Just another baseball movie hitting for average -- very average.

The movie is smart, funny, romantic, and rousing.

The filmmakers' investment in their weird visions is wildly unorthodox, but the payoff is oddly satisfying.

The lavish drama spans England, France, and Spain (shot mostly in Montreal), and Duigan elegantly paints a moving romance of errors amid torture, bloodshed, and terrible tragedy.

This vivid exploration of the human animal creates a romantic alchemy that's raw, unsettling, and touching.

It wears out its welcome well before its halfway point, by which time you're either so tangled up in plot points you're strangling, or so bored you just wish you were being strangled.

Andrew Litvack, whose inability to direct is outweighed only by his inability to write anything remotely witty, enlightening, or engaging. Calling this a farce would be, well, a farce.

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.

If you can cast all semblance of logic aside, it's sort of fun.

Several visual nods to the game are amusing, but it's tough to recommend the movie to anyone who doesn't already own a PlayStation.

This plodding mediocrity displays none of the flair or the compelling trickery that enlivened its 2002 prototype.

The actors are capable, but the direction feels stilted, the pacing sluggish, and the story obvious. The film plays like an ABC after-school special.

This intriguing jigsaw puzzle is visually arresting, narratively inventive, and psychologically enigmatic.

It's unfortunate that, nudity and all, this is one of Toback's absolute worst efforts.

A surprisingly efficient B-grade revenge pic.

If Alfred Hitchcock were retarded, lobotomized, and freshly dug up, he might possibly c--- out a movie like this one.

There might have been a decent comedy here if someone had remembered to insert some actual humor.

While the film bubbles with humor, sensual detail and heaps of plot, it never quite becomes more than the sum of its parts. It's well worth seeing, but it isn't transcendent.

Despite its formalistic failings and truly absurd Porn Moment, there's a morbidity here that feels quite genuine, and, after the movie is over, it amounts to rough-hewn poetry.

Hero keeps its characters stiffly archetypal, like chess pieces sent whizzing through outrageous maneuvers. Unfortunately, this apparent choice of spectacle over intimacy put me at a slight remove.

Director Dwight Little, who has made many mediocre films as well as the gleefully gory Robert Englund version of "The Phantom of the Opera," gets at least one thing right -- he really does take time to establish the characters.

The first Baby Geniuses, released in 1999, was one of the most inane, humorless, ill-conceived, poorly acted comedies of the year. As difficult as it is to imagine, the sequel is even worse, earning an F.

Merhige is too talented to be dismissed as a wannabe, but here his gifts for clever angles and oogy feelings are tethered to blasé genre redundancies and clunky storytelling. Looks great, less thrilling. I blame the screenwriters.

The movie, which feels as amateurish as a student film made for cable access, doesn't deliver the goods; the gotcha moment never comes.

It's the solipsistic, obvious, misogynistic, and occasionally redeeming tale.

Every situation, every bit of dialogue, comes straight out of the Big Book of Movie Clichés.

Here's a popcorn movie with soul, welcoming the masses to consider how much can change in popular culture over 30 years, as the horrific becomes the familiar.

Fry establishes himself as an inspired, world-class talent behind the camera and delivers my favorite film of the year thus far.