Edge of Darkness has the look and feel of a Brit film shot in America – it's all dark, boxy rooms with powerful white men in impeccable black suits discussing how to tidy up the minor mishaps of their game over brandy and cigars.

How do movies this bad still get made?

You watch and wait for this underachieving film to ignite, then grow more and more exasperated as you witness its many misfires.

North Face is a gripping, at times downright epic, account of men vs. mountain vs. other men (and, what the hell, one woman).

As for Legion, well, if you've seen one plague of flies and death and angels at war with each other, you've seen 'em all.

Looks and tastes an awful lot like a TV movie of the week.

A well-meaning but ineptly made message movie.

How many screenwriters does it take to screw in this dim bulb? Five – no joke – and another one credited with “story by.”

Much has been made of the film's ending, vis-à-vis whether or not it's a pro- or anti-organized religion commentary of some sort. The Hughes Brothers, for two, say they just wanted to make a kickass piece of contemporary entertainment, and I, for one, believe them.

Fish Tank isn't an easy watch – it's like two hours of ache – but there are rich rewards to be had in the many ways Arnold and her terrific team rend us to and fro.

Nobody of Chan's legendary stature should ever have to play second banana to George Lopez, and certainly not in a film that was already made five years ago with Vin Diesel (see: The Pacifier).

It’s a little bit silly – as is Dafoe’s Kentucky-fried cowboy mechanic named Elvis – but silly is fun. In fact, one wishes it were sillier still.

It’s an enjoyable enough exercise in teen angst triumphing.

This film is unquestionably the most unromantic and downright despairing romcom since "Made of Honor" or, possibly, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"

Haneke (Caché) has created a morality tale that concludes with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand: one more example of a solitary act of violence that unleashes a cataclysm.

Here's hoping that younger members of the audience will seek out Conan Doyle's original stories to further explore Holmes' official amanuensis, Dr. John Watson, whose brilliant case studies regarding his friend, roommate, and fellow rationalist are the stuff dreams are made of.

Christopher Plummer is delightful as this movie’s master magician and impresario of the rickety Imaginarium.

Meyers has a good feel for contemporary comedy; it’s reality, however, that slips through her grasp.

The Squeakquel might be appreciated by filmgoers aged 10 or younger.

Though formally astringent, Police, Adjective is dotted with lots of humor.

A forgettable and lackluster fish-out-of-water rom-com.

It's thrilling and lovely and sad and explosive in all the right ways, and it needs to be seen – on the big screen, in 3-D – to be believed.

Though there is plenty of razzle-dazzle onscreen, Nine is unlikely to ignite many sparks among viewers.

All told, The Young Victoria is a very well-made if not especially memorable picture, moving with all the grace and steadfastness of a waltz Victoria and Albert share, but absent any urgency or anything particularly exclamatory.

Bridges makes this sozzled and desperate ex-desperado – a cliché by any other name – as fresh and vital as one final shot at cowboy-poet redemption. It may sound crazy, but it's true.

The animation itself is superb, and the filmmakers long ago mastered the dreamy, stream-of-consciousness narrative tropes that work so well with stop-motion, but even with all that going for it, A Town Called Panic feels more like some exotic animated curiosity than a film to return to again and again.

Narratively, we all know where the trajectory of the story is headed, thus the culminating match (nearly 20 minutes) takes up too much screen time without adding anything new to the drama.

How the devastating story of the senseless murder of a 14-year-old could be stripped of emotion is a feat in itself, though one of dubious achievement.