Really, what women want is what all of us want: a decent movie, something vaguely insightful and occasionally funny. This isn't that movie.

A reasonably entertaining -- and occasionally very moving -- picture.

Most of it--ranges from very funny to hilarious.

If Hallström has a problem with tone, it lies in his almost supernatural niceness. Thus, what arrives on-screen is purely a man's feminism, simple and trite and beautiful and vital.

Vertical Limit represents another kind of propaganda--namely the current Hollywood notion that the bigger and louder and longer a movie is, the more people will want to see it, even if that means getting numbed before your popcorn's cold.

Proof of Life kidnaps the audience, then tortures it to a slow death

What about Ronny Yu's 1992 masterpiece "The Bride With White Hair," of which Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is a decent facsimile?

Gilroy has brilliantly played to his strengths in Spring Forward. With a story that has no room for big, obviously "cinematic" effects, he concentrates on simple staging, unobtrusive (though often beautifully evocative) visuals, and sheer performance. It's a decision that pays off.

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

Willis gives a remarkable, wrenching performance: He is the most fragile indestructible man ever created.

The scenes involving just him (Carrey) are funny and full of life. All the other scenes are not.

Moments of strained mirth indicate how false and fabricated the whole enterprise really is--just a couple of well-to-do superstars doing their darnedest to prove to us that they're regular folk. And failing.

The delight of this awesome thriller is simply that Schwarzenegger--an old hand at this sort of running-around-shooting-henchmen thing--could easily sleepwalk through the movie...but he doesn't.

Nothing, however, can diminish the sense of horror we feel at what happened that day in September, while Macdonald's revelations and the candid comments he elicits more than make up for the film's less successful elements.

Little Nicky will redefine the phrase "worst movie ever," because it might actually be the worst movie ever.

It doesn't add up to much more than a trifle that might have been more impressive as a short.

In this modest but brilliant little movie, we find ourselves immersed in life itself.

Visit Red Planet, and you'll boldly go where everyone has gone before.

If you don't view it too analytically, Men of Honor provides almost more uplift than a body can handle.

If you love the excitement of watching golf, this Damon-Smith bore is right up your fairway.

It tries to be both camp and action film--send-up and kick-ass. But it delivers so little on both fronts.

What makes this movie special is the meticulous attention placed on each of its characters, employing them not in the traditional "melting pot" manner that is so common, but as part of a grand mosaic that actually seems to be worth sharing.

It's difficult to imagine a more eloquent tribute.

In his observant, swiftly paced Stardom, Arcand does it all with relentless wit, high style, and a suggestion of tragedy.

While not entirely successful, at least deserves points for creativity.

The new version by Harold Ramis trots out a load of bargain-rack gags, tarted up with pricey effects for the A.D.D. generation. Woe to those who cannot leave well enough alone.

A six-year-old masterpiece, never-before widely seen in the U.S., is still a masterpiece.

For Caan's shtick alone, The Yards is worthwhile, but we may also be witnessing the emergence, in Gray, of a young filmmaker who's just starting to find the range.