I heard a moviegoer calls this drama "a feel-good `American Beauty,'" which is like saying "a hot bowl of gazpacho" -- the point has completely been missed.

Even if they're on the side of the angels, 106 minutes is a long time to keep this sermon going.

Depp gives yet another introspective, slightly mopey performance -- Graham never begins to act (and never has begun, as far as I know). But they're surrounded by an authentic, first-rate English cast.

Long before this interminable film reaches its bogus finale, you'll realize that the people in it aren't real.

This superficial plot, almost devoid of characterization or weighty emotions, is an excuse for ferocious, fast and frequent combat.

Lynch does "explain" what's happening via a plot twist two-thirds of the way through "Drive," which will satisfy you (as it did me) or leave you asking, "Is that all there is?"

Characters in Breillat's movies often make sex their god, lose faith in it, then find their lives hollow and grim. Bergman wouldn't have been so concerned with bodily woes, but he'd have understood.

A horror film that doesn't wear out a moment of its welcome.

He presides over the picture with such assurance that even longtime Denzel-watchers gape.

A miler trying to run a marathon, a fair middleweight idea trying to deliver heavyweight thrills.

Anyhow, I believe you would probably like this movie if you let your mind drift during the slow parts. That is easier for some of us than others, and I was thinking about my next runway project about half of the time.

The kids provide all the vitality, but even they've been muffled by the director.

Its familiar story has pleasing quirks.

The filmmakers have a vision of the way Shakespeare can be made vibrant and vital to modern viewers, with or without the lofty original dialogue.

Salva's view of the universe is bleak, but he communicates it with scary sincerity.

It starts as enjoyable B-movie pulp, degenerates to camp, then turns into laughable lunacy.

I don't know if the new movie is Smith's weakest. It's certainly his most disposable, a warmed-over hash of jokes that will have Mewes fans rolling with laughter and the rest of us rolling our eyes in disbelief.

It's no surprise, and it's trite, but sometimes fun -- and not magic -- is more than enough.

Like an impressionist painting. Scrutinize it closely, and the details don't make sense individually. Step back from it to study the big picture, and it will make a sweeping effect.

The characters, irritating as they can be at first, grow on you as they grow up.

Partly a travelogue for the Greek islands, partly a simplistic love story, and generally a rehash of the Oscar-winning "Mediterraneo," as if we needed even the first one.

The best work comes from Timothy Dalton as the grizzled, Scots-accented head of the Pinkertons.

Delivers more of what the original promised, with the crudity index up one notch and the humor index down quite a few.

When we're outside Frank's body, Osmosis Jones drags. When we're inside him, it zooms.

The most sophisticated and satisfying ghost story on film since "The Sixth Sense."

How bad, really, could it be? I couldn't have guessed.

Looks as if it were thrown together as carelessly as slum housing.

A mixed bag with a huge amount of heart.