Has its heart in the right place, and could have been an insightful rumination on corporate shortsightedness and mid-life obsolescence. Instead, it's another one of those Hollywood films whose feel for the workingman's life seems to come exclusively from other movies.

It makes for quite a rumpus, but the material never catches fire.

The Assassination of Richard Nixon makes Bicke suffer the greatest indignity: it turns him into a relentless bore.

Kids, except for the very youngest, are going to be bored.

In real life, Bacon and Sedgwick are husband and wife. Their scenes mark one of the rare times an off-screen couple's intimacy enriches on-screen passion.

Meet the Fockers? Avoid them would be a better suggestion.

In Schumacher's relentlessly arrhythmic and tone-deaf film, Gerard Butler plays the title role as if he were just plucked out of Monty Python's lumberjack chorus.

Enraging and enthralling.

Darger made art as if the lives of his subjects depended on it. That's how Yu has made her movie.

If you didn't know that Martin Scorsese made The Aviator, the enthralling new adventure-biography of Howard Hughes, you might think it was the calling card of a neophyte visual genius.

In Robert Gordon's script, Handler's hilariously literate bouts of psychological torture develop no consistent tone, voice or momentum.

As a romance, Spanglish is like a wholesome flirt who drags things out and becomes a tiresome tease. As a satire of upper-middle-class Los Angeles, it's a disaster.

The action is thrilling enough.

The best reason to see it is Kate Bosworth as Sandra Dee.

The Sea Inside brings us outside and inside ourselves, and takes us to brave new aesthetic depths.

In a boxing soap-opera way, Eastwood is trying to do for himself as a performer what Sergio Leone did for him in a spaghetti-western way: douse his rough-hewn banality with reflected emotional coloration.

You don't want to look at anything else when Zeta-Jones is on-screen.

It's the strangest comic misfire yet from Wes Anderson.

The story is a comic-book tale at its most basic level.

The title captures this film's harrowing qualities, but not its energy, its limpid beauty or its spiritual grace.

The word "yuppie" has fallen out of favor from overuse, but Closer's young urban professionals are so vain and superficial they may bring it back as the ultimate putdown. This movie is a yuppie nightmare.

By turns breathtaking and heartbreaking.

Unfolds amid the mechanized carnage of World War I. Yet everything in it is personal. That's why it's a masterpiece.

Guerrilla provides one huge compensation: the getting of historical wisdom.

The movie is a monument to egomania - and I don't mean Alexander's.

Christmas with the Kranks is so calculated that it's pathetic, a warm-hearted holiday greeting card with not one scintilla of honest emotion inside.

The best moments in Paper Clips - and there are plenty - come when it doesn't resort to mundane cliches or calculated emotions to make its point.

A wholesome, headlong extravaganza - a sort of North by Northeast sans high style and erotic innuendo.