At its best it's as refreshing as it is daring. Superbly acted.

Watching the filmmakers set up the situation is like watching someone build a table, one laborious hammer-blow at a time. It's not much fun to see such gifted performers as Matthew Broderick and Annabella Sciorra wrestle so valiantly with such weak material. No help comes from Kevin Anderson's overcooked acting in the obnoxious-roommate role. [30 Apr 1993, p.13]

This tragicomic tale doesn't have the supercharged brilliance of "Run Lola Run," which it occasionally resembles, but it's certainly fast-moving and action fans should enjoy it.

The action is light and lively all the way, poking inventive fun at everything from nosy little brothers to clueless hotel managers and romantic Romans who aren't as glamorous as they claim to be.

The trite story has plenty of distasteful moments, but Wahlberg and Yun-Fat justify their growing reputations as capable Hollywood actors.

Pierce Brosnan has mastered every smidgen of 007 schtick, making the role more thoroughly his own than any actor since Sean Connery -- still the best of the batch -- decided to call it quits.

At a time when most movies try far too little, I don't like berating Excalibur for taking on too much. It's just that Mr. Boorman never quite achieves what he attempts. [23 April 1981, p.19]

The picture is effectively made, but viewers will want to erase the horrific violence that erupts in scene after scene, leading to an unusually mean-spirited finale.

The film is meandering and highly uneven, but Robert Downey Jr. is truly oddball as a venomous drama critic, and watching that ball once again roll through Bill Buckner's legs is torture (for Red Sox fans anyway).

Danijel, who cares for Ajla while at the same time carrying out his mission of ethnic cleansing, is the least fully explored character in the movie, which leaves a big blur at its core. Still, this is an impressive piece of work that doesn't flinch from the atrocities that no doubt motivated Jolie to make the film in the first place.

Rapp has clearly been influenced by such lyrically disaffected '70s movies as "Five Easy Pieces." He brings out in Deschanel a sense of yearning, an avidity, that hits home.

Taymor's flower-powery phantasmagoria is ambitious but ultimately tiresome.

Fine family entertainment.

Every single frame of this film is as cute, slick, and snappy as the adorable little mice who end the movie with a gag right out of "Babe: Pig in the City."

Bassett and Diggs are appealing as the slightly odd couple, but the movie rambles on too long.

The humor is more childish than raunchy, but it's interesting to see that becoming a big-time Broadway impresario hasn't led Waters to sell out his affection for gross-out gags.

Robert Towne's screenplay is less opportunistic than many of his efforts in recent years, although it still contains moments designed merely to shock or titillate.

It's a distasteful jumble that stirs up the worst instincts of its audience by heaping abuse on Bill, encouraging us to identify with him, then prodding us to enjoy his bursts of venom and violence. [1 Mar 1993]

At least Dennis Hopper plays the bad guy with wildness and wit. Costner's stolid hero seems a washout by comparison.

The story raises challenging moral and legal questions but loses energy in a miscalculated romantic subplot.

This movie is altogether too nice. I prefer sports movies with more sass and snap, like the films Ron Shelton (“Bull Durham”) used to make, or even parts of “Moneyball.”

The adventure is well-acted by Mira Sorvino and Giancarlo Giannini, among others, and imaginatively directed by Guillermo Del Toro, who gives a new twist to old science-fiction effects.

Was Maher afraid he might muddy his clownish jape if he actually brought into the mix a learned theologian?

At many key junctures, the movie's persistent realism keeps it drifting in the weeds when it could have soared into the clouds. [18 Dec 1987, p.25]

Could we please declare a moratorium on funny-sad movies about dysfunctional families, especially families that come together for the holidays?

My worst fears were confirmed almost from the start. In order to inject some pep into the proceedings, Law has been encouraged to play Wolfe as a motormouthed rhapsodist who seems less inspired than unhinged. He’s exhaustingly exuberant.

While it loses the charm of Romero’s low-budget clunkiness, it is in all other regards superior. Unfortunately, it’s not better than “28 Days Later...,” which is close enough to count as an unofficial remake.

The story is shamelessly corny, and grown-ups will groan at its cliches. It's vividly filmed and energetically acted, though, so youngsters new to outdoor-adventure movies should find it tremendously exciting. [14 Jan 1994, p.13]

Rappoport is a powerhouse performer but the movie is an unstable concoction of political melodrama, film noir, and weepie.

