This well-directed Hong Kong drama is at its best when it captures the casual affection that grows between the main characters. It also touches on important Chinese social and political themes, but Kwan understates these so sketchily that they build little psychological power.

Unabashed "Star Wars" clone.

Overacted, overdirected, and overcooked in the usual Tornatore manner, but sheer energy and enthusiasm keep it watchable and listenable most of the way through.

The main characters are unremarkable, and most of the acting is dull.

I don’t get the enthusiasm for this movie, written and directed by Damien Chazelle, which is such a cooked-up piece of claptrap that I half expected Darth Vader to pick up the baton. We’re supposed to think that Terence’s tough love is more “honest” than the usual pussyfooting tutelage, but in any sane society this guy would have been brought up on charges long ago.

There's a great movie to be made about the survivors of Woodstock Nation and their children. But in order to make that movie, you first have to respect the ideals of that generation enough to at least give them their due.

Although this "Moonstruck" knockoff is diverting to watch, it's basically a low-budget loaf of Italian-American movie clichés.

Gallo's earlier work suggests he has directorial talent, but here it's buried beneath too much ego to be detectible.

In reducing Presumed Innocent to a 126-minute film, director Pakula has necessarily stripped it of many complexities and ambiguities that lend the novel much of its interest. The performances are capable, if rarely inspired.

In this exquisitely filmed adaptation Pacino is as vivid a Shylock as we're likely to see. Despite all the scholarly excuses for this drama, though, it's shot through with outrageously anti-Semitic attitudes.

The same story was told vastly better in the 1949 melodrama "The Reckless Moment."

Contains extremely graphic sex and many twists that are unpredictable but not very compelling.

Halfway through the movie, I decided a better title for this weepie contraption would be “The Hurt Letter.”

Kline stands out in the dual roles of the heartless tycoon and his playboy son.

The acting is passionate, but the film would be more effective if it presented a more thoroughgoing lesson in the raging horrors that swept through European culture during the era of the French Revolution.

Figgis brings strong visual imagination to the first hour, but he can't rescue Richard Jefferies's screenplay from plot holes bigger than the manor itself.

While the story is sentimental, heartfelt acting makes its impact less manipulative.

Iñárritu does the actor no favors by putting him through the existential wringer every step of the way. Uxbal suffers for all our sins.

What's lacking in The Upside of Anger is a steady sense that we're watching real people cope with real, jolting emotions.

This feature-length sitcom episode is handsomely filmed, but not as funny as you'd hope with Steve Martin and Diane Keaton in leading roles, and some of the humor has a nasty edge. [8 Dec 1995, p.13]

Gary Oldman and Lena Olin give energetic performances, ably supported by Annabella Sciorra and Roy Scheider as a long-suffering wife and a high-powered mobster. But the movie's main distinction is its increasingly lurid tone, reaching heights of mayhem so bizarre they're almost surrealistic. [4 Feb 1994, p.12]

The costumes and design are gorgeous enough to distract us from the wildly erratic tone – some of the time.

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

Liam Neeson and Alan Rickman give sturdy performances, but Neil Jordan's historically based drama seems oddly cool and distant with regard to its incendiary subject.

There has to be a good reason to put yourself through yet another junkie odyssey and Candy flunks the test.

This ghastly swatch of pulp horror is compelling at the most basic level, but so little is going on in it that you might as well be watching a sadistic lab experiment performed on mice.

Hollywood is notorious for giving its second-best roles to women, and the situation clearly hasn't changed when a superficial romp like Postcards From the Edge represents the best a major studio can come up with in exploring women's issues. [25 Oct 1990, p.14]

The Hong Kong director Wong Kar Wai has an undeservedly high reputation as a master stylist. He's more like a master window dresser.

David O. Russell hasn't yet developed enough filmmaking savvy to juggle so many intellectual, emotional, and narrative elements. He's clever and ambitious, but perhaps too much so.

What begins as a twisted sex romp turns film noir-ish. Guthe is so anxious to show us what a larcenous tramp Mini is that he never shows us any other sides to her.

