It is, as his films usually are, dense, complex, and challenging. It is also, sad to say, ponderous, often inscrutable, and ultimately not much fun.

It contains nary a dull moment.

Clooney has become a movie star, and the Coens have given him his very own "It Happened One Night." The man, and the movie, are downright bona fide.

Statham's totally believable. He might yet become Bruce Willis.

There's something about that project that feels manipulative and wrong.

It lacks both the shiny surfaces that enlivened the director's earlier films and the depth of character that allows us, in a traditional film, to identify, empathize, or connect psychologically.

The movie resonates precisely because it serves as documentary only pretending to be fiction: It's set in a real place recovering from real pain, which Lee makes tangible.

Though it's a blast to watch, it becomes tiresome over the long haul--25 minutes of Thurman hacking her way through the crowd to get to a woman whose fate we're informed of early on. It's the most climactic anti-climax in recent film history, a no-d'uh coda awaiting the ending it really deserves but never gets. Not this year, anyway.

A mood-switching meditation on love and death that goes out of its way to yank our chains.

For strict action and a heftier soundtrack, “Dogtown” is king, but for audiences craving a story with their stunts, it's time to get Stoked.

By the end, Monsieur Ibrahim's determination to be lighthearted in the face of tragedy is a little wearying.

Ong-Bak's script, if you can call it that, is nothing but a series of setups for star Tony Jaa to show his stuff.

Happily, North Country is not all social-realist grit or straight sermonizing. Not only is Theron achingly real, the fine supporting performances here lend even more dramatic reach and human scale.

A bleak, beautiful film.

Although meant as a light comedy-drama in which both characters are sympathetic, The Housekeeper instead proves irritating.

It never attempts to know more than they do, or to encourage them to look deeply into themselves. As a result, the film is a little flat.

Although Afterglow bears the lyrical slow-zooms, tracking shots, and idle character development Rudolph learned while working as an associate director on such Altman classics as Nashville (where he first met Christie), it's safe to say that much of the film's strong critical reception is due to the director's showcasing Christie's undiminished movie-star grace so reverently.

If you like your substance short on style, or just want a change of pace from "X-Men," this is the film for you.

The World's Fastest Indian is not likely to be regarded as some kind of masterpiece--far from it--but Hopkins once more keeps our ears open and our eyes fixed on the screen.

There's a lot of imagination at work here; too bad just a little bit of it couldn't have been channeled into the creation of a better narrative.

The bittersweet charm of this extraordinary film is trumped only by its wisdom. Without resorting to schmaltz or sticky pathos, director Vladimír Michálek (a child of 49) fashions an allegory about aging, friendship and love that equals (and often surpasses) the best American movies on those tricky subjects, from "Cocoon" to "On Golden Pond."

It's mildly amusing, good for occasional laughs and satisfying grunts of appreciation. But it's far from inspired. It's just goofy and fun, sort of.

It's one of those movies that gets bonus points for being "personal" -- it bops along from episode to episode, as if the filmmaker were discovering her subject as she went along.

With light-hearted wit, compassion for its characters and artful attention to detail, the film is winningly funny and humane.

Nói makes a stab at tragic romance.

Unlike in, say, "Fight Club," director Hans Weingartner does not hedge his bets on the notion of whether simple-minded anarchy is any better than societal conformity -- his heart is with the Edukators, period.

It's arguably more "artful" to move at a snail's pace, but at the risk of tedium?

Spends most of its 114 minutes on the making of a demo tape. People in a studio, rapping and recording. If you're going to watch that, wouldn't you prefer it to be Dr. Dre, or Lil Jon, or whoever, rather than actors pretending to be their kind?