A grim yet snappy little thriller.

Despite scattered bits of nice writing, the movie never quite comes together.

As a document of his history, it's breathtaking, inspiring stuff. As an overlong documentary, it still manages to be inspiring, but also an uphill viewing experience.

It's nice to see a movie that is, well, nice. Nice but not dumb. It's also a comfortable fit for Costner.

A lyrical work of sporadic great power, Neon Bible captures both the neon and the spirit, the heaven and hell.

Stillwater feels like a movie filmed in a slightly blurry state of mind, then reshaped in the editing stage into a whole new blur. You don’t know where it’s going, and that’s a plus. Yet director and co-writer Tom McCarthy’s drama is as uncertain as his good movies, “Spotlight” highest among them, are quietly confident in going about their business.

It just doesn't swing (or bop), but the stars always click. [15 Jul 2005, p.C8]

A lame comedy about the quirky true story of the 1988 Jamaican bobsled team that competed in the Calgary Winter Olympics...The intelligence level of the comedy insults preteens. [1 Oct 1993, p.C2]

The sentiments expressed are really no more noble or refined than those of a Chuck Norris picture, though Joano's style tries to stamp art all over the sequence. It sure isn't that, but it isn't good action either. [14 Sep 1990, p.B]

Dans Paris is a cohesive, albeit sometimes creepy, fabric of disparate modes and colors.

The core human/bear connection is treated with respect. Pooh’s wisdom and kindness cannot be denied. The same impulses worked for the two “Paddington” movies, God knows. Christopher Robin isn’t quite in their league, but it’s affecting nonetheless.

It's bankrupt in terms of imagination. All he (Romero) does is place his zombies in the basement of a missile silo and have a few crazed military types scream at the zombies and at each other. End of movie. [03 Sept 1985, p.5C]

From first to last frame, Total Recall is in your face. Its rather elegant little science-fiction story is as suffocated as the Martians are. The director has violated his own movie, going so far over the top he's still out there-weightless. [1 June 1990, Friday, p.C]

It’s a moderately diverting sequel. That means it’s also a distinct drop down from the 2017 origin story.

It’s uneven and, in many instances, avoidably cheesy.

Ridley is at her best in scenes with Watts, as both their characters are strong but must deal with romantic blindness. The film also takes some liberties with Gertrude’s story, adding a level that fits a modern telling.

At its sharpest, The Heat actually moves and banters like a comedy, with sharply timed and edited dialogue sequences driven by a couple of pros ensuring a purposeful sense of momentum.

Like Tarantino, Goddard is a clever structuralist. He attracts strong actors, and lets them stretch out and try things, and gives them juicy dialogue.

OK, it's a formula picture, but the ingredients are lively and combined with style by director Beeban Kidron.

It's outlandishly gory and bluntly political, the latter being more interesting than the former. It wears out its welcome, though, long before la revolucion and sequels are promised.

The very strong performances in this low-budget film deserve a better narrative structure to strut their stuff.

A gloriously giddy movie about theater, love and artifice, an unabashed art film.

Swedish cinema has been famous for a number of things: beautiful actresses, fine sexy psychological dramas, natural settings, cinematic bawdiness and a touch of melancholy. Under the Sun fits that profile well.

A great big wad of chick-lit gum, In Her Shoes gets by on the skill of its players.

The film, despite some over-obvious stretches, is mostly sad, lovely, moving, haunting. It's a striking and promising debut from a fine new filmmaker. [21 Aug 1998]

At times Tomorrowland plays like such a throwback to those sweetly naive, low-rent, live-action Disney matinees of the '60s and '70s, George Clooney is like a Fred MacMurray with gravitas, gruff and grizzle, predictably warming up to a young dreamer (a terrific Britt Robertson) of cheer and vision.

At her best—and even in a hand-me-down project like Point Break—Bigelow is a uniquely talented, uniquely powerful filmmaker. Where the male action directors are still playing with toys-with dolls and models and matte shots-Bigelow has tapped into something primal and strong. She is a sensualist of genius in this most sensual of mediums.

Days of Thunder, the latest Tom Cruise movie, which is a flimsy but nonetheless compelling story of a hot-shot amateur race car driver who wants to make it in the big-time world of championship stock car racing. Good writing by Robert Towne and a host of strong supporting performances complement the on-the-track visuals of director Tony Scott in giving us a sense of the leap of faith that is required by drivers at this level. [29 Jun 1990, p.C]