A deeply felt celebration of the life force, as embodied in Girard's fierce performance as a man who may not have done all he could, but had an enviably great time on the way.

Reeder makes a compelling lost soul, so that even the most soddenly moralistic moments are worth watching.

A lovely little coming-of-age story, this Taiwanese romance was directed by Chih-Yen Yee with a skillful subtlety enhanced by his young cast.

Given the subject matter, the movie is almost fatally lacking in passion.

It's a big snooze because we can't take the main characters seriously.

Not to be cruel, but the aspirations of the movie and its principals are so far beyond their reach" not to mention budget"that it arrives in theaters dependent on the kindness of strangers.

As gorgeous and gripping as it is faithful to the spirit of Patrick O'Brian's celebrated series of historical novels.

I've laughed harder during a single "Road Runner" cartoon than I did throughout Back in Action.

Mostly, it's a story of violence, and it's superbly told.

It's an interesting conceit that quickly becomes a precious annoyance especially since the drama itself is so static.

Apparently Louis Kahn was not much of a father, raconteur or businessman. But he was a genius, and he left his mark on all the people whose lives he touched.

A non-sappy and genuinely adorable confection. It wiped away the Scrooge in me for 90 enchanting minutes.

Structurally, Love Actually is less like "Four Weddings" than it is "Scary Movie 3." ­Curtis throws every gag he can think of at the screen and the ones that don't stick, he throws again and again.

Is it possible for an historically -based Holocaust movie to be schmaltzy? This one sure comes close.

Even aside from the metaphorical aspect, this may be the first movie to give a precise sense of what drives people who self-mutilate.

In performance, Earle comes across as a successor to Woody Guthrie or Johnny Cash. In this fawning portrait, however, he seems more like music's Michael Moore.

Though Army officials vigorously defend the school, after watching so many grim interviews with victims of the school's alumni, agreeing with Smihula's skepticism is finally unavoidable.

In general, movies made by improv comedy groups are hit or miss. And this one, from the Upright Citizens Brigade, misses a whole lot more than it hits.

Unless you're seriously into the post-"Matrix" culture, which includes books, games, animation and interactive Web sites, or you believe the Wachowskis have a philosophy worth wading through, the two-part sequel adds nothing indispensable to the first story.

The remarkable footage includes damning evidence of how the media, the people and the army were manipulated. Which leads to that eternal question - if it's not on TV, did it really happen?

The mordant humor and far-reaching observations of the book don't come across in Robert Benton's "Masterpiece Theatre"-style direction.

Since the movie's sensibility ranges from the preposterous to the absurd, there are few genuine frights.

A brilliantly pitch-perfect sendup of a particular type of cheesy movie.

It irks the ink out of me to see Lane exalted as a hero for doing what any responsible editor would do, then being paid to consult on his own canonization.

Garbus spent three years patiently mining for beauty in the ugliest of environments. The remarkable result stands as a challenge to anyone who would have seen only the worst and walked right by.

Of this much I'm sure: It's an awful movie.

What really makes the jaw drop is the presence of so many talented actors in what seems like traditional TV treacle. Saddest of all is Debra Winger, reduced to playing the wife-as-wallpaper role. For this she came back to Hollywood?

The jokes come in endless flurries, and if they're working - even at a ratio of 1 in 4 - you're laughing more than you're not. The Zucker-Proft team simply has a higher batting average than the Wayans.

Though Brother Bear is as beautiful as any of Disney's hand-drawn features, the gang-written script is deadly flat.

A ­movie that takes impartiality to new places artistically. The film is infuriating.

You don't mess with perfection. That is the main reason why The Singing Detective, a virtual remake of the ­brilliant BBC-TV series of the 80s, falls flat on its psoriatic face.

A memorable portrait of a true New York character, Rob Fruchtman and Rebecca Cammisa's documentary ably captures the blazing force at its center.

Campion has made something that's almost unbearably pretentious.

Director Marcus Nispel, a rock video vet making his feature debut, knows how to ratchet up the tension. His remake is a far, far better-looking thing than the original. There's also more humor, especially in the over-the-top performance of drill sergeant-turned-actor R. Lee Ermey as the loudest of the inbreds.

Brisk pacing and a remarkable cast achieve the sleight-of-hand effect of making you forgive some implausible twists and a sanitized ending.

