It's a shame if the controversy surrounding Bubble Boy distracts people from what a smart, subversive, and genuinely good-hearted film it is.

The originality of Innocence makes it stand apart from the romantic pack.

Instead of true grit and gutshot black-hatters, director Les Mayfield has crafted what may well be the world's first Tommy Hilfiger Western.

Neither a badly miscast Cage nor an oddly dispassionate Cruz remotely suggest the ardor of love's passion.

Has an unerring eye for the banal intricacies of 1950s pre-planned suburban neighborhoods, à la Levittown.

A delight when its comic elements are in high gear.

It's all patently ridiculous, but it's also ridiculously fun.

A spare, discomfiting score and uniformly excellent performances, and you have a quiet little masterpiece of dark and chilling beauty.

The ideas are there, hints of genius, but no one ignites them. Add Osmosis Jones to that list of universal enigmas, and, more specifically, how the Farrelly Brothers could have done so little with so much.

Swinton is heartbreaking. She's not just craft; she's high art.

Audition's take on the war between the sexes is bleak and almost entirely devoid of hope. --It's enough to make you give up dating altogether.

It's not nearly as mediocre a two hours as the trailers would have you think.

Great fun to watch, thoughtful and timely, Thomas in Love is likely to generate some decidedly interesting post-film conversations as well.

The performances are likable and there's nothing really wrong with the story -- other than the fact that Nutley hardly has any story to tell.

Critic-proof moviemaking, a candy pink wish-fulfillment fantasy prominently peppered with pubescent pop platters.

Summertime popcorn pictures don't get much goofier than this silly sequel, which is everything you'd expect and nothing you wouldn't.

Such gorgeous explosions, such a terrible vision, such an amazing work of art. Go. Now.

And then there's the overacting. And then there's the hamminess of the script. And then there's

The Monkey's Mask is filmed with an eye toward an arthouse sheen, although Lang's dramatic pacing is sluggish and dull.

Simply put, Burton's film lacks the social and political gravitas of the original, a film that was wholly of its time.

It's an endearing romantic daydream, but misses the bus where matters of reality are concerned.

Big, dumb, and fun.

Its doomed portrait of guileless dreamers may be found lacking in plot activity and empathetic characters. But for anyone interested in a movie that wipes clean the grungy patina of self-delusionment, Jackpot hits solid pay dirt.

The tone of the film is in keeping with its most resounding image: Hilynur lying in the snow with a cigarette dangling from his mouth as the suicide note on his chest blows away in the wind as he wakes up.

At its heart the film wants nothing more than to make you giggle, and at that it succeeds admirably.

It's rougher stuff than most would expect, though not unrewarding in its own horrific way.

A screen spectacle that beseeches its audience for adoration and mass acceptance.

Ghost World resists convenient closures and summaries and some may take issue with its open-endedness. But anything else would have been phony, and Enid would never have stood for it.