Except for the irritating Rockwell, the cast suits the characters.

The special effects excite at first but wear out their welcome.

The unspoken heroes of the project are cinematographer Peter Biziou, who finds all the beauty in Cornwall's landscapes, and U.S. violinist Joshua Bell, who extracts beauty without schmaltz from every violin solo.

An old-fashioned suspense drama with an old-fashioned belief at its core: Justice can be done in the world, and the United Nations is the global organization to do it.

Unimaginative.

The movie, first preposterously entertaining and then just preposterous, makes James Bond films look as logical as Euclidean geometry.

The picture's consistently entertaining and, though it has few brilliant comic peaks, it never plunges into boring valleys.

Raymond Wong, who has become Chow's favorite composer, iced this cake with music that sounds like Beethoven, Henry Mancini's jazz and all the James Bond themes run together in a blender.

A high-wire act, treading a thin line of truth between hokum and homilies. You hold your breath, waiting to see if the filmmakers misstep, but they never do.

Everything here has been done better in other books, other movies. The lone remarkable thing is the level of violence, which exposes the cowardice and hypocrisy of the Motion Picture Association of America's ratings system.

It's fascinating to watch others sweat, suffer and triumph in the documentary Dust to Glory, which chronicles the longest nonstop, point-to-point race on our planet.

This is his (Kutcher) most relaxed and sensitive work on film.

"Velocity" told multiple stories, each lasting half an hour, but "Ballad" wears out one tale before its end.

Bullock good, but King reigns in movie sequel.

Goes wrong in less than two minutes, which may be a world record for sequels to decent movies.

Whatever you think of Melinda and Melinda, you have to admire Woody Allen for this: After years of criticism that he didn't use people of color in films, he's written two interracial romances.

Willis, who'll turn 50 a week from Saturday, has this kind of hero down pat. He may never again get or demand the complicated dramatic roles I think he could handle, but he's well-cast.

Jim Broadbent is the wild card in the cast; he screeches and growls his way through Madame Gasket's lines in the best traditions of British drag.

Starts as sweetly impossible and ends as impossibly sweet.

It's a disconnected, implausible story that aims for a tone of magic realism and falls short on both counts.

Recycling is a good idea in principle, but certain products should be sent directly to a landfill without re-use. Be Cool, the feeble film follow-up to "Get Shorty," is one of them.

It draws you into its grim and mysterious world through the first half of the movie, then falls apart like a house of cards in a hurricane.

The movie has been shot with love and wisdom, and its implausible premise doesn't get in the way of a sweetness and honesty too rarely seen.

Remains gripping until the final 15 minutes, when a series of sudden, unjustified plot twists leave us shaking our heads.

Diary rather sloppily blends melodrama and spiritual uplift with crass comedy, sometimes in the same scene.

The casting of Daniels, Tyson and Saint, all of whom underplay effortlessly, was shrewd.

There's a potentially good story rattling around somewhere inside this broken, self-contradictory and finally meaningless film.

One of the most heartbreaking, unforgettable dramas in years.