A solid achievement, but those in the press who have been trumpeting its greatness may be going in for a bit of self-congratulation. The movie plays very well to the choir.

This superbly acted, expressively filmed story offers a rare blend of compelling drama, ethical awareness, and sheer human emotion.

By Dardenne standards this plot is pretty pulpy and unconvincing, but I rather enjoyed watching them attempt to twist it into an existentialist pretzel.

The overlong but charming documentary California Typewriter is an ode to the iconic writing instrument. I have to say I feel kind of guilty celebrating it on my word processor.

This is one of the few films that captures the complex intensity of the diva/personal assistant dynamic.

Director Henry Selick is all too effective at conjuring grody ghastliness. He's less effective at giving that ghastliness a human dimension, a resonance, a reason for being beyond cheap thrills.

Starts slowly and ominously and gradually accelerates into a frenzy.

Angelopoulos paints the screen with appealing images, but the story and acting lack the special charge that might have lifted this drama to the high level of his greatest work. [28 May 1999, p.14]

Hansen-Løve wants us to experience all this as a kind of amour fou, but all I kept thinking was that Sullivan was a prize jerk and Camille would be well rid of him.

A prime example of a dysfunctional-family comedy that also doubles as a road movie. Even the vehicle of transport is dysfunctional.

I hope this won’t be his last acting job. He’s too vital to go in for such a soggy send-off.

There's no over-the-top music or comedy sequence to place this with the very best Disney animations, though, and Phil Collins's songs won't be to everyone's taste.

The ending is especially inventive, managing to be sour, cynical, sentimental, and upbeat at the same time. [22 Dec 1989]

There is no need for Murmelstein to break down here. In The Last of the Unjust, it’s as if the whole world is weeping.

As it turns out, bearing Welles’s words in mind, it becomes almost a meta version of Welles’s movie. I would like to think that the great magician himself would have approved.

Its dark-toned cinematography by Henri Decaë still packs a wallop, and the screenplay has a refreshing sense of humor.

Never entirely escapes its theatrical origins, and, by framing the story so pugilistically, the filmmakers don't bring out the full richness in this material.

Not surprisingly, a documentary constructed entirely from newsreel footage proves inadequate to the task of sounding the depths of someone as complicated or driven (pun intended) as Senna.

Its grimness is explicit, so approach it with caution.

As this film amply demonstrates, in the highest realms of commerce, wielding power is paramount.

The movie's cutest twist is that the monsters are more scared of kids than kids are of them, because they think human children are toxic.

It has moments when the spiritual and the secular burst forth in stunning disarray.

Although stylistically and conceptually it never lifts itself entirely out of the realm of a made-for-television drama – don't expect "My Left Foot" – The Sessions is bracing. It's also one of the few movies to recognize that people with severe physical disabilities have sexual lives, too.

For all its skill and scrupulousness, I found the film a strangely remote emotional experience – a slice of black and white that never quite bursts into living color.

As a zoological spectacle the movie is riveting. But the narration tries to make us think of these adorable animals as if they saw the world in human terms.

De Felitta dodges the temptations of sentiment and preachiness.

The movie's seven scenes were filmed in real time (as opposed to condensed editing-room time) over the course of a year, giving the drama an extra touch of realism and humanity.

Garland is great at setting a tone of creepy ominousness, and the women’s foray into the swampy terrain is an unnerving blend of lustrous loveliness and split-second horror. But the visual effects throughout the film are often disconcertingly cheesy, and the pulp elements pile up with an extra serving of gore.