For all its long shadows and ominous atmosphere, this is a very funny movie -- as funny as the Coens' masterful "Fargo."

Les Destinées has a leisurely, contemplative pace without ever growing boring. Still, at the end, we are left somehow empty. For all the time we spend with these people, we never really get inside of them.

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.

The effects are smashing, yet there's a heart behind them.

One of the most genuinely shocking films you'll ever see.

Despite a little rough stuff here and there, this is one of the more insightful and affecting teen-trauma films of recent years.

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.

Paul Cox's admirers are sure to embrace this latest eruption of sincerity and sensitivity.

This movie would be worth feting in any season. It's wrenching but never manipulative, stoic but never dull, exhausting but never wearying.

The actual finale, which so betrays what's come before it that it leaves one walking out of the theater holding a grudge against what was.

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

It's a paint-by-numbers job of the worst sort, stuffed with more tired old baseball baloney than Harry Caray and about as dramatic as shagging flies in St. Pete.

It's a bewildering but deeply satisfying paradox, this constant, nearly silent collision in Tran's films of the visible world and the turbulent, unseen world.

It's everything most movies this year have not been: deeply felt, genuine, gracious.

Ustaoglu has pulled off a rare feat in this film, enlightening us about a horrible situation while never losing sight of his central tale of friendship and loyalty.

The director is in fine form with The Closet, an expertly acted divertissement that may well be headed for a Yank incarnation within the next few years.

Enormously appealing romantic comedy-drama.

The result is a lovely piece of writing brought to life by a terrific cast, a vivid sense of place and, not incidentally, some perfectly chosen pop tunes by such as Bree Sharp, Leona Naess, Smog and Tin Star. As for Lauren Ambrose, her big-screen debut is a revelation.

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

Arteta targets Middle American ennui with wit, compassion and no shortage of ornery malaise.

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

Sad to say, the story is simply too slight to sustain the film.

Washington creates an indelibly charming and terrifying character whose volatile blend of dedication and horrible expediency keeps us off balance.

For three jerks bitching in a box, Tape makes the most of its minimalism. At its best, it's Betrayal for the Breakfast Club set.

Heavy with mood and Finn's fine music, Jeffs' debut feature merely moistens us when we should be soaked. Maybe next time she'll let it all come down.

Like gathering storm clouds, Donnie Darko creates an atmosphere of eerie calm and mounting menace -- stands as one of the most exceptional movies of 2001.

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.