Heavily influenced by Guy Ritchie, director Mo gets most of his comic mileage from a Hasidic Jew and an angry dwarf -- which should tell you everything you need to know.

As pat as some of its conclusions may seem, this low-budget effort has charm, fine acting and one of the few realistic screen depictions of the awkward dynamics of a family trying to circle its wagons.

Overwrought and overlong, Returner might been a rousing B-movie -- had it not been hamstrung by Yamazaki's bigger pretensions.

Paltrow does this role exceptionally well, but it is underwritten.

The movie portrays Guerin -- regarded by many as a hero -- as an irritating figure.

A charming runt of a movie. It's not all it could be, but it's the best the pound had to offer this week.

If Intolerable Cruelty isn't a convincing love story, it's a hugely entertaining one, with comic relief -- in the form of Cedric the Entertainer as a voyeuristic private eye and Tom Aldredge as a decaying law-firm boss issuing directives while hooked up to life-support -- piled on top of the comedy.

This long-awaited movie has been unwisely chopped into two pieces -- the second is due in February -- when it really needed to be one long, delirious ride.

Director Uwe Boll wholeheartedly embraces the film's concept, and with some fancy editing and a pulsing soundtrack, the effect really is like watching a video game.

While it's not quite as satisfying as Chabrol's underappreciated "Merci pour le chocolat" (2000), it's still nasty fun at the expense of the upper middle class.

Billed as the first film to go from conception to the big screen within the Sundance program, Dopamine is an amiably slight independent film that probably should have gone directly to the Sundance Channel.

Nolot elicits the last response expected from a movie that's almost entirely about sex: a yawn.

The leads are all pros, but thanks to the increasing onslaught of shock humor about abortions and rape, among other things, what starts out amusing eventually becomes something of a drag.

The white-knuckle center of the movie is Sean Penn, who gives an utterly raw performance as Jimmy, father of the dead girl. It's one of the few times that a parent's grief has felt real on the screen through all its ugly permutations.

It is to Padilha's enormous credit that he steadfastly kicks aside our own culturally imposed frames of reference, insisting that we see the truth, and the humanity, within this very real story.

Other than the terribly miscast Posey, the cast is solid, with Dukakis wrenching the heart as a mother tested to the max by her son's request. But the movie didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.

The tension of Matt having to work alongside his wife without being able to trust her provides the movie's real electricity, sexual and otherwise.

School of Rock may be to Black what "The Nutty Professor" was to Jerry Lewis, or "Groundhog Day" was to Bill Murray - that rare, perfectly tailored opportunity to play against one's broadest impulses. Not to neutralize them, necessarily, but to tame them and turn them into something very human and charming.

Of them all, only McCartney looks out of place, perhaps mistaking the venue for Vegas. There in a nutshell could be the answer to why the Beatles broke up.

Everyone involved can claim credit, but it's Dinklage, in an understated, outstanding performance, who turns this unlikely tale into art that will strike a chord with any open-minded audience.

It's hard to care what really happened on Wonderland Ave. when the audience hates the neighborhood.

Much of the film is sub-sophomoric, but Campbell and Davis give hilarious deadpan performances.

Stooping to low-rent laffs By ELIZABETH WEITZMAN SPECIAL TO THE NEWS Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore & Eileen Essel (on floor) DUPLEX. With Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore. Directed by Danny DeVito. Running time: 88 mins. Rated PG-13: Slapstick violence, gross-out humor. There are people who can look at a creaky, crumbling house and home right in on the solid framework and fabulous fireplace. In "Duplex," Ben Stiller is the fireplace. As for the structure, well, this rather rickety comedy boasts a solid base, though sadly, too much of it has been plastered over with moldy jokes and leaky plot devices.

The screenplay is laced with wit and sharp dialogue, and the supporting cast more than makes up for Johnson's inexperience and occasional stiffness.

Lane...is as stunning and changeable as that Tuscan countryside. Without her, this movie would be irksome, pandering as it does to stereotypes, including that of the American woman who goes abroad for easy sex with limpid-eyed hunks.

But for that one bright, incongruous yuk-fest in the classroom, Luther is deadly material, full of self-righteousness and devoid of balance.

Oddly, almost unrelentingly, grim.

Mystifyingly bad given the talent involved, Southlander is an in-jokey, hipster escapade that appears to have been made on a drunken weekend because there was nothing better to do.