The best reason to see It Runs in the Family is the sight of unquenchable Kirk.

The story has more violence than brains, but Hong Kong action star Chow makes an interestingly moody impression in his first Hollywood role.

It’s the sort of poetic conceit that needs a filmmaker far more rapt and intuitive than Haynes, whose jeweler’s precision keeps everything at an emotional remove.

It's as forgettable as they come.

But the drama's attack on racism would be more persuasive if it rejected vigilante justice and recognized that hatred and violence of all kinds must be condemned if evils like bigotry are ever to be eradicated.

The most inventive aspect of the film, aside from a lovely, daffy romantic duet between hypernerds played by Steve Carell and Kristen Wiig, are the promotional tie-ins with which we’ve been inundated -- Ron hawking Dodge Durango trucks, accepting journalism school awards, etc.

Some of the suspense set-pieces are impressive, but the picture would pack a greater wallop if it were stitched together more tightly and consistently.

Allen has fun with all his roles -- The rest of the acting is bland, but the movie's preteen target audience won't mind, and adults will find occasional grown-up jokes to chuckle at.

By making Nacho a do-gooder, Hess defuses Black's subversive energy. You could argue that Black also played a do-gooder in "School of Rock," but the kids in that film were a lot spunkier, and Black wasn't constantly playing for sympathy as he does here.

The fine cast is also misused -- especially Kidman, who looks as unruffled at the end of her torments as before they began, and Zellweger, who does a job of overacting that might have gotten rejected by "The Beverly Hillbillies."

The story is as contrived as it is comical.

The result is a run-of-the-mill fantasy, competently produced but disappointingly familiar, from its "Forbidden Planet" premise to the digital-clock countdown near the end.

Conjures up enough involving moments to create some drama.

The plot, based on a Phillip K. Dick story, is ingenious; and Arnold Schwarzenegger brings an effective blend of machismo and innocence to his role. Too bad director Paul Verhoeven lets brainless violence and tricky special effects swamp the cleverness of the tale itself. [22 June 1990, Arts, p.10]

Spacey is endearing, bringing his shy character to life despite glaring psychological gaps in the screenplay.

There are lots of plot twists and romantic angles. What's lacking is laughs.

The only genuine moments of emotion come not from the lead actresses but from that great trouper Blythe Danner.

Directed by Allen Hughes and written by Brian Tucker, the film is a collection of crime noir oddments that don't add up to a full meal.

Good contributes very little to a conundrum that has occupied historians and psychologists for half a century.

The characters are engaging, but the story is hackneyed and the filmmaking is dull. So is much of the acting, except by Jessica Tandy, who carries her own energy wherever she goes.

As the princess’s handmaiden, Nasim Pedrad at least has the comic timing that the rest of the cast, including, surprisingly, Will Smith, conspicuously lack. Smith understandably didn’t want to compete with Williams, but as the big, blue, top-knotted Genie, he’s uncharacteristically bland. Even the magic carpet in this movie looks bummed out.

Amiable, though much too long.

Would have more heft if the filmmakers had been supplied with talented stars, original ideas, and a barely adequate budget.

Colorful and cute. It would be better if it weren't quite so sitcommy and if it didn't outlast its ideas.

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.

Steven Spielberg's blockbuster whips up superficial sorts of excitement, and unlike the original "Jurassic Park," the picture looks tacky around the edges.

The acting and crooning are sadly uneven, making this a shaky comeback vehicle for the screen musical.

Penn's excellent acting doesn't raise his character above the level of familiar clichés about woman-chasing jazzmen.

Howard spins the story with enough gusto and gumption to make it reasonably entertaining.

Utterly predictable, but pleasant enough for its young target audience.

Details of the 1963 period are weakly handled, though, and the ending is as false as it is sentimental. [21 Aug 1987]

At heart this is a cuteness exploitation flick.

The story isn't nearly as funny or suspenseful as it would like to be, although the solid cast gives it occasional dashes of pizazz.

