Beautifully shot and finely acted movie.

A remarkable movie with an unsatisfying ending, which is just the point.

It's basically your above-average nice drug movie.

Manages to be both astoundingly derivative and reasonably entertaining at the same time.

Guaranteed to jolt viewers of a Norman Rockwell mentality well into the 21st century.

This is not Tsui's best film by a substantial margin, but it's immense fun.

Delivers a thoughtful what-if for the heart as well as the mind.

As a document of rockin, youth rebellion, the film lodges perfectly between "American Graffiti" and "Trainspotting."

It manages to be sentimental without seeming trashy.

Perfectly acceptable, deliriously charming...a goofy Bmovie dolled up like a square-jawed A-list blockbuster.

For all its mystery and its stylistic finesse, there is something vaguely plodding about The Sweet Hereafter.

Despite a couple of low-budget, rookie-director rough spots, this fascinating look at Israel in ferment feels as immediate as the latest news footage from Gaza and, because of its heightened, well-shaped dramas, twice as powerful.

Despite some savvy camera movement, the production values obviously can't match American action films made for a hundred times the budget. Still, Hatamikia has put together a gripping drama that balances visceral suspense and interesting ideas.

This film is just too damn weird to pass up, and for the blacklight crowd, way cheaper (and better) than Pink Floyd tickets.

What's most impressive about this is that, if one didn't know better, the naturalism of the performances could be taken for that of a documentary.

As the story plows toward its finale, the cultural dislocation problems become worse, until by the end they almost defeat the whole film.

Steers' film will likely polarize the audience, which, if nothing else, gives it rare resonance; at least it makes you feel, where many similar indie efforts make you sleepy.

The movie is not always satisfying as a standard thriller, nor is it always clear; but it's never dull, either, and it displays a sensibility so weird as to be its own recommendation.

Any story's a good story if it's told well, and this one is, with chuckles to spare.

The highpoint of the film, acting-wise, comes from Bernadette Peters.

The film feels like a violation of the festival's philosophy of "participants only, no spectators": Who, after all, is going to sit in a theater to see this but a spectator? It is fun stuff to look at, though.

Utilizing lots of complicated, well-choreographed steadicam shots, La Salle directs with confidence -- this may yet be his true calling.

Headey, Skarsgård and Rampling flesh these people out marvelously, bringing them fully to life. It's almost a pity: The more real they become, the less pleasant is the time we spend with them.

In the end, The Fluffer is a film for the chastened romantic in us all -- gay, straight or "for pay."

One expects more from writer-director Wes Anderson (and his co-scribbler, Owen Wilson) than such frivolous fun that bears no lingering effect.

The extra-short length is puzzling -- about half an hour has been lopped off the length of the original Canadian release -- but what remains feels whole and wholly satisfying, a rare, successful merging of the obvious and the haunting.

This thing's all in fun. It's just a perfect movie for people who like to shout at the screen, so have at it.

If Drew Barrymore weren't at the center holding it all together, the result could have been disastrous.

At 75, Aranda can still make his actors sizzle on the screen as well as he did 10 years ago in "Lovers." The explicitly hot bits here may be few and far between, but what there is of them is choice.

Worth the price of admission if only to see the slinky Thurman decked out in a form-fitting, sequined pre-flapper era outfit. The word stunning hardly does her justice.

A spare film, with little dialogue but a lot to say.

The two lead performances are so good it contains more emotional depth than it probably has a right to.

The nuances of the performances -- in dialogue and dance -- and the rich, organic feel of the locations mark Amari as a director of significant promise.

Yes, the movie is obvious at time, banging you over the head with its message, and the use of shadows on a wall can seem overly broad. But these are small complaints when compared to the film's many strengths.

A modest, uneventful film, buoyed by fine, albeit low-key, performances and the ring of truth.

Shot in stylish black and white, with a memorably low-key performance from Duchesne, Bob le Flambeur is definitely worth checking out on the big screen in a fresh print.

