Nemesis, by comparison, is about as exciting as a Tribble on Vicodin.

Intriguing and stylish.

Good, clean fun, with none of the icky aftertaste so common to “family friendly” ware, Drumline proves irresistible in more ways than one.

One might expect that with such low goals the film might have at least hit its target more often than it does. Schneider's mugging is relentless and his constant need to suddenly transpose himself into another character undermines the story's continuity and progression.

As sad and poignant and potentially hopeful as it is amusing. The movie is our story as much as it is Schmidt's, no matter if it's viewed as a self-reflection or cautionary tale

Even Cathy Moriarty-Gentile's role as a rival mob boss (with a nod to "Raging Bull") can't save this DOA affair.

Like its protagonist, the movie tries to rise above convention, flails about a bit, and slides back into self-parody.

Probably the ultimate writers' film, but it's also a brash, daring, and dynamic film -- as delicate as an orchid but as durable and malleable as the species.

Its adult themes of familial separation and societal betrayal are head and shoulders above much of the director’s previous popcorn work -– more hurt, more heart, more unassailable hope.

A tour de force of modern cinema.

As far as pronoun horrors go, They can't hold a candle to Them or It, but as an anti-tourism ad for Seattle, it's right up there with The Ring in terms of overcast, glistening panache.

It's like "Jackass," but with a budget and no midgets.

As things turn out, Clooney’s butt is just one of the many delights to be found on a trip to Solaris.

Certain to be distasteful to children and adults alike, Eight Crazy Nights is a total misfire.

Just doesn't have it.

Would be a much better film had it not relied so heavily on a bombastic soundtrack (by James Newton Howard) for its emotional impact and spared itself some of the more overdone images of campus life.

In so many ways, The Quiet American speaks volumes.

Dull and meandering documentary.

Moments of almost unbearable beauty.

Neither as good as its direct ancestor (Michael Schultz's great 1976 hood masterpiece Car Wash) nor as clever as the original Friday, this is, to put it bluntly, all seeds and stems.

There’s also something to be said for wanting a little bit more.

When all is said and done, there ain't no mountain high enough that should keep you from getting to this movie. We've heard it through the grapevine for too long.

“This is just like a video game,” observes rapper-cum-actor Ja Rule, taking aim during one of the myriad firefights that comprise this lunkheaded, vaguely dystopic actioner. Man, is it ever.

At two hours, the movie goes on too long and resolves too little -- even though it provides some interesting moments along the way.

Columbus never quite captures the depth, the rich complexities of Rowling's novels. She's written four Harry Potter books for kids that adults swoon for, too. Columbus has made two Harry Potter movies for kids … and we'll leave it at that. That isn't bad. But I suspect there's something better just around the bend.

Haynes brings the emotional underbelly to the surface, he also tricks up the visual surface with elaborate color schemes that provide unspoken clues regarding the characters’ frames of mind.

But even a rapper needs to punch things up a bit, and 8 Mile, for all its hip-hop braggadocio, is a pretty weak riff.

A triumph of style over logic. Although this is not necessarily a good thing, it works spectacularly in this instance.

The overall tone of this rocket-paced updating is exhilaratingly giddy, making it by far Disney’s best animated film since "Mulan."

Burrus has a face that does all the talking for him -- deep creases, sad eyes, and a gray hue that hangs over him like a rain cloud. It's a remarkable performance.

Honest and unflinching, Daughter From Danang isn't always pleasant to watch, but it is powerful and memorable.

Sweet enough while it lasts.

Just plain dismal, an inexplicable mining of old, mid-level programming that has all the raging excitement of continental drift.

To say the least, the chemistry is lacking; equally unconvincing is the all-British cast’s attempts at American accents.

Not one of these new-fangled Christian movies that camouflages its proselytizing with decent storytelling and filmmaking technique. Time Changer is clunky, repetitive, and ham-handed.

As directed by Taymor, it's a competent and nicely designed biopic that for all of the director's attempts to link surrealist film imagery with Hayek's depiction of Kahlo somehow manages to be generally lackluster.

As an experiment in mood, as a love song to Paris and to the French New Wave, as a fun, flirty little number, Charlie provides a giddy satisfaction.

The movie's third act begins a baffling and not-very-believable character turnabout.

Meandering, sub-aquatic mess: It's so bad it's good, but only if you slide in on a freebie.

All told, either you get it or you don't. Film critics and senators with election prospects don't. Kids in the mood to laugh at stupid shit for 87 minutes do. I'll toss my hat in the latter ring with glee.

For those unfamiliar with the notoriously camera-averse philosopher and his thoughts, Derrida will most probably prove to be an unenlightening bore.

Even though the storyline of Real Women Have Curves is a somewhat familiar tale, the film's originality lies in the way in which it's told.

What hath "The Sixth Sense" wrought? These days, it seems as if every psychological thriller has a surprise finish.

The movie's storyline is not always perfectly clear, seemingly falling into the same murky “grey zone” as everything else.

The set and art direction are superb, evoking Sixties and Seventies décor with a dazzling precision.

The less said about The Ring, the better for you, the sooner-to-be-freaked-out.

A muddled mess of bad-lad clichés, and Jackson's obvious talents only serve to point out how godawful everyone else seems to be.

More like watching a Polaroid picture develop without ever getting to see the finished picture.

With all its emphasis on beat, Brown Sugar can't maintain a steady one, yet when it finds it, the film surely soars.

