The funniest movie of Smith's I've seen. It's "When Harry Did Sally."

Edward's a remarkable young gentleman when you consider the hell he's been through: It turns out he's always 17, his fate to keep repeating high school, forever and ever. If that's my only option, kindly burn me at the stake.

Its priceless clips from the disco era aside, The Secret Disco Revolution laughably fails to turn Barry White and Donna Summer into the Che Guevara and Emma Goldman of the dance floor.

Honest but also derivative and crude.

See it - if you dare.

The film is sober, honest and serious about an important subject.

Perhaps the best compliment I can pay to his work in Edge of Darkness is that I wouldn't particularly want to see this movie with grumpy Harrison Ford starring instead. Welcome back, Mel.

The potential for suspense is dropped (there's a subplot about the receptionist's flight from her violent husband, but he appears in only a couple of scenes) in favor of lots of hushed interludes in which nothing happens.

Meet Moondog — a movie character you’ll want to punch in the face.

This pointless study of a witless character is a sad waste of Law’s talents. The more zestily he delivers Dom’s profane tirades, the more you wish Shepard gave us a reason to care about this lout.

A rare dud from great Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar, I’m So Excited! is a campy, sex-obsessed spoof of airborne-disaster movies that never really gets off the ground.

The movie’s strength is, surprisingly, the narration, spoken with gentle gravity by Moni Moshonov.

A disappointingly superficial treatment of a fascinating historical incident.

The most devastating spoof of reality TV since Albert Brooks' 1978 "Real Life."

So s-l-o-w-l-y paced it seems twice as long as its two-hour running time.

Lively, well-acted and directed with assurance.

Ali Zaoua doesn't have the fireworks that made "City of God," the story of Brazilian youth gangs, a crossover hit. But in its own, low-key way, Ali Zaoua is just as stirring.

It's an original, and a gamble, and one of those movies that works better than it should, despite considerable flaws of conception and execution.

If Schwarzberg had chosen to concentrate on eccentrics, rural artists or people like his New York bike messenger, female aerobatic champion and California cliff dancer, "Heart and Soul" would have been a much more interesting film.

Pleasing to the eye, with lavish sets, ravishing costumes and two great-looking stars. Unfortunately, there is little else to recommend this overwrought, melodramatic bodice-ripper.

The debut film of Brandon Cronenberg deals out shivers and flinches in little hypodermic jabs.

Sometimes beautiful to look at but ultimately too poetic for its own good.

Credit Westfeldt, who is also the writer and director, with a classic setup for farce, brightly executed.

Detour does a fine job of giving drivers yet another reason to stress out, but that anxiety doesn’t extend to its hero’s fate.

This warped masochistic cousin to David Cronenberg's "Crash" - not to be confused with the Oscar winner of the same name - is well worth seeing for Farmiga's stunning performance.

Deploying an impeccable American accent, Brit Henry Cavill may be as charming as the late great Christopher Reeve.

All are subjects worthy of discussion, but tackling them in one film disrupts the movie's momentum and shortchanges viewers. Baichwal could have devoted a single film to just BP's disgraceful behavior.

Travis, making his feature debut, gets very likable performances out of his female stars. And it's nice to see sex given its due as a wide, wild buffet rather than the standard missionary, bra-on fare we're usually served in a rom-com. Mmm-hmmm!

Unless the director was aiming for a Victorian "Black Christmas," though, he overshot his mark

Relentlessly grim.

The movie has the feel of a weary business trip.

The more serious Potter gets (there are several earnest soliloquies about dirt), the harder it is not to laugh.

This is a sexy, funny, ravishing and dark revision that keeps Heathcliff’s frightening obsessiveness, emotional toxicity and sadism intact while ably contorting the tale into a decadent, modern, yet still distinctly gothic, romance.

Ritchie is tops when it comes to getting a group of guys (and, occasionally, gal) together to complete a bloody, belligerent task. And this is as taut an ensemble of his as ever.

Instead of trying to make Austen's life entertaining by pretending it was just like her work - as in the dull recent French movie "Molière" - Becoming Jane has a more astute appreciation of how Austen, or any fiction writer, works. There's a bit of stealing from life, lots of exaggeration, some wish fulfillment, mix-and-match character assembly.

