Unexpectedly funny, leisurely paced and oblivious to the demands of its genre, Inside Man has a loose, playful vibe that's at odds with its grave life-and-death scenario.

An intoxicating, world-class collaboration between a filmmaker (Spain's Fernando Trueba), two artists (designer Javier Mariscal and animator Tono Errando) and a musician (Cuban pianist/bandleader Bebo Valdés).

Gunn makes this huge entertainment accessible to the converted and the neophyte alike, and he has only has one goal: To send you out of the theater with a fat smile on your face. Mission accomplished.

Grim stuff, filled with great sorrow and tragedy, but it's never maudlin or weepy.

But there are so many beautiful, tender moments in In America -- that it's easy to forgive Sheridan's manipulative ploys.

Reveals yet another facet of this always-unpredictable filmmaker: a flair for compassionate, humane melodrama.

Though the film would benefit from further cuts, Machuca still manages to convey the frailty of convictions and the difficulties of growing up -- be it a child or a nation.

Perhaps Rudolph is sending out a message about love, a la Rohmer, or maybe he's just having a strange kind of fun. Choose Me is just entertaining enough, in its eccentric, soap- operatic way, so that it doesn't matter. [21 Dec 1984, p.D22]

The new version is a glorious, thrilling throwback that never sacrifices its solid roots in the western genre despite a sharp modern update that actually improves on the original.

Mines a great deal of its humor from the can't-be-bothered attitude of British culture, but the jokes survive the trip across the Atlantic mostly intact.

Gaghan is attempting to cover so much ground in Syriana that the movie at times feels a little suffocating.

It has the ring of small, unspectacular truths and a devotion to characters that is quite rare in contemporary film, and is genuinely the kind of movie "they" don't make anymore. This makes Stand by Me special. It does not make it a wonderful movie. [22 Aug 1986, p.D1]

This glitzy, infectious and unusually heartfelt musical doesn't always hang together as a satisfying narrative -- too many characters compete for too little screen time -- but its pleasures are numerous enough to override its flaws.

Raucous look at an equally raucous phenomenon.

Once you get past the intriguing fact that although Whip's job puts hundreds of lives into his hands on a daily basis yet he's cavalier about protecting them, the movie doesn't feel much different than any other exploration of addiction.

After you've seen Dave, go back and watch Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. And be manipulated by a master. [07 May 1993, p.G5]

A well-intentioned coming-of-age film anchored by two indelible performances but weakened by an overabundance of drama.

It's just exhausting. For all of the movie's sumptuous, eyepopping craft, you'll feel more than a little relief when Mathilde finally reaches the end of her quest.

An oddity, but a remarkably intriguing and original one, and in Buck ... it also has the most unforgettable movie character of the year.

Shine a Light provides the clearest and most intimate viewing experience of the band to date. It is also a happy circumstance that the group, now in their mid-60s, have rarely sounded tighter.

The musical numbers are exhilarating, and the story unfolds against a delightful, ever-changing series of set designs, haircuts and fashions. But it's the performances in this look at the often- harrowing relationship between Tina and Ike Turner that you'll remember. [09 Jul 1993, p.G5]

One question in particular hangs heavily over the entire film, a plot hole so distracting it becomes the only thing you can think about.

At its core, Susanne Bier's wrenching portrayal of the shifting dynamics within a Danish family is really about survival, about how we cope in the face of shattering grief and what we'll do -- anything, really -- to save ourselves.

Literature lasts, but sometimes, The Last Station suggests, the ties that bind last, too.

Margin Call doesn't demonize its characters, nor does it absolve them of their sins. The movie simply shows, without judgment or anger, how our economic crisis came to be.

Director Arnaud Desplechin follows his characters on a languid excursion that is circular and, ultimately, probably pointless (which may itself be the point) -- but the trip is also funny, weepy and charming. Like Paul's life, the movie feels messy but beguiling, jumping from past to present, parading about so many look-alike long-legged, haunting women that it's hard to keep track of who's sleeping with whom. [24 April 1998, p.9G]

This is a romantic comedy that makes the concept of romantic comedies appealing again -- that reminds you how resonant and transporting they can be when they're done right.

Me and You and Everyone We Know brings to mind the work of happily downbeat, bad-boy provocateur Todd Solondz (Happiness, Palindromes), but July is more kind to her oddballs, although she displays a disturbing aptitude for perversity that Solondz would applaud.