So many things come together so beautifully in this movie based on the life of John Forbes Nash Jr. that you're likely to find yourself willing to benignly overlook its occasional biographical lapses and narrative sweetening.

Meets the required minimum dosage of feature-film attributes, and then nods out when it comes to going any further.

Should be required viewing for prospective parents still sitting on the spermatazoan fence; after all, you're going to need a good sense of humor, aren't you?

This is high fantasy of the best kind.

The story is simple and true-to-life, and the technique is naturalistic, using nonprofessional actors, photography that emphasizes the characters' environment, and deliberate narrative pacing that mimics real-time events.

While viewers who expect a conventional suspense film may be disappointed in Lantana overall, it does succeed on a smaller, more intimate scale.

Not a man, but the romanticizing of him. A lot of jive-shit.

Iris is difficult to watch, given that it requires you to witness the transformation of the title character from a literate, vibrant woman to the ghost of her former self.

Aiming to break the land speed record for poop 'n' piss jokes.

A big generational saga that woos the audience with its humor, spirit, style, and ability. Genius here is an evolutionary thing.

It's a film that you can take home and chew over later, both abrasive in its loudness and reflective in its fleeting, feminine moments of silence. Well done.

After two hours of Vera's pretty but wet-blanket direction, it's too late to ignite any fireworks, even in the hands of such capable actors.

A concept executed with bravura style, intelligent curiosity, and playful wit.

The temporal jumps between the present and varying points in the past deprive the film of a sense of completeness; the transitions from scene to scene are largely disorienting, leaving you struggling to find your bearings.

It's a kick, it's a gas, and it gives the Rat Pack itself a run for its money.

There's not much spunk here.

Goofily funny, oddly tenderhearted mock-documentary.

You get the feeling the filmmakers didn't want to make anyone think too hard about what's going on here behind the scenes of the main storyline, and that's more than a little insulting.

Something haunting is going on here, but it's as difficult for the viewers as it is for the characters to sink their teeth into anything truly satisfying.

The actors, as a powerful and convincing ensemble, are equally understated and just as devastating.

There's precious little to like about the witless and decidedly tedious Black Knight other than the fact that it's unlikely to generate a sequel.

Wispy, cosmopolitan slice-of-life.

Is nothing if not exquisitely detailed: It's like a blood orange that del Toro spends the film seductively unpeeling, revealing layer upon layer of meaning and pathos.

A dead-chamber misfire, a hollowpoint dud.

What can you say about a movie that includes its outtake bloopers reel before the closing credits?

It's a great set-up, and for the first two-thirds or so of the film it works exceptionally well as a jaundiced satire on the world of gay porn.

Given his lackluster performance, even Martin, who is no stranger to sardonic humor, seems unsure about the film's tone.

Columbus' film version is fine, and it's bound to make kids happy while simultaneously generating untold box office, but if you haven't yet picked up a copy, don't let the film override the novel; set aside a weekend, dive in, and then head off to the cineplex to take in this well-done companion piece.