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.