McGlynn's film clocks in at just a shade under two hours, which normally would be a little long for a documentary. In this case, the length not only is warranted but welcomed.

A lovely jaunt that ends up becoming one of Allen's most enjoyable films, start-to-finish, in years.

A movie that offers exactly the kind of bittersweet drama you'd expect from something called White Irish Drinkers.

The world is a whole lot more complex than Shadyac seems to realize. If all we need is love, wouldn't we all still be wearing tie-dyed shirts and headbands?

Their story, as told by Pooley, also is a touching and quietly meaningful one, built around themes of tolerance, self-acceptance and unconditional love.

Spurlock banks on his charm and likability -- and it's that charm and likability that make The Greatest Movie Ever Sold so much fun to watch.

Best of all, here there be fun.

What it lacks in style, however, it more than makes up for in substance, as Shearer -- as smart as he is funny -- has assembled a vital and admirably accessible post-mortem on Hurricane Katrina.

A cast of American actors -- including Matthew Modine, Whoopi Goldberg and Wallace Shawn -- were hired to provide recognizable voices for the English version of the film. They fulfill that requirement, too: Their voices are, indeed, recognizable -- though little more.

The movie is quietly affecting, as Rush offers a moving and rewarding yarn about the need to move on in the face of personal tragedy, and about the strength of human connections.

It's a fun one to talk about -- if only for the opportunity to shake your head in amused disbelief at what you just saw.

So what is Bridesmaids? A boozy wedding comedy? A touching character story? A paean to friendship? At turns, it's each -- making it a wedding movie with a commitment problem and giving Feig's scattered film a rudderless quality between the laugh lines.

These characters are so likeable, and so well-portrayed, that it's easy to go along with it all.

It is fluffy, yes, but it also is ugly and annoying and something you neither want nor need.

An unapologetic B-movie, Dylan Dog: Dead of Night tries mightily to cover its flaws with a peppering of humor -- much of it supplied courtesy of Dylan's zombie sidekick, played by Sam Huntington -- and an at-times fun "Buffy the Vampire Hunter" vibe.

It is a thoughtful film, a serious one, and one that is sneakily affecting.

Red Riding Hood needs a better agent.

A predictable but painless pastiche of high school drama clichés that will give its intended tween audience a lot to squeal about -- and leave their parents reminiscing quietly about how good films from '80s icon John Hughes were.

It's a film for patient moviegoers. But for those moviegoers, it stands to be a rewarding experience.

Despite the derivative nature and low production values of Super, there are laughs in the at-times ragged script.

Potiche never becomes funny enough or interesting enough.

If you're a mom or dad bringing your own little primates to the movie, that's a good thing.

McNamara's relentlessly shiny, happy outlook crosses the line between believable and artificial by about the 10-minute mark.

A textbook example of ye olde two-joke movie.

The kind of indie gem that doesn't come around nearly often enough -- and, when they do, often not enough people go to see them.

There are moments when the freak-show elements of the film threaten to overpower its message, but that message is such a fascinating one -- and the debate an important one as well -- that The Elephant in the Living Room manages to overcome them.

It feels more like a poor man's "Poltergeist, " minus the static-filled TV.

Complemented by striking, well-conceived visuals, in Fukunaga's hands Bronte's tale of love and woe becomes one well worth repeating.

A slick and sweet film all on its own, a harmless bit of fun that fills the Easter-movie void.

Burger's film would have been better had he ended it about three minutes earlier than he does -- a move that would have given his movie at least a dash of profundity.

The film -- lame of title but big on fun.

This is a film custom-made for dog lovers.

It's a decent comedy, mind you, one with its fair share of chuckles. But it's really more amusing than it is fall-out-of-your-seat funny.

Not the deepest stuff, but thought-provoking all the same -- and entertaining to boot.

The school freak, played by Mary-Kate Olsen, misses a chance to really have some fun as this story's wicked witch.

A movie that wears its heart on its sleeve.

A beautifully uncomplicated story, really -- about the love between daddies and their little girls.

