A thoroughly unremarkable police action movie starring the magnetic Samuel L. Jackson.

It's moderately compelling drama, but also fairly static stuff, image-wise.

Don Cheadle is wonderful, as always, as the former drug-addict-turned-psychiatrist who worries it's all hopeless but refuses to stop trying. Sounds clichéd, perhaps, but for the most part it works, thanks to piercingly authentic performances.

This is quintessential "family entertainment."

If your expectations aren't too high, there's lots of cool shit on-screen.

Farrell's performance possesses a touch too many mannerisms on loan from Tyrone Power and Clark Gable; you can almost hear the gears turning in his brain each time he cocks his head or raises an eyebrow in homage.

The film is bound together around the oral tradition and the act of storytelling, and this is where the filmmakers shine.

It's hard to know just how much to trust Titanic Town.

Director Stephen T. Kay (The Last Time I Committed Suicide) busts off some cool shots, and Eric Kripke's story is pretty sound until the finale. Worth a look for horror fans, but nothing classic.

The stately pacing and meandering plot often reduce this potential classic to generous eye candy.

I wanted to be transported by this movie; I wasn't quite. But I respect it.

Ultimately, it's the songs that energize this highlight, and lowlight, reel; you may forget the movie when you walk out of the theater, but you will do so while humming the soundtrack.

Quills is bound to titillate some, but for most it's likely to summon little more than a few Oscars and appreciative yawns.

Happily, the director and writer Andrea Gibb treat little Frankie with as much dramatic respect as the grown-up characters, and he saves the movie from killing sweetness.

Silly, yes, but sweet and fun too.

Is it worth the goofy characters and weak story for the effects and action sequences? Absolutely.

Hasty pacing makes for a rich and exciting movie, but not an especially spooky or spellbinding one.

Nói makes a stab at tragic romance.

Homer would be hard-pressed to find any remaining shred of "The Iliad" in this over-the-top entertainment. It has a lot of loud passion but not much poetry, and that's appropriate for a movie that could well be subtitled My Big Fat Greek Bloodletting.

Little Ralph comes off like "Billy Elliot" on steroids. Still, this an energetic movie that can be truly hilarious in spots, and it captures perfectly the oppressive atmosphere of a Catholic boys' school in the ’50s.

This modest project is all about atmosphere and reflection, and, as such, it is successful.

The songs are actually quite good--if also hideously embarrassing--but these comedians take their roles far too seriously, to their peril and our puzzlement.

The movie works while you watch it, with plenty of scares both sudden and psychological.

Most of The Constant Gardener is made with good taste and with respect for its African subjects. But when Fiennes flees a Kenyan village as bandits begin their merciless attack, it's hard not to feel a little uneasy with the medium. We're meant to get a thrill out of the chase, but it's not thrilling. Sickening's more like it.

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

Inside Man is irrelevant, another semi-high-tech mega-heist movie, the rhythms and tropes of which we are all as familiar with as we are with the wallpaper facing our toilets.

The result is a constant feeling of summary, saddled with four times the usual number of after-school issues. Tamblyn is a treat, playing intelligence and anger, and there are some real moments of connection between characters, but the film is hysterical with self-promotion.

Laurel Canyon lacks the sense of risk that "High Art" had, and in doing so, emasculates its apparent protagonist in Sam.