Compare Sylvia to another, more powerful film about a tragic literary death: "Iris," about Iris Murdoch's descent into Alzheimer's, leaves you with an aching heart and reddened eyes. After the equally sorrowful Sylvia, we are entertained but unmoved.

The real Guerin deserves a more complete cinematic tribute.

No, this isn't the stuff of a kiddie classic like "Holes." But, to quote from another movie with a vocal four-legged protagonist, it'll do.

If it's not quite as funny as you want it to be, it's still more than enough to keep you entertained.

Self-indulgent, overwrought, shallow and ridiculous. It is also brilliant, a blast of cinematic lunacy and as much of a guilty pleasure as the schlocky movies Tarantino adores, which was probably the point. Sometimes, only a Big Mac will do.

May not be everyone's favored bloom in the garden, but it is still a fine work on film.

Deals with themes Eastwood has often explored before, but never so delicately or with as much sad wisdom: The way in which our past haunts our present, the lasting repercussions of violence and the cruel inexorability of fate.

A lot of ground for one film to cover, but this smart, absorbing movie, which has been sharply edited by Felipe Lacerda, never feels like it's spreading itself too thin.

The more preposterous Out of Time gets, the more enjoyable the movie becomes.

The movie is a polished (and irresistible) piece of crowd-pleasing formula and deserves to become a monster hit. But it is also a perfect showcase for the volcanic talents of the rotund comedian/musician/all-around wildman.

Despite its humble nature, the film is downright uplifting without being vulgar, flashy or embarrassing.

Never gives us a single reason to care about any of these people. It's a druggy, sordid spectacle.

It's a mean little movie, but it's also thin and repetitive, a premise in search of a story.

Doesn't break any new ground, but it doesn't leave you wishing you had stayed home, either. Considering the state of action movies today, that's something.

The whole movie is at once formulaic, clichéd and predictable, yet surprising, engaging and filled with subtle, unexpected details.

Sweet and moving, and occasionally irritating, but it's never embarrassing.

Slight but extremely effective, and its characters so engaging that even the sad finale, which is not entirely unexpected or original, manages to pack surprising power.

A pastiche so derivative and pointless, it leaves you wishing Allen had not bothered.

Despite the increasingly annoying presence of the mugging, fatuous Cuba Gooding Jr., The Fighting Temptations pulls off what feels like a major feat: Its musical sequences could make the most hardened atheist want to go to church.

Even without handicapping for the limitations of its gentle genre, the film has moments of whimsical humor and thoughtful plotting that soar tantalizingly close to something that could be enjoyed on its own merits.

A loud and relentlessly overstated B-movie, and yet not entirely stupid.

But Babys also resembles "Sunshine State" in another, more satisfying way: It leaves you longing to know what happens to these characters once the movie ends.

May not be a work of fiction but, despite its many minutes of real footage, it is far from being a documentary. Lack of truth in advertising notwithstanding, the story of this Colombian cowboy deserved to be told.

It is pretty convincing in its argument that China has every intention of destroying the culture of Tibetans.

A ferociously entertaining and mean little horror movie that achieves the kind of outrageous vibe best enjoyed in a crowded, noisy theater.

The best moments in Matchstick Men belong to Cage and Lohman, who, in "Paper Moon" fashion, prove that the family that cons together, laughs together.

If not exactly epic, the movie is certainly the biggest and most complex of Rodriguez's Mariachi trilogy, which began in "El Mariachi" and continued in "Desperado."

It's a sign of just how much Coppola respects her characters that she doesn't make us privy to that final line: It is only meant for them to share. But like the rest of the ethereal Lost in Translation, you don't need to have it spelled out in order to feel it.