The Great Gatsby isn’t simply a classic American text: In Luhrmann’s hands, it’s also the greatest self-help manual ever written.

He's a mishmash of cultural opposites, and his motormouth swagger is fitfully amusing. So is his backhand.

It has a degree of sociological interest, but it would be more effective if the material were shaped into a more coherent form.

Many will welcome the movie's interest in spirituality, but some may wonder why it's couched in a celebration of sensual pleasures ranging from sex to cigarette smoking.

By bringing the story into Iraq, Grant Heslov courts tastelessness. Gooniness and Gitmo don't mix.

The film treats realistic subjects in a stylized way, putting its main energy into exploring ideas rather than building emotional power. [13 Jan 1995, p.B]

Woody Allen’s Magic in the Moonlight is a “serious” movie attempting to be lighthearted. It deals with the same issues that Allen’s idol, Ingmar Bergman, often grappled with – namely, the battle zone of reason versus mysticism – but offhandedly.

Always energetic and sometimes cockamamie enough to be genuinely fun, Hulk is the blockbuster to beat this season.

Timeliness is certainly on the side of Mira Nair’s uneven but fascinating The Reluctant Fundamentalist.

This disaster film has action from the get-go; but its awesome special effects hide a laughably corny plot, and for a picture about terror from the depths, its characters are ridiculously shallow.

It's all rather sweet but instantly evanescent.

Besson's account of the Maid of Orleans presents itself as a celebration of a martyr's faith but shows more interest in the violence and hatred that surrounded her life.

The analytical discussions don't run very deep, but eyes will shine and toes will tap whenever this picture is shown.

As hig concepts go, You Don't Mess With the Zohan" takes the cake.

The movie often seems glib in the face of tragedy. And when, near the end, Shepard tries to pour on the hearts and flowers by showing us just what made Simon crack up on camera, the bathos is icky. The whole movie is icky.

Bee Season, at its core, is about something powerful: The ways in which family members wreak destruction on each other with the best of intentions.

Given the fact that Life was co-written by Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, who co-wrote the wacked-out “Zombieland” and “Deadpool,” the film’s glum earnestness is doubly disappointing.

My favorite moment in the movie: Astrophysicist Erik Selvig (Stellan Skarsgard) insisting on wearing only his underwear because he says he thinks better that way. Hey, whatever works.

Mostly a snooze. Maybe if Buscemi himself had starred in it things would have turned out better.

It’s a major performance (Ruffalo) in a minor movie.

This sensitive, sometimes troubling family drama is one of the rare movies dealing with intelligent adults tackling lifelike problems.

The end result smacks more of Hollywood melodrama than true compassion for the suffering poor.

The movie has a broader range of emotions and visual effects than any "Star Wars" installment since "The Empire Strikes Back," but the writing and acting are as stiff as R2-D2's metal torso.

The sole bright spot is Christopher Walken playing a benevolent Mafia don.

Wise, who is noticeably older than the 29-year-old Ruskin was at the time the events occurred in real life, gives a tense, implacable performance, and Fanning is touching. The movie, however, directed by Richard Laxton, could use a lot more oomph.

You might expect "Seabiscuit" meets "Lawrence of Arabia," but overall, it's a big, beautiful bore.

Directed by Joel Schumacher with occasional gestures toward social commentary, and enough spectacle to mask the movie's deep down emptiness.

Beautiful geishas flit and whoosh through the equally beautiful scenery. Their kimonos are artworks-in-motion. So why is the film so boring? It could be because director Rob Marshall is so transfixed by all the ritualistic hoo-ha that he never brings the story down to earth.