It's only near the end, when Romanek sets out to release the tremendous tension he's built up, that One Hour Photo loses its bearings.

Don't forget the waves. They're the stars of this show, and Blue Crush smartly never lets you forget it.

It is entertaining enough to send intelligent viewers (but only the intelligent ones) in search of the book.

The film has a rather charming way of convincing you that there are times to shrug off the caviar and champagne and go for a fulfilling bowl of spaghetti.

A strange art-house film, a must-see for punks and nightclubbers, a puzzle for the merely curious.

XXX may be a celebration of jock culture stupidity, but it's also guaranteed not to produce any ZZZ's.

There's also something to be said for a movie that's content with telling a simple yarn, and telling it well.

Secret of this 'Ballot' lies in its humor, charm and universality.

Never crosses over into meanness, and even the most satirical character has a moment of empathy.

What's lacking is the simplicity that made the original.

It's the summer's most avant-garde experiment, and those who hate it (and there will be plenty) will complain the movie doesn't have a point. Then again, neither did Seinfeld, and look how that turned out.

If "The Sixth Sense" was Shyamalan's take on ghost stories and "Unbreakable" his ode to comic books, then Signs is the evil cousin to Steven Spielberg's "Close Encounters of the Third Kind."

For a movie that's all about camouflage, this sketch comedy epilogue turns out to be its most creative disguise: a thin coating of humor slapped on an otherwise ponderous film.

Occasionally feels a bit suffocating, like being trapped at a party by a drunkard who won't shut up until he tells you his entire life story.

A slightly dull film by photographer Sam Jones.

Harmless, mildly enjoyable.

If the other theme-park movies are as appealing, go ahead, bring 'em on.

The uneven Goldmember seems to take a big step toward the extremely juvenile, with more scatological and fewer sex jokes

May disappoint those who expect a more traditional Chinese setting. But, despite its modern look, this is far from being a Western film.

Neither man nor mouse nor any other critter has a prayer of holding his/her/its own once the real star of the sequel shows up: Snowbell, the worrywart feline voiced by Nathan Lane.

Despite its exciting moments, the film is too long.

Tadpole was shot on digital video, and the images often look smeary and blurry, to the point of distraction. Then again, in a better movie, you might not have noticed.

Limps along, spinning not a silken web but an extremely derivative, tattered one not likely to snare anybody's interest.

It's a lot more entertaining than box office success "Scooby-Doo" and more honest, too. When Irwin plays out a scene with a reptilian, you can be sure the croc is not computer-generated.

Medem may have disrobed most of the cast, leaving their bodies exposed, but the plot remains as guarded as a virgin with a chastity belt. That's why Sex and Lucía is so alluring.

Stops dead the second the monsters fall out of view. It doesn't help that the movie's post-apocalyptic future is of the unimaginative backlot variety, or that the movie takes itself so seriously.

Overflowing with melancholy and tragedy, Road to Perdition is one of the most somber gangster pictures ever made.

Watching a film about an opera can never be as moving as watching the real thing in a great opera house. Musical purists may object to certain details, and film buffs may find the concept unappealing. Yet, for this film and opera lover, Jacquot's Tosca is a treat.

What you come to see are the strokes of a visual master. You will not be disappointed.

The germ of a better film lies in that joke, but Schaeffer doesn't quite dig it out. Instead, we get painfully unfunny scenes that make us think that when it comes to writing comedy, Schaeffer should stick to his own rule: never again.

Light as the film may be, My Wife Is An Actress is not devoid of charm. It's like a summer book: quick, enjoyable and, mostly, easily forgotten.

You could describe Read My Lips as a love story, but that would make the movie sound much more conventional than it really is. See it now, before the inevitable Hollywood remake flattens out all its odd, intriguing wrinkles.

Suffers from a fatal lack of purpose. This sleek, visually inventive but frustratingly flat movie is made up entirely of throwaway bits -- occasionally amusing, even ingenious bits. But still, they're just bits.

She could come off preachy here but instead sounds blunt and honest. And that's more than enough.

A film of this sort demands superb, seemingly effortless acting, and Holofcener gets it at every turn.

A sweet reminder of their lost and lively world.

Just plain fun.

Surprisingly sweet and, dare we say it, old-fashioned, with an engaging sense of humor that's a definite improvement on lame, lowbrow efforts such as "Little Nicky."

A sad and rote exercise in milking a played-out idea -- a straight guy has to dress up in drag -- that shockingly manages to be even worse than its title would imply.

What Sunshine State lacks in momentum, it makes up for with a Dickensian sprawl of characters -- 50 in all -- who possess the depth and humanity that has become a Sayles trademark.

This is a fiendishly complicated whodunit -- or, to be more precise, a who-done-what-to-whom-and-when -- told within the confines of thoughtful, speculative science-fiction.

By turns endearing and hilarious, Lilo & Stitch is proof the folks at Disney should break their own rules more often.

The script is riddled with so many clichés, you count on the battle scenes to wake you from your stupor.

There are 10 minutes of animation in the film, and it could have used a few more: They have a spirited, inventive energy that the rest of this well-intentioned but awfully melodramatic movie lacks.

Mildly engaging.

Next time Damon will have to find a worthier vehicle. As the intended start of a franchise, The Bourne Identity is a bit of a bust.

The best thing you can say about Scooby-Doo is that Matthew Lillard makes a really, really good Shaggy.

A Jerry Bruckheimer production, which gives the movie a disquieting sense of stupidity.

