It's a chilling piece of legal hysteria, and ripe for nasty farce. But Pooh plays it all for buffoonish pratfalls and fart jokes.

The picture, a would-be thriller, is a mechanical exercise from the get-go, one that positively defies suspension of disbelief with each succeeding twist of a plot no one would ever hatch in real life.

A remarkable debut, and its first half is a genuine jolt.

An amiable but contrived bit of blarney.

A thoughtful, stunning piece of work in what, of late, has been an otherwise arid indie landscape.

Might be structured like a soggy house of cards, but it's shot beautifully and acted expertly.

This is certainly the best studio movie of the new year to date, and Douglas might even be remembered at next year's Oscars.

Captures the emptiness of small-time lives as evocatively as Peter Bogdonavich's "Last Picture Show."

They make a believable trio of siblings, but not even their combined wit can lift this script above the maudlin.

Visually, Pitch Black is sleek and stylish in a post-apocalyptic way, and a scantily clad Radha Mitchell does a nice, more femme variation of Sigourney Weaver's Ripley.

Though frequently brutal and off-putting, Beautiful People is a must-see.

Aviva Kempner's utterly conventional documentary plays like a lost chapter from Ken Burns' "Baseball."

It's so plot heavy it never finds its nimble comic rhythm.

A classic Sundance résumé movie -- texturally interesting, bubbling with ideas, and as structurally predictable as a cardboard box.

Impeccably produced.

The movie is an experience, of a sort they had a name for in the '60s: bummer.

A pale imitation of the original Winnie the Pooh Disney shorts of the '60s, but a vast improvement on the current Pooh TV series and straight-to-tape specials.

Thanks to the first-time filmmaker's attention to character, Gun Shy is worth at least a shot at a matinee.

This grade-Z programmer is a painfully earnest, clichéd, amateurish waste of time.

Crawford's such a good-hearted guy, you can't help but want a cut from his clippers.

A cute, clichéd, coming-of-age comedy.

A watery cocktail of second-rate, Ab Fab-style bitchery and shameless schmaltz.

Flows like day-old cement.

There's nothing wrong with Down to You that a smart script and savvy direction couldn't cure.

This poor movie is like an abandoned car without plates: Nobody wants to admit it's theirs.

It plays out like an endless series of scenes we've seen before.

A chronic snore. My advice: Roll a fatty and re-rent the first one.

The good news is that they've resurrected a franchise with wonderful potential and may eventually grow bored enough of recapping past triumphs to take it in more daring directions.

Few other 1999 films are as filthy with tantalizing elements as Agnieszka Holland's The Third Miracle, and of those that come close, none other is as pointless, confused, or unsatisfying.

Lacks scope and doesn't resonate grandly as a portrait of an American underbelly like Morris' earlier works do. But it still packs a wallop.

Shelton attempts to fashion a kind of road movie-love triangle-sports flick. He fails on all three counts.

Invoking unpleasant memories of "Caligula" (only without the sex), Titus does no justice to Shakespeare.

"Trek"-heads will laugh hardest, but there are plenty of yuks for the uninitiated as well.

A near-perfect confection, a beautifully executed Hollywood all-you-can-eat salad bar of glamour, plot twists, breathtaking Mediterranean vistas, and jazz.

Crammed with interesting ideas, visuals, and people, but Stone buries it all in a s--tstorm of technique.

If Parker had aimed more at capturing the author's unique voice, and worried less about getting the details right, his movie might have been extraordinary as well.

Unsuccessfully attempts to fathom Kaufman's lunatic sensibilities, supplying scant psychological insight into what made the outrageous comic tick.

Hicks is far less interested in resolving dramatic conflicts than in framing shots.

Mangold ultimately delivers the same film any number of other Hollywood journeyman could've made from this material, and the results are predictable and stale.

The switch of medium hasn't reinvigorated the soil or resulted in a film with any compelling reason for being.

Topsy-Turvy is flawless, borne along by a savagely witty screenplay that Leigh directs like the gears of a clock.

Despite good performances and moments of spectacle, it seems to go on longer than the Cultural Revolution.

A riveting, unsentimental tragedy of unrequited love.

A bright, lively picture.

This saga of one robot's determined quest to become human is so coldly calculated it could give you frostbite.

Strains our patience with overacting and photography so sumptuous you can't help but ponder why so much bloodshed and mayhem is being so expertly prettified.

An exhilarating and at times operatic film.

Hallström, a past master at cockeyed coming-of-age chronicles ("My Life as a Dog," "What's Eating Gilbert Grape"), has a near-genius for unpatronizing tolerance, and for seeing beauty in the world and nature and seasons without turning them into postcards.

Though modest in scale, this romantic gem constitutes yet another superb leap in the evolution of Figgis' career.

A brooding, stunningly realistic portrait of familial self-destruction that raises far more questions than it can possibly answer.

Even if the great debate that pits artistic integrity against corporate compromise doesn't thrill you, see Cradle Will Rock anyway. It's marvelous, provocative entertainment; art for art's sake.

