It's an exhilarating display of filmic artistry.

First-time writer-director Mark Hanlon creates a solidly trippy atmosphere.

Offers little in the way of splendor in the grass.

The movie is a shambles, a rambling, disjointed love tragedy with a story that amounts to little more than a mess of fade-outs, sloppy montages, and dramatic sketches.

It's gibberish, but when X works at all, it works not on the brain, but on the gut.

Yet another leaden, witless, cliché-drunk, teen romantic comedy starring the preposterously good-looking stars of mediocre TV series.

Li's light touch and explosive fighting skills deserve a better vehicle than this overcooked pot of New Jack suey.

All of the filmmaker's fine work and good intentions cannot make this repetitive and finally tiresome saga fly.

Only really comes to exuberant life during the musical numbers.

Crude and witless.

Yields beguiling nectar.

The once-talented Mr. Polanski is hard to spot.

Alas, for now we're at the mercy of a screenplay whose beats are too often as poorly calculated as the movie's title.

I've not stopped thinking about it -- weighing might-have-beens and alternative courses of action, as though remembering an actual event rather than a nimble, superbly-realized fantasy. That's a first-rate achievement.

As intriguing as the premise sounds, Mission to Mars hasn't a single moment of real suspense.

Isn't terribly revealing, and though it is interesting to watch Condo paint, it's only interesting for so long.

This one somehow gets about 300 percent better in its last quarter-hour -- suddenly this is a movie worth watching -- and it's over.

The two leads have a wonderful chemistry together.

Likable, but frustratingly lazy, Ghost Dog has coolness running all through it, but little substance.

Follows a predictable low-comedy path, but does it with such fierce appeal and beautifully wrought wit that it doesn't feel quite like any comedy American theaters have seen since the equally underrated "Grosse Pointe Blank."

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."