As we learn in director Jonathan Berman's fun documentary Commune, the ranch was financed by people such as musician Frank Zappa and actor James Coburn.

To kill 80 minutes, the movie has to pad itself with several dull speeches and stagy moments. The worst? How about when the five men, who have ample reason to fear each other and are facing a life-or-death reckoning, whistle "Ode to Joy" together like a bunch of Whiffenpoofs?

Mark Becker's Romantico is beautifully realized on old-fashioned film. And that's only part of its charms.

Luke, who seems to have been marking time since his impressive debut in the title role of Denzel Washington's "Antwone Fisher" four years ago, is fiercely good as this reluctant warrior and devoted family man.

This is a serious movie overflowing with memorable acting, unforgettable images, searing tragedy, unexpected humor and an eloquent plea for international understanding. And while it's by no stretch of imagination light entertainment, it's fundamentally a more optimistic work than either "Amores Perros" or "21 Grams."

As with "Distant," the dialogue is minimal, the takes are long, the narrative is laconic (too much so for many viewers, I imagine) and the cinematography is painterly.

God, if you exist, why do you keep letting morons like Walsch get rich?

Sharper and far more entertaining than most political documentaries.

The only thing that's shocking about Death of a President is how boring it is.

There are a couple of grams of interesting stories about Miami's drug traffic in Cocaine Cowboys, but the good stuff is cut with 50 kilos of cinematic baking soda.

The chief attraction in the overlong 20 Centimeters, besides ample soft-core sex, are the well-staged musical numbers.

A serious, wrenching and oddly poetic documentary.

Wavers between (sometimes) brilliant and (mostly) boring. But it would be wrong to call it a failure.

Would that all death be so peaceful.

Coppola works in weird ways, but the real Versailles was so much weirder.

While Murphy never manages to make this crazy quilt dramatically credible, he does hit the mark for laughs and has written some juicy scenes for his excellent cast.

Beach ("Windtalkers") gives a tremendously moving, Oscar-caliber performance as Hayes, portrayed by Tony Curtis in an earlier movie and celebrated in a song performed by both Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan.

As misconceived as it is corny and predictable.

On the M. Night Shyamalan scale of stupid endings, The Prestige isn't as bad as "The Village" but it's comparable to "Unbreakable."

It's not exactly going to be on PETA's 10-best list.

We keep waiting for one of those outlandish musical treats to bring some life to the clichéd script. Kunder throws in a few breaks, but they're tepid and brief.

Five people did escape, and they contribute their stories to the spellbinding documentary.

Anybody who's ever seen a movie about exorcism knows that, in cases like this, the first thing to do is call 1-800-PRIEST, which the family does.

Since they seem like real people we want them to work out their differences. In the second half, their story is nearly lost in favor of lots of documentary footage of the actual protests. This stuff was pretty ho-hum to look at two years ago, and it hasn't gotten more interesting with age.

This year's actress to watch is Elizabeth Reaser, who delivers a tour de force as a determined German mail-order bride who comes to 1920 Minnesota in Ali Selim's captivating indie Sweet Land.

Utter junk.

Halfway through, the jokes stop - the laughs never began - and give way to a tiresome thriller.

The movie's prideful silliness makes it semi-watchable in the manner of Saturday afternoon cable flicks like "Delta Force."

This superb documentary about the Catholic Church's worst pedophile scandal is in many ways far scarier than any fiction.

The mild British wackiness is more droll than funny, but the movie is a pleasant cup of tea.

Dizzy with celebrity, New York society and gay life (if all that isn't the same thing), Infamous is more fun. But "Capote" is a better movie.

It's trashy and disgusting - and those are the best parts. Mostly it's just an endless, pointless drone with characters like bacteria and dialogue like an untuned radio.

There's plenty of material here for a dark comedy, but director Martin Curland isn't up to the job. His film - like Luke - plods along, unsure of exactly what it's supposed to be.

This lame teenage James Bond will leave audiences neither shaken nor stirred.

The cinematography and sets look great, but the script is a bummer. It's overlong, overwrought and overblown.