Stylish, but definitely not for the squeamish

Brando wanders through the movie as if he's tolerating an annoying guest, sweetly charming one minute, detached and obnoxious the next.

Varda, still pixieish in her early 70s, is having fun here.

The movie will leave you smiling forgetfully on the way out, and Myers will have done his job.

All manner of superstitions, religious conspiracies and insurrections are aired, resulting less in awe than bewilderment. However, taken as an exciting and expansive cultural bridge, the film is a roaring success.

The film still delivers the goods, in part because of Eastwood's iconic presence and in part because of Daniels' scene-stealing work in what could have been a hokey role.

The performance itself (which aired on PBS and is available on DVD) apparently went perfectly; given the potential pitfalls that Miller documents, it's some kind of miracle.

Were it not for the gravity of the setting, the movie could just as easily be a comedy -- with everybody play-acting and doors opening and shutting and the repercussions of lies multiplying geometrically -- as a drama.

This may not seem to be the stuff of comedy, but a comedy it is, and a compelling one too, laden with hot sex and standout performances.

Just be advised guys, Blade II is as estrogen-free as movies get, so you might want to leave your date behind for this one, or she's gonna make you feel like you owe her big-time.

Shot in black and white by the renowned Raoul Coutard, and with a score by Michel Legrand, the film represents an idealized view of reality that will strike some viewers (including this one) as overly sentimental.

Stephen Earnhart's documentary lovingly covers the process -- veering between pathos, inspiration and mockery

It's an interesting, often worthwhile, film, but humor isn't its strongest attribute.

Full of fresh and unexpected observations about the cross-culturally complex lives of second-generation Indians living in the U.S.

It's odd for a film to be both dramatically conventional yet emotionally bizarre at the same time, as this one is.

Proves a lovely, sweet alternative for audiences fed up with the latest hell-on-wheels action thriller or the newest horror film comedy spoof.

While there's nothing original in Rush Hour, it runs through its well-worn paces with both wit and excitement.

The repetitious structure begins to grow wearing about two-thirds through, but the conclusion has an emotional wallop that justifies the wait.

Can barely move during its final half hour, which is a shame, because until then it's a frenetic, engaging ride -- a huge grin, not unlike the one Tom Cruise now hides behind his grownup's braces.

Pustules, puberty and pregnancy...seven stories tall! Mostly grand but occasionally grody

Forster is the reason that even non-Mamet-heads might consider giving Lakeboat a shot. It's worth it just to see him in his long one-take exchange with Johnston about booze, but he's remarkable throughout.

Gentle and gorgeous, honoring atmosphere over attitude.

Chuck Russell doesn't make masterpieces -- he makes good B movies ("The Mask," "The Blob"), and The Scorpion King more than ably meets those standards.

It is a moving and solidly entertaining comedy/drama that should bolster director and co-writer Juan José Campanella's reputation in the United States.

It's hard not to warm to a film that features William Shatner (playing himself) looking at De Niro's character and complaining about what a lousy actor he is.

We so often hear the lament that Hollywood films don't have characters we can care about that it's a real pleasure to note that all the people in this one feel fully developed. It'd be nice if there were more of a plot to go along with them.

Solidly entertaining little film.

Analyze This won't win any Oscars, and its comedy is pretty tortured in places, but the pleasures of watching DeNiro onscreen never diminish--not even when he's putting the glories of his criminal past at risk.

For all its brilliantly brazen sequences and energetic supporting players (as the young lovers' mothers, Brenda Blethyn and Lisa Banes are terrific), Pumpkin's abrupt shifts of mood and needlessly complicated ending(s) render its latter third a bit of a chore.

Everything leading up to the finale is funny and often heartfelt.

Shot on High Definition video, this exceptionally well-made but exceedingly bleak peek at tinseltown would be unbearable were it not for the sympathetic performance of Danny Huston.

