Director Daniele Thompson gets the point across so airily and pleasantly, in a film cast to perfection, that it's no problem accepting the message with a shrug, while profoundly enjoying the messenger.

Enigma, named for the Nazi secret-coding machine, has everything going for it except a pulse.

There's a dignity to Mondays in the Sun that manages to keep the film buoyant, helping to keep all the despair at bay.

In their formidable quest for junk food, Harold and Kumar end up redefining what the all-American protagonists of Hollywood movies should look like - and prove this comedy is not quite as brain-dead as it originally appeared.

The title and length suggest a biographical epic, but it's neither biographical nor epic. It's as if the director, Steven Soderbergh, wanted to take tissue samples of Ernesto Che Guevara's political life.

Love, however implausible, is simply beautiful in Venus.

The film mixes the psychological with the supernatural, the profane with the ridiculous, the self-indulgent with the understated, and dares you to assume anything. It's all great fun.

A withering condemnation of a culture where greed is a virtue, a culture that you don't have to feel guilty for laughing at.

Proves that marionettes can be as foul-mouthed and profane as their cartoon counterparts, but not nearly as clever.

You Kill Me kills you softly with its smiles.

Jarrold's reduction of the story is so archetypal that it's indistinguishable from soap opera.

Long on style and technique, short on substance and plot.

Best of all is Jeff Bridges as the voice of Geek, a laid-back philosopher-penguin who becomes Cody's low-key guru, mentoring him in the ways of the wave.

Handsome and well-acted, yet it can't hold a pawn to Nabokov's harrowing and moving character study.

The movie fails at the primary steps of turning Rejas' mind inside out and dramatizing the contradictions in his heart and soul.

Tykwer made Potente a star in Run Lola Run, and here she repays him 10 times over. Without her force of gravity, this film would waft into the ether.

When Inside Deep Throat is over, it's tough to say which tragic moment lingers longer.

Has been designed to make gentle hearts soar beneath neo-grunge exteriors. It's a mixture of high-SAT humor and high-jinks so crude they're really low-jinks.

This movie is both sad and inspiring. It offers proof that Lennon's wit and art are everlasting.

Has an unerring capacity for going soft whenever a hard edge is called for.

This is Ferrell's movie, and one's tolerance for it will most likely be in direct proportion to one's tolerance for its star's vanity-free fearlessness.

Nothing is as it seems in State of Play, a crackerjack political thriller in which no individual, profession or institution gets away clean.

As an action comedy, it's just a bad trip.

The basic trouble with The Hand That Rocks the Cradle is that it goes on far longer than it should. A film of this sort should be no longer than 85 or 90 minutes. This one is 110 minutes long, which means we have to wait much longer for the mouse to turn on the cat.

The movie's best moments belong to Bill Murray,

Goes down like a single-malt aged for 25 years.

The movie is edited and, worse, narrated in ways that sabotage the magic and even undercut the movie's message.

X-Men flies to the rescue with superheroes who have real substance.