Slowly becomes a thoughtful and interesting deconstruction and demythologizing of American celebrity.

That character flaw makes for some great shock-fueled laughs in Lewis' film -- Giamatti does full-on comic rage as well as anyone.

There are entertaining moments along the way, and some likeable characters.

Dumont's fans might find this latest exercise enjoyable, but his style of filmmaking is an acquired taste. I doubt those without that taste are going to acquire it here.

McDonald's film never really finds its footing -- and The Eagle never takes flight.

It's not really a Disney film. Rather, this is a product of Starz Animation. It's a key distinction, because -- well, because Starz Animation is no Disney, and it's certainly no Pixar. It proves that here.

Many scenes, like Another Year itself, don't actually go anywhere.

It is raw, it is searing, it is honest.

Once the real story hits its stride, it's easy to get lost in Sanctum.

It is beautiful, and it is difficult to watch. It is heartwarming, and it is heart-wrenching. It is absorbing, and it's unsettling.

Like the original, it is a moody, atmospheric film, one boasting significantly more depth than your typical blow-'em-up.

Part "The Great Escape" and part "Lawrence of Arabia, " Weir's epic The Way Back is ambitious in scope, grand in vision and rich with examples of the resilience of the human spirit.

The only waste would be if people didn't go see it.

An uneven story that tries too hard to be meaningful and not hard enough to be funny.

Feels like a movie that belongs in June or July, with all the other comic book fare. But I'll gladly take it now, no matter what the calendar says.

Boasting a rock-solid academic architecture, Bhutto is a film bursting at the seams with gravitas.

To be clear: Despite the holiday flavor, and despite the pint-sized hero, this is no kids' movie. There is swearing. There is blood. There is an army of 180 very nude Santas coursing through the snow. That's not the kind of thing Frank Capra ever could have dreamed of -- and that change of pace is exactly what makes Rare Exports a rare, if unexpected, holiday treat.

The really annoying thing about Jack Black's Gulliver's Travels is not so much that it's a bad movie -- it is bad, but only run-of-the-mill bad, not epic-misfire bad -- but that the movie sullies a piece of literature that has endured for nearly 300 years for the sake of a cheap kiddie flick that'll be forgotten in a month.

One of the chief reasons that director Tom Hooper's richly produced film works so well is because it operates on so many different levels. The King's Speech is all about layers, and Hooper keeps it humming on several at once.

This is even worse than a repetitive rehash. These "Fockers" are just lazy, limp -- and lame.

This is a dirty, stinky Western -- the kind where authenticity is the guiding artistic hand and where a layer of filth and grime have seemingly settled over everything but the popcorn in your lap.

It's the same fine line that so often separates artfulness and "trying too hard" -- a line that Lebanon tramples all over.

Almost feels as if it is two different films. One is the opening 20 minutes or so, in which most of the screwball comedy takes place. The other comes when Yimou gets on with the real story. That's where the payoff comes in.

Clearly, Brevig's past as a visual effects maestro had him focusing more on the look of Yogi Bear than on crafting anything resembling a clever narrative.

How do you know when a romantic comedy just isn't working? Key indicators are that your audience doesn't get goose bumps in the inevitable third-act reunion. They don't get misty-eyed. In short, they don't really care.

A punch-drunk tale whose fitful ramble from Jerry Springer-style family seaminess to "Rocky"-like triumph is elevated enormously by knockout performances.

Arriving with a savage grace, director Darren Aronofsky's nightmare-come-to-life Black Swan cements his reputation not only as one of the more daring filmmakers of his generation, but also as an actor's director of the first order.

It's hard to resist the pairing of such talented actors as Robert Downey Jr. and Zack Galifianakis - and they prove why here. They are funny guys, both of whom make the most of the material.

Without the fantastic performances from Gandolfini, Stewart and Leo, it wouldn't hold together nearly as well as it does.

A documentary that is equal parts sweet science, brutal art and masterful filmmaking.

The whole thing is kind of comforting in a damn-the-torpedoes, laugh-at-what-scares-you-most kind of way.