(Kerrigan) remains an insightful stylist with impressively high artistic standards.

Forgettable fun.

The film’s political scope is wide, beginning in 1917 and extending for sixty years, and, especially in the first hour or so, the antic, magical tone of Rushdie’s novel is sustained.

It's all rather exhausting, as opposed to exhilirating.

It has weak spots, including bits of mystical mumbo jumbo about a legendary "Indian runner" with a ghostly message. But most of the film is articulate and absorbing.

Although the film's visuals are a cut above, say, "Sin City," another serioso graphic novel-turned-movie, it has the same mood: a film-noir-ish soddenness punctuated by megaviolence. Watchmen is the anti-"Incredibles."

Extremely goodhearted, if not exactly original or exciting.

The new remake has several strikes against it: self-indulgent dialogue, uneven performances, stupid shock effects, and a paranoid view of space exploration. It's also about 20 minutes too long. Yet it packs a strong wallop about half the time, if you see it as a child's-eye-view story that taps directly into preteen fears and fantasies.

This is the kind of movie where we’re not supposed to know at any time who is playing whom, but since the characterizations are glossy and paper-thin, it’s difficult to get worked up about who gets fleeced.

The results are ragged, disjointed, and endearing.

The well-staged opening sequence, which depicts the riot at the 1913 Paris première of "Le Sacre du Printemps," is, alas, the film's high point.

It's a pleasant time-killer, nothing more. But nothing less, either.

Good acting and pungent dialogue.

Traveling from the tragic to the comic, this multifaceted film is richly acted and imaginatively directed.

Informative, but very slow going.

It’s all fairly entertaining and eminently disposable.

The action is gripping and the story raises important issues about medical ethics in a high-tech society. Gene Hackman is in excellent form, and Hugh Grant does the most finely tuned acting of his career to date.

Kevin Spacey gives a richly nuanced performance as the accused killer, and director Clint Eastwood makes the sometimes sordid story less sensationalistic than it might have seemed in less accomplished hands.

Sadly, it lacks the classic awfulness that might have lifted it into the pantheon of Truly Bad Movies. Instead, what we have here is a garden variety bad movie, of which there have been all too many lately.

Why are Steve Carell and Tina Fey wasting their time, and ours, by appearing in the miserable comedy Date Night?

Doesn't develop enough momentum to justify its too-long running time.

Paltrow's performance in Sylvia doesn't have Oscar- worthy depth, but it's a solid, sincere portrayal that captures enough sides of Plath's complex personality to enrich the movie, directed with impressive visual power by New Zealand filmmaker Christine Jeffs.

The end result, at best, is high-toned pulp.

Pound for pound, Ami is a heavyweight.

They should call this overloud, underwhelming movie "Real Steal."

Framed as a cautionary thriller about the perils of high-stakes terrorism, but I took away a different message from it: Don't forget your briefcase at the airport.

Depp is disappointingly recessive here, as he often is when he's playing characters who don't have an antic streak.

It's a unique blend of history and hysteria, and there's no escaping the dead-serious ideas that run beneath its flamboyant surface.

Connery (an actor as well, and the son of Sean Connery) keeps the performers honest, and a few of the father-son tussles, with their admixture of love and envy, are powerful.

Eastwood and Morgan are not con artists, but their awe here is so unblinking that their film comes across as a transcendent con job.

Excellent acting and a finely tuned screenplay spark this genuinely offbeat melodrama.

Coppola's satirical debut movie is too ambitious for its own good. The cast is good, though, and ambition isn't the worst fault a fledgling filmmaker can have.

Has undertones of serious commentary on American violence, thanks to the screenplay by Larry Cohen, who often uses horror-film plots to explore cracks and contradictions in society.

It's insulting when such savvy filmmakers expect us to laugh automatically at four-letter words, bathroom humor, and caricatures as crude as they are unoriginal. At its best, The Ladykillers soars above its own worst instincts, especially when Hanks and Hall take over the action.

In sum, this is hardly an "Iliad" adaptation for the ages. But if you're hankering for sand, sandals, and swordplay, this could be the movie for you.

Gooding and De Niro bring their characters to vivid life despite the unsubtle screenplay and hyperactive music score.