It's hard to take this movie seriously. It's the cinematic equivalent of dotting your i's with a big heart, a very youngish view of life and death in which everything is too neatly wrapped up with a bow.

Green's aggressively whimsical autobiography, which he narrates entirely in rhyme, will challenge all but the most open-minded audiences.

The film is hampered by a somewhat shallow, soap-operatic climax. But Knoller is superb as a practical man trying to balance reason and emotion. Fox does an excellent job capturing the claustrophobia of army life, made all the more suffocating by having to hide one's true self.

Sharp, erotic performances are the mainstay of Olivier Assayas' unnerving Demonlover, a visually stylish movie that equates and fuses high-stakes corporate negotiations with the video-game mentality.

The worst performance in a film that diminishes even the talented Stockard Channing is given by Allen. He's never written a more unpleasant, vapid or irredeemable character for himself, and he makes it worse by overplaying.

The jolts are mild and too easily anticipated.

A raucous gospel comedy that's as broad as co-star Beyonce Knowles' vowels and chockablock with foot-stomping, up-with-the-choir music that will have even atheists praising the Lord.

A predictable outcome is not bad if it's fun getting to it. But this story is so lamely conceived and presented that it's a grind.

The filmmakers' decision to go with prosthetic enhancements rather than CGI gives the snouts, fangs and snapping jaws a refreshingly tactile look.

It's too big an ensemble to provide enough back story for each player. But Sayles doesn't give his characters easily digestible labels, like "kook" or "pathetic loser."

Having written, co- directed and played the lead in this awkward, ego-driven memoir, Hayata has turned a genuinely compelling life story into an embarrassing vanity production.

Winterbottom informs us that, though fictional, his story represents thousands of real lives, and there is a hardly a false note, which makes this both a difficult and exceedingly memorable film to watch.

So desperately eager to please: Gaudreault doesn't offer much in the way of wit or originality, but he's determined to win us over with sheer enthusiasm.

Though the Chinese government won't be too happy about it, everyone else ought to be deeply moved by the tragedies Peosay records.

Exhibiting the same sort of patience as his sensible hero, Philibert has created an extraordinarily humane portrait of a partnership between one adult and his very fortunate charges.

Other than a few witty jokes and a game cast, there's nothing particularly special here.

The direction is still slick, but Matchstick Men gets most of its thrills from the unknowable in human interaction. This could be the biggest "scam" Scott himself has pulled off.

Paying homage to Sergio Leone, "Mexico" aims too high and, in the process, becomes more like every generic, overplotted drug-cartel-and-revenge flick out there.

Jovovich needed a steadying hand to keep her from flying out of her socks, and Pritikin, on his maiden solo as a director, couldn't or didn't have the heart to provide it.

A smartly written, confidently directed film that delivers big laughs while developing two of the year's most earnest characters and some of its most rewarding sentiments.

Although we never feel any true connection to the enigmatic actress, there's no denying the inventiveness of Kon's homage to the possibilities of cinema.

A brilliant example of the genre -- with romantic subplots to boot.

The old footage is definitely compelling, but once Moss trains his focus on the quotidian present, the movie takes on too much water to stay afloat.

An amazingly self-assured movie, it percolates with themes and ideas, all held together by the gift of the bull's parts.

After a smart start, it sinks into sentimental goo that traps even the aggressively snarky Spade.

Certainly a dark spirit is hovering over this inane production. Something has sucked the life out of it.

Too often crosses the line between good melodrama and rank cliché.

Macaulay Culkin still can't act, and it's no longer cute. His performance in Party Monster is so embarrassing one doesn't know where to look.

Characters do little more than run around the same track incessantly, leaving us waiting for revelations that never arrive.

The result, while slight, is a poignant portrait of one of New York's all-star outlaws.

There are some nicely gory touches for genre connoisseurs...But JC2 lacks the all-important character development we got in the first installment.

Exploitation shamelessly posing as empowerment, Neema Barnette's self-congratulatory drama about women in prison promises to reveal shocking truths.

After 45 minutes of incomparable boredom, the movie gets slightly better when it stops reaching for cheap yuks and lets the actors do what they do well.

Just when you think it's a violent drama, it turns into a comic road picture, before finally becoming a tender romance.

Brodsky's last film before his death is a moving tribute to his career.