A flawed drama offering a rare look at the Catholic Church's canonization process.

A test of endurance, and not just because you need a rather stronger word than "explicit" to describe this long-unreleased, self-consciously provocative film.

A rather crude affair that feels like a student film, due to performances that often lack conviction and would-be "street" dialogue that rings false.

Director and co-writer Lexi Alexander choreographs the fight scenes with thrilling chaos, and the plot unfolds expertly if melodramatically.

Ang Lee's Taking Woodstock achieves an amazing feat: It turns the fabled music festival, a key cultural moment of the late 20th century, into an exceedingly lame, heavily clichéd, thumb-sucking bore.

Driven is a lot like a DeLorean: Looks great, but moves slow — if it even moves at all.

A long slog through ancient muck, so-so sword fights and dumb luck.

Good acting and some very good scenes don't quite add up to a good film.

Although the film can be a tad unrelenting, it’s highly watchable.

The movie fails to add up to the sum of its laborious parts. There's no emotional investment in any of the characters, and you can see the writer-director's windup con coming a mile away.

I'll grant that the film has many layers. All of them are terrible.

When Hopkins' Hitch directs the audience by waving his hands like a symphony conductor - it's a nice callback to a Hannibal Lecter highlight - it's one of the best scenes of the year: a delightfully personal way to show how the story of "Psycho" concluded.

At a certain point, the pattern of Knoop’s reticence, then acquiescence to Albert’s masquerade becomes slightly repetitive, but JT LeRoy still gives a compelling inside look at the head-scratching hoax that succeeded, in part, due to musty notions of what a hot shot writer ought to look like.

Well, it smells, all right, but authentic isn't the word I'd use for this maudlin male weepie, a compendium of the worst clichés of sports and journalism movies.

The title It's About You is something Kurt Markus claims Mellencamp told him when he commissioned the film. With the elder Markus' self-important, egotistical narration rarely shutting up, it was a fairly prophetic remark.

Half as long and twice as much fun as the self-important "Lincoln," Roger Michell's charming sex-and-politics comedy Hyde Park on Hudson is basically a frothy tabloid take on presidential history. And for my money, that's a good thing in a season filled with puffed-up prestige pictures.

Turn the River lacks almost everything Eigeman has as a performer: charisma, wit and snappy delivery.

M. Night Shyamalan’s new thriller, Old, is campy, poorly written, candy-colored and subtle as Eurovision.

Maybe it's because I share Burton"s twisted affection for the 1970s, but for all its shortcomings, I'd sooner watch a sequel to Dark Shadows than another installment of the bloated "Pirates of the Caribbean" saga any day.

Never before have I been so emotionally involved with an apple core, or seen salvation in a flip-flop. Taika Waititi, you had me at nunchuks.

The new "Pelham," although no classic, is a lot of fun if you're in the right mood.

Beautifully shot and often moving.

A substandard attempt to outfit a World War II submarine with every haunted-house cliché known to man and filmmakers.

The entire film is a feast for the eyes that brings to mind the work of Hong Kong ace Wong Kar-Wai.

A summery confection crammed with fresh young talented faces that's hard not to love.

Reaches its climax on the main bathing day, with a throng of naked holy men leading the charge into the Ganges. You would be forgiven for thinking you're watching a hot July day at Coney Island.

Relying heavily on old network newscasts, Corben introduces a collection of colorful characters who just want to get stoned.

A wet, red chunk of pulp that knows what it is and doesn't care.

Sorvino brings a spark, but neither she nor Patti LuPone, in an amusing cameo, can overcome the clockwork-like plod to the end.

Cross “Dog Day Afternoon’’ with “The Big Short’’ and throw in a dash of “Network’’ and you’ve got Money Monster, a clever financial thriller with comic overtones that’s a solid investment of your time thanks to stellar work by George Clooney and Julia Roberts.

