Messing may simply be one of those actresses who's the right size for TV and the wrong size for the big screen.

You won't forget Nobody Knows, the quietly harrowing tale of four abandoned Japanese children.

Slater narrates as if reading a restaurant menu. Reid seems to have learned each long sentence in segments, so she wouldn't be overtaxed.

Far be it from me to spoil the secret, but I will say this: The last reel should've been sent straight to the city dump.

It's a run-of-the-mill action film that falls short of the 1976 original - and, for that matter, the 1959 western "Rio Bravo," which inspired the first film. The characters run out of energy and personality long before they run out of bullets.

Heartwarming drama.

Watching this is like sitting by a pinsetter at a bowling alley. That's too bad, because the picture had potential.

I groaned at cliches and grinned at jokes in roughly equal measure.

It's yet another warm, fuzzy, New-Age tale that cozies us into believing the grave doesn't mean oblivion.

Weitz has done one remarkable thing in "Company" that doesn't strike you until later: He's given us a functional family that overcomes difficulties with patience and effort.

What surprises us most is the picture's topicality, and not just because terrorists crashed a plane into the Pentagon three years ago.

Except for a surreal moment when Fat Albert meets the real Bill Cosby, who tells his cartoon creation he must go back into the television, nothing inventive occurs.

If you've been seduced by Andrew Lloyd Webber's stage version of "The Phantom of the Opera," you'll fall in love with the gorgeous, splendidly cast film.

An articulate plea to Westerners not to repeat these terrible sins of omission.

Martin Scorsese understands one character better than any other American director: the man who rises in the world to wealth or prominence without attaining what he wants most. That's why Howard Hughes is an ideal subject for this director.

If you wanted this "Snicket" movie (and the presumed flood of sequels) to be faithful to the novels, you have come to the wrong franchise.

The real stars are the orchestrators and musicians who swaddled Spacey in a gorgeous blanket of sound.

Reveals the drama and degredation so powerfully that it ranks among the all-time heavyweights of sports movies.

This loose, slightly lazy sequel is both funnier than the original and more bizarre.

Wes Anderson's movies taste that way to me. They're dryly funny, well-acted, never less than quirkily entertaining. But they're never more, either.

But as cynical as I may have been going in, I came out a believer.

It's the most claustrophobic, airless movie of the year, a menage a quatre among unstable, manipulative, needy people who prey on each other like sharks at a feeding frenzy of the emotions.

He's (Yimou) like a painter combining bloody reds, sunshine yellows and pale blues in the harmony of a masterpiece.

This movie is an act of hubris so huge that, in Alexander's time, it would draw lightning bolts from contemptuous gods. Today it will get sniggers from stunned critics and a collective yawn from a public unlikely to share Stone's egomania.

M. Emmet Walsh and Elizabeth Franz enliven the film as a couple across the street...These wonderful old actors briefly raise the level of the picture to the kind of warm but honest drama it ought to have been.

Heartfelt, if rather repetitive, documentary.

The film whirls by in a satisfying torrent of chases, escapes and discoveries.

Everything about the film seems to have been done on the cheap. The music sounds like it came from a high school band.