There's nothing more incendiary than the reopening of a forgotten chapter of history --nothing more incendiary than telling the truth.

It's the awesome, metaphysically charged spectacle of man doing terrible things to man within the multicolored and multifarious cathedral of Nature.

It's got enough hilarious moments that, all in all, the film's bite is as toothsome as its bark.

An exhilarating and at times operatic film.

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.

An intensely involving, Ibsen-esque human drama populated by complex, sympathetic heroes.

Unfolds like quietly engrossing short fiction, reminding us that there are few things more pleasurable than being in the hands of a good storyteller.

Easily the best directorial debut of the year, and possibly the most mature and haunting film to ever come out of Scotland, Lynne Ramsay's Ratcatcher is a throat-catching masterpiece of lyricism, observation, and stone-cold realism.

A detective story without a solution and a coming-of-ager without discernable characters.

Best of all is the supporting performance of The Jackie Robinson Steppers Marching Band, a real group of high-school musicians in which the three girls all perform.

The dilemma is simple: Living, making art, and then dying does not constitute much of a story.

It's all well-acted and eerily compelling, but the shocker ending is patently implausible.

Dumont's movie has virtually nothing wrong with it -- aside from the fact that it drives people crazy. Take the leap, but expect no answers. Just like life, as they say.

Lusts for a feel-good ending the material doesn't comfortably provide. One can't help wondering how dismal Jerry and Dorothy's life together will be after the credits roll.

Given a decent script, they might make a fun summer movie. Given the script for Shanghai Noon, they've come up with a middling Old West oater that falls flat at least as often as it finds the funny bone.

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

If you haven't seen his (Crudup's) work before, Jesus' Son could be the one that makes you his biggest disciple.

Despite Arteta's best efforts, I eventually stopped caring about their bond because Chuck's character is conceived as such a two-dimensional yuppie.

Byrne is a stand-up poet the way some actors are stand-up comics. His innate depth prompts The Usual Suspects to transcend its own cleverness--and this is the movie's smartest, least predictable surprise.

Suzhou River might be more pulpy than profound, but it still sings its old song better than we've heard in years.

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

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

Emblematic of the man's (Oshima) career: ironic, ambiguous, sublime.

For all its wit and sharp casting, State and Main is way too pleased with itself to be funny or endearing.

Pure, irrational, claustrophobic, gritty, unpretentious.

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.

Croupier should please people who take their noir straight up -- with plenty of twists.

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