Never becomes maudlin. Rather, it retains an upbeat air of hope, and even humor, as two brave men battle fate.

The result is mystifying - intentionally so - and frustrating. But it's worth a look.

The profanity-laced but witty and literate dialogue by William Monahan ("Kingdom of Heaven") is delivered by a brilliantly chosen cast, almost all of whom are operating at the very top of their game.

For short stretches, the movie has a touch of surreal "Office Space" brilliance, but it's broadly acted, its characters are thin, and the production values are ragged. Still, it's hard to resist its goofy hostility: "You're like the drummer from REO Speedwagon. Nobody knows who you are."

Misses everything that made the first one eat into your spine like meningitis.

Dropping by on the same people every seven years like an old friend - or an unwelcome relative - Apted has constructed a peerless, suspenseful work that develops character to a depth that would make Tolstoy jealous. If you have any interest in documentaries, watch the DVD of the first film, "7 Up" (49 Up hits DVD Nov. 14). You won't be able to stop.

A dry but enlightening documentary.

Lou Diamond Phillips is let down by an uninspired supporting cast, including Bruce Weitz as a crippled con artist and Tracy Middendorf as the requisite femme fatale, a clichéd script, and flat direction by Stephen Purvis.

Vanity productions don't come much worse than One Third, an amateurish, dialogue-free curiosity courtesy of Yongman Kim, the founder of the Greenwich Village institution Kim's Video.

You gotta give credit to any first-time direc tor who attempts an homage to classic screwball comedies on a shoestring budget, even if Kettle of Fish ends up not exactly being the catch of the week.

Mitchell's adventurous, big- hearted, pansexual mosaic of New Yorkers looking for love and orgasms (not necessarily in that order), is a rare example of a nonporn film that doesn't exploit graphic sex as a gimmick.

Mock didn't find room for any of the many critics who accuse Kushner of being an anti-Zionist - and the film unfortunately ends in 2004, just before its subject began working on his controversial script for Steven Spielberg's "Munich."

An original head trip definitely not recommended for kiddies.

Sticks to reporting. Unlike most political documentaries, it doesn't preach - to the choir or to anyone else.

All hail the great Helen Mirren, who after her triumph in HBO's "Elizabeth," delivers the performance of a lifetime as that monarch's frumpy, 20th century namesake in Stephen Frear's witty, touching and engrossing The Queen.

The men who made The Guardian strive to be the averagest of the average - and don't quite succeed.

An excellent case for euthanizing the entire talking-animals genre.

School for Scoundrels teaches one important lesson: Avoid any thing carrying the banner of The Weinstein Co., which is to the multiplex what bagged spinach is to the produce aisle.

It might take a while to figure out what is happening, because Khoo provides no expository dialogue. But viewers' patience will be rewarded as the stories come together in a moving fashion.

This is a gifted director who actually has something to say and knows how to say it. We'll be hearing from him again.

[Hernandez] is obviously a man more concerned with art than commerce, but good intentions don't always make for good filmmaking.

The Last King of Scotland is a parable shocking in its truth, jolting in its lack of sentimentality, Shakespearean in its vision of the doctor's catastrophic flaw.

Lethally dull and self-important remake.

The computer-generated flying effects are the only reason to see the movie, but at some point somebody left the computer on too long, so it went ahead and spat out the script.

A buffet of dumb and degrading stunts halfway between Looney Tunes and Abu Ghraib?

A lavish biopic that gives Li one of his juiciest roles but is relatively light on the action his fans have come to expect.

The highlight is a meta touch: A funny on-screen résumé is posted each time we meet a new character.

A first-rate documentary on this subgenre of punk rock, which flourished roughly between 1982 and 1986 as an anarchistic response to Ronald Reagan and the disco era.

Watching it is like being the only non-stoned person in the room as someone tells a long, long story.

Preteen sexuality is a sensitive subject, but director Auraeus Solito handles it with dignity, never becoming exploitative.

An acid trip of a movie about a piece of Los Angeles history that exists no more: the Ambassador Hotel.