A treacly, ham-fisted, German-American co-production about family ties that should only have been released in the circle of Hell reserved for movie critics.

This jailhouse jam is quite a haul.

To paraphrase the movie's too-knowing tag line: It's not very funny. But when the lights go out -- it's still not very funny.

Elevates the horror genre with a refreshing intelligence and humor -- too bad it's not half as good at generating scares.

Rereading Greene's book, one is struck anew by the absolute perfection of the film's casting.

Agnes Browne hums along as a series of pleasant vignettes, only frantically shifting to a single narrative track in its third act for the sake of an unbelievably upbeat ending.

Worth navigating for its refusal to play to the crowd. There's certainly nothing safe or sweet about Weaver's performance.

It's not a movie you could call dispassionate, however aimless and unfocused. It's a Molotov cocktail tossed in several directions at once.

A vapor trail of a comedy, comfortable as an old chair (and deliciously photographed in shades of melon and banana by Chinese vet Zhao Fei), but ultimately quaint and unchallenging.

Though similar thematically to "Anywhere But Here," Tumbleweeds is a breath of fresh air that busts the cliches of dysfunctional mother-daughter sagas.

Though Lee's movie is dripping with action and beautiful details, it's aimless and, eventually, tedious.

Such a witless, bombastic, by-the-numbers hunk of millennial hooey it made me nostalgic for Commando. This one throws in every hoary hellfire cliché.

A technologically marvelous animated movie that's just as funny and inventive as the first, but also more emotionally engaging than most live-action films. This is clearly a sequel in name only.

Perhaps most depressingly, in pulling out all the stops for an ugly, violent climax, he (Schumacher) cheapens this vividly drawn slice of life, turning it into a tiresomely flawed, garden-variety vigilante thriller.

If you're desperate for a James Bond fix, skip the movie and blow your 007 bucks on a copy of the soundtrack.

Burton's films are endearing and impassioned despite the fact that they generally fail to tell a whole story, create a single rounded character, or inspire even mild laughs or chills.

The most heartfelt tribute to women -- specifically, actresses -- he's (Almodovar) ever made.

"Run mad whenever you choose, but do not faint," Austen wrote in her early journals. Despite its brazen politics, Mansfield Park never goes giddily amok as promised.

A uniquely personal, vibrant mosaic of the American dream, and like a dream, it evaporates beautifully before our eyes.

42 Up is filled with truth and poignancy as these people reflect on their first half of their lives, their goals, ambitions, and how they, for the most part, succeeded in reinventing them.

One of those special movies whose freshness and vitality are so bounteously infectious, your humble reviewer wishes everyone had the pleasure of discovering it brand-new and undescribed.

It's yet another serial killer movie, a plot element that by this point in time, far from being disturbing or fascinating, is just plain dull.

You could do a lot worse than spend two hours in the company of two such talented actresses.

It's Besson's stunning visual fluency that takes center stage, and in the end, that's not quite enough.

A shovelful of silly manure from the get-go.

Normal ideas of truth, illusion, and representation are sent into the meat grinder, and the result is consistently disarming and beautiful.

First the TV show, then the video games, the playing cards, the books, the clothes, and now the movie -- the dreaded movie.

The final reel of Rosetta is like nothing else ever filmed, and it would be wrong to describe it.

For two hours and 35 minutes it is absolutely riveting.

Hellish matrimonial misfire.

One of our very few consummate movie star actors, Washington can't quite elevate this dismal material as he's been able to do in the past, but he retains his dignity.

Even if the antic futility of attempting to get an entire shtetl to pull together in the face of genocide is your idea of a day at the races, don't laugh too hard -- the out-of-nowhere ending will make you choke on every chuckle.

Easily the best millennial movie, Don McKellar's Last Night is also the only one to use the idea of apocalyptic end-time as a vehicle to explore the absurdity of human desire.

From the beginning of his career a fervent, epic documentarian, Herzog is a personal filmmaker as well, and My Best Fiend is certainly his most intimate and introspective film.

Brilliant, mind-boggling.

It's a wonderful reminder of the importance of music in the movies.

An aimless, pointless dawdle.

Tries to have it both ways -- as a kitschy ode to bodybuilding culture and as a tragic story of a man who was persecuted for his dreams.

A fresh and beautifully timed, if slight, romantic comedy.

The year's first sure-fire Oscar nominee has arrived with flying colors.

Aims low and cheats on an ending, but meanwhile it's a bottom-shelf hoot.

Wacky, vividly conceived but mundanely executed cartoon fantasy.

An ingenious, incredibly entertaining, Rorschach-blot meta-comedy based on a spec script (by first-timer Charlie Kaufman) that is completely unlike anything anyone has ever seen before.

There's talent to burn in this movie. But the flame is cold.

Inept, unfunny, and so brimming with bad ideas it's a wonder it wasn't manufactured by mandrills rather than adult humans.

Plays out like a raunchy, substandard WB soap.

Banderas may have been crazy to make such a heady directorial debut, but it's hard not to be charmed by his ambitions.