It's not only Phoebe whose daydreams go out of control. Daniel Barnz, the writer-director, also goes a bit flooey. There's a lot more perspiration than inspiration.

Director Robert Stromberg, making his debut as a director after supervising the visual effects for movies like “Alice in Wonderland” and “Avatar,” lacks the transcendent touch.

Irons gives a deft performance as a man who is both entranced and flummoxed by his disciple, but the role itself is in most ways skimpily conceived. Hardy’s homosexuality, for one thing, is never really touched upon, as if that would somehow taint the proceedings.

The characters who come off best in Dinner for Schmucks are those dead mice.

The first half packs some clever surprises, but eventually you'll wish you'd signed up with another movie.

The cast works hard, but Jordan's directing is too ponderous and slow to build dramatic energy.

It's a well-meaning picture, but it doesn't have enough imagination to become as involving as it would like. [22 Jan 1993, p.11]

Lawrence is terrific at playing tough, as she also demonstrated in her previous outings with Russell, “Silver Linings Playbook” and, especially, “American Hustle." But maybe it’s time for her to take a rest from him for a while. There’s a lot more to this actress than bold and brassy.

There are fine, wry moments tucked inside the curdled whimsy.

My favorite voice/animation combo, however, is Stephen Colbert's very terrestrial president of the United States.

Since Mr. Bean rarely speaks a complete sentence, the effect is of watching a silent movie with sound effects. This was also the dramatic ploy of the great French director-performer Jacques Tati, who is clearly the big influence here.

Stone may think he's made a movie about the toxicity of the Bush presidency, but what we have instead is a cautionary tale of a decidedly lower order. As far as I can make out, the real message of W. is: Don't vote for anybody who talks with his mouth full of food.

A young and as-yet-unformed actor, Stewart is cast in a role she's simply not ready for, and her effort to work hard – exactly what any actor must hide from the audience – is painfully visible in every scene. By contrast, Pattinson is smooth as glass, a born movie star who only needs to slant his eyes to grab attention.

Reveals a key aspect of fascism's cynical use of art and architecture to mesmerize a weak and vulnerable society.

Harrowing and imaginatively made.

If Concussion really stuck its neck out, it would have been the better for it. The film comes on as hard-hitting, but it’s weighted down with protective gear.

Without her (Kelly Macdonald), the generally well-acted The Merry Gentleman would descend into terminal lugubriousness.

The acting ranges from adequate (Jared Leto, R. Lee Ermey) to awful (Lindsay Crouse and everyone else).

This farce set mostly aboard a transatlantic flight stuck in midair never launches.

It doesn’t help that most of the film is shot in a thick gray-green overlay that sets an immediate tone of abject dreariness. I’m not implying that Portman should have included high-kicking musical numbers to lighten the mood, but there is a Jewish tradition of mining the black comedy in tragedy that the film would have done well to avail itself of.

Ferocious satire.

This atmospheric story unfolds through leisurely shots that invite us not just to watch the characters, but to live and breathe along with them.

As he showed in the recent "Catch Me if You Can," also a Hanks vehicle, Spielberg has little talent for emotional realism, not to mention psychological suspense. He should scurry back to "Jurassic Park" as soon as the next flight leaves.

It's often beautiful to watch, although it's more interested in visual style than philosophical depth.

This leisurely, transfixing movie is much more interested in nostalgic atmosphere than "educational" facts.

It's the kind of cutesy idea that doesn't ring remotely true.

If you were a fan of David Cronenberg's "Crash," based on J.G. Ballard's book about people who get sexually excited by auto accidents, you might just be the target audience for Quid Pro Quo, a perverse psychological drama.

Taking a cue from the “Batman” series, the film is dark and thudding and overlong.

Zemeckis tries to juice things up by staging numerous chase scenes up and around London, but do we really need "A Christmas Carol: The Action Picture"?

Mostly just another exercise in snappy editing and over-the-top mayhem that will leave most grown-up movie- goers cold.

Rosen­thal serves up a hilarious documentary of his travails developing "The Voroniny," or, as it was known in development, "Everybody Loves Kostya."

The results are visually striking, but conceptually they oscillate between poetic, pretentious, and philosophically dubious.

There are moments of real humor and real emotion in this otherwise frivolous sex comedy about a married man smitten with a glamorous model.