Why the Pokémon fad hasn't died off yet is one of the great mysteries of the universe, right up there with the Pyramids of Gaza and the white stuff in Twinkies.

Despite flashes of originality, is a formulaic quagmire that traps bits and pieces from all these genres without really satisfying any of their true aims.

Ugh. The Rules of Attraction is the kind of movie that leaves vague impressions and a nasty aftertaste.

A slick, sexy little package with fast cars, big explosions, dazzling locations in the south of France, a trip-hop score, and about as much plot to fill a thimble.

Unconventional and idiosyncratic love story.

Depends on the magical for the inner workings of its story, and that might not suit viewers desirous of more concrete explanations. But, again, the movie seems just right for the viewers it aims to please.

The metaphoric title about the danger in beautiful things sounds like something from Byron or Keats, but this compressed film adaptation of an Oprah-endorsed bestseller plays like the Dickens.

Fun and informative, thoughtful and thought-provoking.

Bottom line: Jonah is strictly for kids suffering from rescinded television privileges or adults seeking a nap in a cool, dark environment that reeks of stale popcorn.

A triumph in anguish.

It's chilling what Fiennes can do with so very little; he looks like a wounded puppy half the time and sounds like one to boot.

Most indicative of The Tuxedo's mediocrity, however, is the absence of the always entertaining action outtakes that traditionally roll under the end credits of Chan films; here it's all dialogue flubs barely fit for Dick Clark.

Should be applauded for finding a new angle on a tireless story, but you might want to think twice before booking passage.

Is it just me or is Mick Jagger turning into John Hurt?

What it needs is a little more dirtying down. What it needs, in short, is less New York, and more Alabama.

An admirable effort, but too many words, words, and more words, and not enough of the ache of that half-smile.

The film is sufficiently methodical and well-researched to walk the walk behind its controversial premise. More to the point, it's terribly involving, intriguing enough to hook documentary-shy viewers.

To make a bad movie worse, even Ballistic's fight scenes, which ought to be the film's strong suit, are poorly edited, slice 'n' diced into incomprehensible blurs.

Offers too small a dose of the blood-and-sand adventure you expect from this sort of big-budget Hollywood remake. As it is, it borders on The English Patient's on again-off again heroics, minus Anthony Minghella's patient skill in eliciting romantic suspense.

The resultant film is all surface and plush, with nary a hard edge or demanding note. Despite the movie's well-intentioned heart, its head is out to lunch, neglecting its responsibility to provide these powerhouse actresses with a script half as smart or compelling as they.

Proves to be a pleasant romp. Girls just wanna have fun -- even onscreen.

Secretary is a testament to the importance of tonality in telling a story.

Fiercely original in every respect.

Doesn't tell you anything about human nature you probably haven't already suspected, but then again it's good to be reminded of these dark things from time to time. Especially these days.

Smart, uncanny, resistant to the short cuts of pop psychology, and shocking in the best since of the word, Steers' debut is a stunner.

Towers head and hairpiece above much of what passes for urban comedy these days.

Makes it pretty difficult to tell the difference between good mothers and bad.

With all the wrong Stealing Harvard has done, it at least bestows one gift upon its audience: the gift of forgettableness.

Never really sure what to say about its subject.

Promises thrills galore but delivers only limp non-frights and predictable yawns.

The biggest shame in this movie is how it wastes Frances McDormand.

In all honesty I'd advise you to go rent the stunning (and brand-new) DVD of the director's great "Le Mépris (Contempt)," which seems to me to be much more Godardian and much less hopeless.

Pretty to look at, tamely racy, and fairly fluffy, despite its two-hour running time.

Would have made a hell of a short -- but falls flat on its hyperstylized face as a feature.

It's a shame that the subjects of Gazecki's film come off as so many quasi-mystical loonies.

Anchored by a terrific performance by Abbass, Satin Rouge shows that the idea of women's self-actualization knows few continental divides.

Again, Hill gives us a world filled with morally complex characters, but that just may be this film's undoing.

It's the kind of bad movie that gives bad movies a bad name.

There's a bright spot in the form of Amy's publicist (screen veteran Aaron), a salty, whiskey-voiced lesbian; it's a pity the movie isn't about her.

Torpedoed by its own overarching idealism -- the film targets the new star system, the media, the studios, digital technology, and pretty much everything else you might care to think of -- and not enough script to back it all up.

Offers a very interesting snapshot of some decidedly modern pathologies.

The film is by no means a disaster. Possession is prettily performed, prettily put-together. Yet, for a story set so firmly in the center of a fire, LaBute and his players have suited themselves in some mighty flame-retardant threads.

In terms of execution this movie is careless and unfocused.

There's more at work in this gorgeous and affecting picture than simple culinary sex appeal.

The script also takes the occasional dip into hokeyness, but even that is buoyed by its ballsy leading ladies.

An admirable little film, a funny and familiar depiction of Americans traveling abroad, strangers to each other and themselves.

Certainly it's not for everyone, but fans of Euro-sleaze will groove on Argento's obvious charms and the film's dystopian thrill ride, while the rest will probably doze off dreaming Fassbinder dreams.

A real winner -- smart, funny, subtle, and resonant -- and there's not a hanging chad in sight.

Honestly, at this point in time there's no legitimate reason to confuse “bad ass” filmmaking with just plain bad. Nice GTO, though.