The entire cast is right on the money, a special word must be said about Seth.

Zhang deftly and quickly draws a half-dozen supporting characters, and his pacing never flags.

That he (Hetfield), and his band, still lives is astonishing enough; that you get to see how and why in a movie so painfully intimate is nothing short of extraordinary.

The musical numbers are energetic and fun.

Hilary Birmingham -- makes an impressive feature directorial debut with this rural drama. She gets first-rate performances.

Bigger, Longer & Uncut delivers: It's never less than funny, and at its best, it's truly hysterical.

The deep thematic concerns are never fully developed, but the characters are, and the story compels. Also, the movie's pretty scary.

Pretentious yet devoid of poetry, left-of-center yet artless, this well-intentioned trudge does not exist to be enjoyed or appreciated so much as to be coddled and patronized as one would a retarded child.

What a breath of fresh air this stifling, claustrophobic, boldly uningratiating vision of an American subculture's last gasp imparts to its contrarian core audience. (Call me a hopeless addict: I've seen it three times.)

A perfectly entertaining little French comedy that doesn't quite lodge in your brain in the way you hope it would.

More involving and intriguing than any by-the-numbers studio thriller. In large part, it holds our interest because of its stylistic boldness, not despite it.

Mostly it's just a sweet and lightly funny piece of highbrow piffle, as enjoyable as it is forgettable. There's no harm done, but there's not much else either.

Plot matters more here than spectacle; the film's real climax involves no demolition, but rather two characters in a room quietly discussing devastating events in their past.

Conversation is as meaningless as anything else in this barbarist take on "The Searchers."

Because of the supremely artful way Shear and Reitz have pitched the story, it reaches into places few films, gay or straight, have gone.

Seductive from the start, the film grows more stimulating and involving as it goes along because these three are original people who mate and recombine unpredictably.

If you're one of those people who complained that "Memento" could just as well have been told in chronological order, The Memory of a Killer may be your cup of tea.

It has just enough "comedy" to qualify as crowd-pleaser.

This full-tilt visual and aural bombardment is simply a lot of fun. It never lets up. Nor does it ever want to.

The young actors, all first-timers chosen in auditions in Puglia and Basilicata, are completely natural.

As enormously entertaining as it is appalling.

With more angst than you can shake a stick at, High Art sets a new course for the indie American film. Instead of the usual Scorsese-esque buddy confab, we have something closer to the funky Fassbinder world of marginalized, pansexual depressives.

In the end, what Minghella has wrought is a nearly perfect drama of love and war (still the great subjects, after all), an epic that's fluent, frightening and beautiful all at once, that lifts the heart and dashes our dreams in about equal measure.

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

Eastwood provides more than an hour of easygoing fun, followed by 45 minutes of action and suspense.

As a clear, exhaustive and highly intelligent discussion of one of the most pressing issues of our time, it's a success. As a work of documentary, however, it's flawed by its failure to limit its scope (or at least pare down its material), by its strangely stylized narration and by its lack of a story.

This is a Julia Roberts Movie about only one thing: being a Julia Roberts Movie.

What's wonderful about director Claude Miller's adaptation of Ruth Rendell's novel "The Tree of Hands" is its grand capacity for compassion and complexity.