You must lead a dull life if it would be enlivened by 76 minutes' worth of Old Joy.

The women are all beautiful; and the camerawork - by Emmanuel Lubezki, who shot Terrence Malick's spectacular "The New World" - is eye-pleasing.

If this overcooked version of James Ellroy’s novel - inspired by a famous 1947 Los Angeles murder - is less than fully satisfying or even believable storytelling and acting, it’s still possible to get a kick out of this fever dream loaded with eye candy.

Everyone's Hero, a tame CGI cartoon for the simple-minded: the very young, the very old and Yankee fans.

Some movies present their whole story in a two-minute trailer, but Gridiron Gang says it all in its poster.

If I were a member of Generation X, I would be fed up with Hollywood's obsession with the idea that its men are genetically incapable of growing up.

Think you're depressed now? Wait till you see Aurora Borealis, which spends almost two hours watching Ronald Shorter, a suicidal old man, die.

A strained, ultra-predictable and headache-inducing mockumentary.

Ends up feeling familiar.

Those expecting an exhilarating, "Pulp Fiction"-style wrap-up will also be disappointed. Instead, Flowers gives us the impression - as the end of "Traffic" did - that we've just taken a few turns on a merry-go-round of doom that is going to keep spinning long after the movie ends.

Documents the Nixon administration's failed, almost comically inept attempt to deport the most political of The Beatles and his wife, Yoko Ono. Given the latter's cooperation with the filmmakers, it comes as no surprise the Lennons come off as saints.

The movie's one-star rating is solely for Mary Elizabeth Winstead, who provides eye candy as Morris' film-student granddaughter, Lisa.

Dame Maggie is simply delightful (has she ever been less than wonderful?).

The sort of lowbrow sports comedy best enjoyed on a 50-inch screen with a six-pack, a bucket of wings and a fast-forward button.

A lot of preaching to the converted.

They'll say that this year's two Superman pictures could not be more different, but they'll be wrong: Like "Superman Returns," Hollywoodland is laden with atmosphere but moves like it has lead in its tights.

This ludicrous Quentin Tarantino-chosen low-budget movie features choppy editing and an amateurish script, and it switches strangely back and forth between dubbing and subtitles.

When the villain is revealed, you are neither surprised nor scared. You just think, "That guy?"

Too bad nearly half the film is about DeLuca, who has an irritating Freddie Mercury wail and is both obnoxious ("We'll play downstairs after midnight or we won't play at all") and moronic.

A movie bursting with nothingness.

Keeps such a lazy pace, with so many scenes that fail to move the story forward, that it should be cited for failing to meet the minimum speed for a crime drama.

A fascinating, sad, sometimes quite poetic window into a grueling way of life most of us know little about.

The script falls victim to the stereotypes and clichés so often found in movies about Asian-American families. Still, Lee shows talent, although it might take a feature or two before she finds her own voice.

Director-writer Pablo Tapero keeps the proceedings low-key and realistic. He doesn't hit you over the head with his ideas, yet he manages to say a lot about human nature.

The eloquent narration forSaint of 9/11 is delivered by Ian McKellen.

Genially preposterous, with stunt players outnumbering actors by something like a 3-to-1 ratio, the action thriller Crank is surprisingly watchable.

The entire movie seems to have about the same budget as a 30-second sneaker commercial. I'm not talking Nike, either. I'm talking a commercial for Steve's Second-Hand Sneaker World and Falafel Emporium that you'd see on NY1 News at 3:08 a.m.

Profoundly disturbing, blood-chilling suspenser.

Lassie is a dog movie even non-dog lovers will lap up.

A slight movie. But it has its share of charm and is a pleasant way to spend a little over an hour. It also is a sign that Burns might actually have talent.

The indie Mutual Appreciation isn't much more interesting than hanging out with four smart, nice, semi-confused people in their 20s. But that puts it far above the average movie.

Riding Alone features a moving performance by Takakura (often called the Asian Clint Eastwood), as well as pretty cinematography. But the mushy script, co-written by Zhang, never rises above that of a TV soap opera.