Seems to vanish from memory even as you're watching it. The movie is an exercise in minimalist storytelling.

The film relies a bit too much on the humor of older women flipping each other off and mouthing obscenities, although it is hilarious to see the usually proper Smith frantically chopping up a roofie to slip into Sidda's drink.

More than once during The Fast Runner (Atanarjuat), it's easy to forget you're watching a movie.

Impossible to watch passively. It may be a work of pure fiction, with the requisite preposterous plot turns, but it still has the air of a ''what if?'' scenario, and it is perfectly, thoroughly chilling.

The movie isn't just hilarious: It's witty and inventive, too, and in hindsight, it isn't even all that dumb.

Nothing fantastic or supernatural ever happens, but you can still feel cosmic forces at work behind the scenes, conspiring to repeatedly test the movie's characters, doling out reward and punishment in equal doses.

It's a cannibalization of "Sleeping With the Enemy," a not-so-good Julia Roberts film, with a ridiculous female-empowerment subtext and a relentlessly stupid script that goes nowhere you can't predict before the opening credits roll.

Though this film can be clumsy, its ambitions are equally -- and admirably -- uncommercial.

So thoroughly absorbing while it's unfolding that later, when you play the movie back in your head, it's surprising to realize how ordinary it is. That's a testament to Nolan's talent: He's able to make even the hoariest clichés feel fresh.

Hearing Wilde's pithy lines in her mouth -- ''London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained 35 for years'' -- is worth the ticket price. In the end it's Dench who reminds us of the importance of enjoying Oscar Wilde.

Late Marriage's stiffness is unlikely to demonstrate the emotional clout to sweep U.S. viewers off their feet.

The summer movie season has barely begun, and already we have its first big surprise.

A triumph of technology over humanity, and if it falls short of a completely fulfilling experience, it also achieves the kind of primal emotion movies were invented for: wonder.

Quibbles aside, Ultimate X zips by speedily and is rad fun for sports fans and sedentary folks alike.

Comes off curiously flat.

Anyone who wants to enjoy himself at a good movie about a high school geek who undergoes a transformation should go see "'Spider-Man" again instead.

The Lady and the Duke is not about the revolution. It's an intimate story of a woman's perspective during a dramatic event in world history.

Registers as a more scenic "Hoosiers" with rowdier fans.

Though difficult to understand at times, the language -- a combination of local patois and the characters' particular Indian accent -- is as lush as the cinematography.

A rather luminous movie on the power of love.

There's a mean little Hollywood satire squirreled away within Hollywood Ending, but you have to look hard to find it.

What distinguishes Spider-Man from most other comic book movies is that the film is at its most engaging when its hero is out of costume.

Is it about a moment in history and how the life of a sexual predator fits into that moment? Or is it just about a director's sexual fantasy? The answers are somewhat fuzzy.

Pseudo-profound fluff.

Raucous look at an equally raucous phenomenon.

Strikes out toward freakishly original territory after all. Fans of the off-beat, your movie has arrived.

The idea of cracking a secret message from the enemy during war is thrilling; making the process interesting to watch is more problematic.

Vardalos made the Portokaloses so funny they'll make your own family seem tame.

The good news about The Scorpion King is that The Rock turns out to be a charismatic, ingratiating screen presence.

In Murder by Numbers, though, even Schroeder can't keep his own boredom from showing.

But for all the duplicitous minds playing games with each other on the screen, Nine Queens' best con artist turns out to be Bielinsky himself -- and his target is the audience.

Crudup is about as effective as anyone could be in the dreary World Traveler, but he can't keep this shallow, pretentious film from wallowing in banality and staggering self-indulgence.

The best stuff in Human Nature comes early, while the movie is still spry and daring --Then the film runs out of ideas, repetition sets in and so does boredom.

Loses its nerve in the final minutes, relying on a series of contrivances to arrive at an unconvincingly pat, happy ending. The story begged for a darker, more biting resolution.

It's the cinematic equivalent of a good page-turner, and even if it's nonsense, its claws dig surprisingly deep.

For all its charms, sometimes feels as self-obsessed as the characters it slyly mocks.

It's an extremely raunchy hybrid of "Bridget Jones's Diary."

The film is supposed to be about tolerance, but the only acceptance comes in terms of how the islanders accept the Mormon teachings. Somehow, that doesn't quite feel divine.

The biggest offense in the somewhat unimaginative but serviceable legal thriller High Crimes is that the venerable Morgan Freeman simply does not get enough screen time, and when he's up there, he doesn't have enough to do.

Timing is key in a comedy like this, and Sonnenfeld keeps everyone and everything clicking. The pacing is swift and the laughs are steady.

This utter waste of time has next-to-nothing to do with the infinitely wittier golden-age National Lampoon movies.

What Crush lacks in substance and originality, it makes up for with sheer likability.

Carries an undeniable follow-your-field-of-dreams appeal.

The movie isn't a thriller, but it has the tension of a thriller, and its cool, icy tone, deliberate pacing and clean, antiseptic lines are reminiscent of Kubrick and Antonioni.

The result is a gripping psychological thriller that, while lacking the power of "Funny Games," is still the work of a master.

Death to Smoochy? Yes, please.

It's pure popcorn entertainment, and it's pure formula, too: It's already been described, somewhat derisively, as Home Alone for grown-ups, which is not entirely off the mark.

It's all speed, movement and blood -- lots and lots of blood.

Offers a rose-colored picture of life, but one that Campanella makes ring true.

With touches of humor throughout, the gentle and peaceful film never becomes depressing or sad.