophie Scholl plods along inexorably, one step after another, to its grim, sad end. It's almost unbearable.

There are droll comic flourishes in this very brave film, to be sure, but all you really want to do after watching CSA is hang down your head and cry.

It is a sweet, simple movie with a sweet, simple message: that children see the world differently and have much to teach the people who love them.

A horror film (or, more accurately, a shocker film) that takes such exuberant, gleeful delight in the unspeakably gory dispatch of assorted teenagers that it may well be the most fun you'll have at the movies all week.

It starts off with a slick split-screen bang, but this high tech heist thriller is like a For Dummies guide to the genre.

Ultimately, one has to chalk up The Pink Panther to the good old traditions of Hollywood greed and chutzpah. Nothing this slapdash and badly executed is done for the love of movies.

In this sushi age of methamphetamine concert DVDs and dysfunction junction music tell-alls, Jonathan Demme dreams us back to the golden age of performance films.

With its jellyfish direction, A Good Woman throws its actors overboard to see if they can swim.

Long distance information? Get me Hollywood, USA: I’ve got a rusty ice pick to bury in the gullet of whoever greenlighted this pointless exercise in masturbatory tedium.

Manages the neat feat of feeling sweetly inevitable rather than boilerplate predictable.

The result is a lyrical contrast of two contiguous cultures, worlds apart in their definitions of family and love but brought together by mutual awe and basic human need.

Likely to be remembered more for its method of manufacture and release than for any inherent qualities of its own. It will also become one of the many fascinating footnotes in the always provocative career of Steven Soderbergh.

Best never to have left dry dock with this one.

It's a shame to once again witness Martin Lawrence squander his considerable comic talents under a fat suit and fake breasts in this shoddy sequel.

Parents might appreciate a lighter hand with the barnyard whimsy and food fights, but overall the movie doesn't condescend about heavy matters (grief, healing, and blended families) and is pleasantly diverting.

Has its charms, but for a movie about loving radically, it sure plays it safe.