If the performances are the prime reason the film is as engaging as it is, it must also be said that Majidi's visual style seems far more sophisticated than in "Children of Heaven."

The beasts are employed to splendid metaphorical effect, which may be lost on viewers perceiving nothing but an action romp.

With all its hip-hop and jive, Bulworth may seem new-style -- but actually it's proffering a populism that Frank Capra would have loved.

As a whole it's vibrant, witty and richly detailed.

Constantly touching, surprisingly funny, semi-surrealist exploration of the creative act.

It feels like a pilot episode for the most expensive made-for-cable cartoon ever produced, and if you expect quantity (or closure) for your $8 ticket, you may feel shorted. The quality, however, is unlikely to be disputed.

The film belongs to Jordan Brower, whose every appearance breaks one's heart, and makes some otherwise familiar material come alive.

If this all sounds masochistic, it most certainly is. But the filmmakers have rendered it with such grace and subtlety that the spectacle of three very intelligent people ruining each other's lives becomes irresistibly romantic.

It's inspiring and consistently exciting to the eye, mind and heart, as the plentiful formations -- global, but most of these English -- stimulate the imagination with their incredible beauty and complexity. Marvelous work all round.

Hovers curiously short of its full potential for mirth and mayhem. Still, the movie is more fair than foul, and it succeeds well enough as a freakish experiment and mockery of all concerned.

It's a heartfelt and powerful examination of faith that no serious student or enthusiast of theology or philosophy should miss.

These wonderfully adept actresses take so much pleasure in playing long-faded Southern belles, in mixing the genteel and the bawdy as they conduct their extended therapy session, that it will be difficult for even the most hardened Yankee curmudgeon to resist them.

As Rikki, Seda is a model of foul duplicity, and the movie itself is a relative rarity: an intelligent showcase of senseless machismo.

It's either the world's greatest infomercial for fame (and its omnipresent companion, notoriety) or the saddest eulogy of all.

Overcomes its visual hideousness with a sharp script and strong performances.

Whatever Dark Blue World lacks in pyrotechnics it makes up for with richly drawn characters, high drama and pointed historical ironies.

For those partial to sublimely happy endings there won't be a peep of complaint. Only us recalcitrant souls will be left wishing Punks had just a tad more spunk.

This is a sensitive, thinking person's movie with a lot on its mind.

If you're a football fan, chances are you won't be bored, and the distraction may be quite welcome. As for everyone else, you may lose interest right around the third quarter.

There's an eerie coolness to this film that's quite unsettling and un-Oshima-like. Rather lengthy, it requires patience. But adventurous moviegoers aren't likely to mind.

For most people, four hours pushes the outer comfort limits for theatrical viewing. My Voyage to Italy is well worth the time, but bringing along a thermos of espresso isn't a bad idea either.

Dominik's stylistic choices are savvy, but what really makes the movie work is Bana's extraordinary performance as Chopper.

In the end, after the super-modified shovel racing, wild half-pipe action and integral employment of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid," there's a poignancy to the piece.

We expect some depth and perspective from filmmakers, but even in talking about the movie Peralta sounds like an ex-high school quarterback who never got over the Big Game, or an old campus revolutionary who's never glimpsed the folly that went along with the fervor.

While the specifics of the plot are often as fragile as an actual glass house, those looking for a good night of disposable entertainment will find it here.

This isn't entertainment for the faint of heart.

A piquant entertainment and zeitgeist reflector designed to embolden little thrashettes.

One of the few American independent films right now that actually deserves its high praise.

Shot in the mean streets of a great and compelling city, here's a fascinating vision of societal upheaval that would likely awe De Sica himself.

While 101 Reykjavik has already been compared to "High Fidelity," with which it shares the notion of an emotionally immature male narrating a tale of his own failings, it's probably closer to something like "Spanking the Monkey," which took the Oedipal angle even further.

You'll laugh a lot, but not without a sense of animal desperation.