It’s not that this material is, or should be, off limits in a movie. But The Diary of a Teenage Girl isn’t exactly “Lolita.” Heller must think that taking a moral stance is tantamount to selling out. Commercially, she may be right. In every other respect, she’s wrong.

A schematic, often contrived look at an important subject. [17 Feb 1983, p.19]

The topic is thought-provoking, the flashback-based structure is interesting, and there are surprising twists near the end. But there's also an overdose of sentimentality that badly dilutes the picture's impact.

It's all very sweet and occasionally touching. More lasting shots of more beautiful butterflies would have added a lot, though.

Directed by Ang Lee, whose exposure of middle-class hypocrisy would be more effective if it weren't rigged to provide evidence for the story's take on contemporary values.

“Twilight” is essentially an adolescent female fantasia about coming to terms with one’s sexuality. There I’ve said it. And I’m sure no one else has ever said it.

Sol doesn't knit the complicated story into a coherent flow, but there are many visually striking moments along the way.

Jim Carrey proves that he's the most inspired clown in movies today, but parents should be warned that much of the picture's humor is extremely rude and crude.

Illuminating, if not exactly edifying.

Glover and Bassett play the title characters with great energy, and Berry has invested the movie with the moral conscience that underpinned his entire career.

Over time, though, with films such as "Lost Highway" and, to a lesser extent, "Mulholland Drive," Lynch's movies became less personal and more private. Whatever he is working out in his new film, Inland Empire, it's beyond the reach of all but his idolators.

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.

Delicatessen seems overstuffed at times, unable to digest its own surfeit of jokes, tricks, and surprises.

The film is preoccupied with whiz-bang adventure rather than storytelling. There's also too much cartoon violence for young kids.

Ballast lacks ballast. Much praised by aficionados of minimalist indie cinema – hey, who needs a plot when you've got mood? – it's a wearying slog through anomie in a Mississippi Delta township.

Diverting but minor.

The story is so eager to highlight macho action scenes that it loses track of the important historical and political issues it raises.

Good performances by a distinguished cast don't quite overcome the weaknesses of the disappointing screenplay.

Wrong Is Right tries to be an intellectual epic comedy thriller -- a bold mix, to say the least. But its force is muffled by its bulk. Despite its good intentions, it's a dud. [20 May 1982, p.19]

The movie is a disappointment -- not a stain on Benton's career as a serious and literate director, but only half the powerful drama it might have been.

The cast is cute and the action is colorful, but the comedy isn't as captivating as it sets out to be.

There are many tantalizing bits, but the overall result is a simplistic story wrapped in barely explained quantum physics and new-age sound bites. Fascinating and frustrating in about equal measure.

Sometimes a movie thinks it's one thing (charming) when it's really something else (creepy). Such is the case with writer-director Stephen Belber's Management.

Well made, nice performances, very slowly paced.

Stay home.

Use of a loosely written screenplay and a nonprofessional cast in this picture weakens its dramatic appeal even as it lends authenticity and local color.

Much of the movie exploits its subject for low-grade laughs, but in the end it takes a foursquare stand against the sleazy business it portrays, exposing its capacity for decadence and degradation.

No-nonsense critiques of Brazil's endemic poverty and deeply flawed criminal-justice system lend substance to what otherwise might have seemed a flimsy and sensationalistic tale.

The screenplay by Kevin Williamson ("Scream") keeps the lighting low and the tension high, though a bit more wit would have helped.

As Lucas’s girlfriend April, Isild Le Besco brings a sprig of sunshine into the film’s fetid hollows.

Filmmakers run out of ideas long before the final.

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

Redford's storytelling skills aren't strong enough to make the tale appear as seamless as it should.

As coarse, vulgar, adolescent action comedies go, Beverly Hills Ninja comes across as relatively tame - less profanity, less violence, less sex than typical for this "Naked Gun" wannabe.

Depardieu gives the story a firm center of gravity, aided by Joffé's eye for colorful settings and period detail.