It represents the rare lead role for Mackie, and he seizes the opportunity, convincingly playing the part of a soft-spoken former Black Panther.

The updated version of the familiar tale strikes a nice balance between humor, adventure and romance, making it a movie that will appeal to the whole family.

Boasting a rich look and an engrossing storyline, it's the rare "to-be-continued" film that doesn't leave its audience feeling cheated.

If there's a breath of fresh air in it all, it's in the form of the young actress Jessica Barden playing a smoking, swearing, Tom Sawyer-flavored teenage delinquent determined to add some life to her excruciatingly boring rural existence.

The result is a movie that is about as riveting as -- well, as your average Robert Novak column.

127 Hours -- just like "Slumdog Millionaire" -- is a masterful slice of four-star cinema, featuring an irresistible performance by James Franco, breathtaking cinematography, and the kind of deep, searching soul that is absent from so much of what comes out of Hollywood.

The hard, cold truth is that the hard, cold For Colored Girls is just plain difficult to fall in love with, regardless of the amount of passion Perry poured into it or how much meaning he's freighted it with.

As a result, Hereafter isn't so deep that it will change the way many people think about the afterlife. But it is heartfelt and thoughtful and, in a way, comforting.

RED is so much fun -- and its Over the Hill Gang so likeable -- that this is one of those rare cases where I wouldn't mind seeing them come out of retirement again for another romp.

A reasonably well-made biopic, with crowd-pleasing moments, but one that -- despite that title -- isn't really about the animal.

It's also the kind of movie that, for all of its smarts and huggability, stumbles every so often. Usually that happens when it's trying just a bit too hard to be cute, such as in its occasional surrealist, animation-assisted segments.

The result is a ripped-from-the-Zeitgeist film that is razor-sharp, an astute and funny portrait of the early 2000s, with all its LOL's, its IMO's and its WTF's. Mostly its WTF's.

Without subtitles this time, it also stands a very real chance of migrating out of America's art houses and into its multiplexes, where it can sink its teeth into a whole new audience.

Little more than a glorified situation comedy. The problem is, it's all situation and no comedy.

An exceedingly well-assembled genre picture, a spell-binding, edge-of-your-seat thriller.

A movie that charms its way to being a kind of well-crafted teen touchstone that very well could become to today's generation what "Ferris Bueller" was to teens of the '80s.

Never Let Me Go isn't the kind of movie you talk about on the drive home -- it's even better. It's the kind that makes you sit quietly and think, rolling it around in your head and considering the angles.

Rather than "Greased Lightning," we get a holding pattern -- which is better than a crash-landing, but still ...

By the time The American is finished, it feels like one great big pointless exercise. With George Clooney on the poster.

Directed by someone you've never heard of and starring actors you won't be able to place, there's only one reason for a movie such as the locally shot Last Exorcism to exist: to scare the bejeezus out of you.

The Lottery Ticket doesn't hit the comedy jackpot, but it doesn't roll snake eyes, either. In my book, that's a winner.

She could stand to learn a lesson herself, from another magical governess -- you know, the one about the spoon full of sugar.

I love a good, brainless action flick as much as the next alpha male, but this time I had a whole lot of trouble laughing along.

I've got a fourth verb to add to the comma-challenged title of Julia Roberts' how-to-be-happy travelogue, Eat Pray Love. How about "edit"?

A refreshingly original take on the comic book adaptation.

As with most Ferrell projects, there's nothing profound going on in The Other Guys. It's just a bit of good, stupid fun, had at the expense of an uber-formulaic genre that has long been ripe for the spoofing. But it also works.

Rarely is an actress asked to do so much with so little -- and even rarer does that actress succeed as well as Clarkson does.

It's probably best not to think very hard about any of it -- just dummy up and laugh along.

A movie with a message, but the subtle kind; it's whispered wisdom, wrapped up in a story of mystery, of love, of regret, of repentance and redemption.

The result is a film with sporadic outbursts of wackiness, but one that (Oh, Fortuna's Wheel!) never gains traction from a storytelling standpoint.