If you’re a Fab Four fan like I am, that setup itself sends you into an existential tizzy. But it makes for a likable, quirky movie that’s British writer Richard Curtis’ (“Bridget Jones’ Diary”) best work in years.

The Purge: Election Year imagines that, right now, laws are being ignored, people gun each other down with impunity and the death toll is horrendous. It’s too bad the title “Chicago” was already taken.

So gripping and focused that it easily bests Hollywood movies with 50 times its budget.

Maybe nothing here is supposed to be as scary as in the 1973 movie because this is merely the opening act. That's the problem with prequels, isn't it? It's like being asked to pay full price just to watch batting practice.

What a gift Zeitlin has with children. He showed that special skill with “Beasts,” but does even more so here, with the kid ensemble being full of personality and entirely unrestrained. The freedom and unbridled joy they find on the island are infectious, like their movie.

And how good should we feel about this match anyway? Absolutely anyone, we learn, can win the 1913 U.S. Open. Except blacks, Jews or women.

Unfortunately, Angelou's detached and often superfluous narration lessens the film's impact.

The bulk of the movie consists of scene after scene coyly setting up the same ironic juxtaposition, in the exact same way, about innocence vs. Nazism.

Does briefly sizzle in the scenes between Newton and French actress Christine Boisson, as the bisexual French police commander assigned to the case.

All movies require suspension of disbelief to a certain degree, but p.s. really pushes the envelope.

An example of Hollywood schlock from the team of Joel Schumacher (director) and Jerry Bruckheimer (producer) that lacks the faintest trace of imagination or genuine feeling.

Satisfying, well-acted drama.

A hard-hitting exposé of a shameful episode.

Not every movie can come from the heart: This one is from the crotch. But what’s left for the sequel? Maybe it’ll feature Mark and Denzel sporting matching leather codpieces or giving each other bikini waxes. We can only hope.

It's all interspersed with strange attempts at comedy that fail on two levels: They're not funny, and they puncture what little drama there is.

For all its glutinous cuteness, damn if About Time doesn’t sneak up and sock you in the tear ducts. I tried not to fall for it. I failed.

An action comedy for suburban women that's as toothless as a newborn, and nearly as stupid. It tries so hard to be cute that it practically drools on your shoulder.

There are nice cameos by Joan Chen and Kyle MacLachlan as Li's mother and lawyer, respectively.

There are zero surprises, but it looks good, moves well through a trim running time and wields its clichés with defiant aplomb.

Like the film itself, it’s simple but well-executed enough.

Strictly for the 8-and-under crowd.

From beginning to end, the craft — directing, acting, writing, editing, design — is just not there.

Manages to be a satisfying meal, if not quite a feast, for famished adult audiences.

When it comes to magnetism, the Rolling Stones have nothing on Amma, the Indian mahatma ("spiritual guide") chronicled in Jan Kounen's handsomely photographed but one-sided documentary.

An Aquaman sequel is reportedly in the works. The series already has a strong leading man and a feel for an epic. The filmmakers just need to find the heart of their ocean.

The mellow Laue... makes a likable enough subject, if sometimes low-key to the point of dull. Watching other people watch him play, though, is definitely not.

The beginning and end are classics.

The demand for her services is so great that she suffers from "penis elbow," but her popularity also brings self-esteem and a possible boyfriend in her boss (Miki Manojlovic) in this lethargically directed comedy.

By far the best single performance in the film - and it is really, really terrific, utterly believable and moving - is by Emma Thompson. To the extent that there is genuine feeling in the movie that doesn't feel slickly manipulative, it's in the scenes involving her character.

Tykwer exhibits a fondness for split screens and other eye candy but no interest in formalities like character and plot development. By the time we reach the kitchy final scene, we've had our fill of visual tricks.

Vanity, thy name is Kevin Spacey.

Dialogue, we seem to have forgotten, matters, and the words — by the brutally funny screenwriter of “The Departed,” William Monahan — are electric eels, slithering and sinister and nasty. They sneak up and sting you, or sometimes tickle your toes. Lowlifes don’t actually talk this way? Yeah. But if only they did.

Fails to dig out the dramatic meat, despite a yeoman performance by Danny Aiello.