A stunning achievement, every bit the equal of the classic moun taineering book which inspired it.

So consistently silly and overwrought that it flirts with the elusive so-bad-it's-entertaining category.

Tries to be many things -- romantic comedy, mockumentary, a satire on beauty and aging -- but ends up succeeding at none.

A mix of documentary and fiction, it demystifies the profession in delightful fashion.

Recycles gags from various, more successful gross-out and romantic comedies, but without any zest or imagination.

The animation, supervised by director Timothy Bjorkland, is deliberately crude, but it complements the wacky story line just as well as the excellent musical numbers, one of which is a spot-on homage/parody of Sondheim.

It's a simple-minded celebration of speed that pretends to be nothing else, even throwing in the occasional wink to acknowledge its own silliness.

A toe-tapping, booty- shaking look at Cubans' love of music that gets bogged down in political thoughts that go unexplored.

Ends in magnificent fashion, with skyscrapers bowing to Beethoven's Ninth. It's a stirring ending to a sweet movie.

Dialogue is sparse in this leisurely paced chase; instead, the bluesy vocals of indigenous singer Archie Roach -- singing de Heer's lyrics -- are layered over the action as a kind of musical narration.

Light, doggedly formulaic romantic comedy that's almost instantly forgettable despite the sunny presence of teen queen Mandy Moore.

The finished product looks like it was thrown together during a lunch break -- by a drunk person. The level of ineptitude on display in this urban version of "Three Men and a Baby" is simply gobsmacking.

A sobering, if exploitative, portrait of the real-life hitchhiking hooker portrayed so realistically by Charlize Theron in "Monster."

There are family photos, interviews with colleagues, newsreels of early shows, a chat with his mother and vintage interviews with an unbelievably young and sexy YSL.

Silly and pointless film.

Snoozy and unconvincing.

The film is dark, both literally and figuratively. Only at the very end do we get a glimpse of the sun.

Can be summed up by the fact that Ashton Kutcher, making a glorified cameo as a narcissistic model-slash-actor, is the best thing in it.

An exquisitely crafted Civil War epic that combines the epic romantic sweep of "Gone With the Wind" with a more intimate voice that speaks eloquently to the war-weary nation of today.

Woo has never been particularly good at human stuff, and to the extent that Paycheck is, or should be, a love story, it feels forced.

Overall, though, this new Peter Pan does really soar.

Campbell is a sweet presence and a capable dancer, featured in a theatrical pas de deux on an open-air stage during a wild thunderstorm that is one of the film's visual highlights.

A visual treat diminished by lifeless dialogue and self-conscious acting.

Hard-hitting and biting.

Jenkins doesn't stint on the sickening reality of Wuornos' abhorrent behavior -- it's Theron's complex, deeply felt depiction of a thoroughly messed-up soul that forces us to look beyond the monstrous nature of her acts.

Isn't boring, but it is sanctimonious, relentlessly predictable and willfully ignorant of the period it's set in.

An extraordinary documentary about an extraordinary man that brings to urgent life potentially dry questions of American foreign policy in the 1960s.

A grim, challenging movie that will amply reward audiences willing to go along with its ride into the dark depths of its characters' souls.

Sentimental and predictable? Sure, but The Butterfly is so well-meaning and the wide-eyed Bouanich is so sweet and lovable only a Scrooge would dare complain.

May be boomer-baiting formula, but this ingratiating, big-hearted holiday treat is as British as plum pudding - and the closest thing on the market to the famous Ealing comedies.

A hit-and-miss affair.

A majestic conclusion to a nine-plus-hours epic that stirs the heart, mind and soul as few films ever have.

Frustratingly superficial.

Laughably predictable in its plotting, crude in its symbolism, ploddingly paced and often rendered almost comical by the heavy-breathing overacting of Johansson's supporting cast.

Overripe dialogue and a fevered score fail to inject any real tension, and the accentless English spoken throughout a film set entirely in France is ludicrous and jarring.

A sexed-up Afterschool Special pretty much guaranteed to render audiences comatose.

Keaton's overamped girlishness, and the adolescent shenanigans she engages in, make a mockery of this overlong romantic comedy's stance as a celebration of mature love.

But while the belly laughs are few, there are numerous chuckles and it's quite watchable, thanks to solid performances by Damon (who plays it mostly straight in a rare comic role) and Kinnear.

If the documentary has a star, it's pony-tailed AES exec Piers Lewis, who had the impossible job of getting Georgians to actually pay for their electricity.

Watching three frames at once is disconcerting at first, but eventually the experience gives the film a high-tech boost.

Even with Burton's imagination turning its trademark cartwheels, the film's big beating heart holds the whimsical offshoots steady.

Lacks even a trace of imagination. Its by-the-numbers plot is depressingly familiar, and each line of dialogue is so predictable that the script... could have been generated by a computer.

A crock - a pandering epic that's as phony as it is condescending.

Despite some fancy editing, Forget Baghdad is forgettable.

The script falters at the end, as the two reach the Turkish village where Ibrahim was raised. But the winning performances -- and killer '60s soundtrack -- save the day.

Bell has added unexpected shadings to what could have been simply a sordid tale of highway prostitution, gradually revealing surprises to the characters that keep a murmur of unease thrumming throughout.

This absorbing documentary, which has already been shown on cable, is getting a theatrical run to capitalize on the Broadway musical "Taboo."

Be warned: Some of the afflictions are so disturbing, you might have to turn your eyes from the children. Susan Tom doesn't have that option. And 11 children are all the better for it.

That's all laudable - but Perry, a longtime filmmaker, should have given the doc more urgency and punch.

The two leads have strong singing voices, but they're not helped by songs with titles like "It's Time to Disco."

It's a wistful yet penetrating film, shot through with magic realism and life-affirming humor, that gets you deep down where you live.

Chomet's wacky tale is so crammed full of eye-popping images, it's impossible to forget afterward.

A determinedly raunchy holiday comedy about a libidinous, larcenous and perpetually soused St. Nick with a nonstop potty mouth.

This mostly laugh-and scare-free turkey offers an utterly bored -- and boring -- Eddie Murphy taking a back seat to special effects, elaborate sets and a wispy story slapped together by David Berenbaum (the overrated "Elf").

It reeks of contempt for the audience. This is not just a "B-movie" -- it's a B-movie that fails to entertain on any level.

Unfolds leisurely, in anecdotal style, with deadpan humor and a sense of the absurd.

The best thing Baldwin has done in years, and a triumph of low-budget storytelling by a director to watch.

Stunningly photographed, largely with a hand-held camera, by Rodrigo Prieto (another member of the "Amores Perros" team) on gritty locations in Memphis and Albuquerque, 21 Grams is also a visual tour de force - and a rare Hollywood product depicting class differences with any kind of honesty.

The narrative itself, attributed to three former "Seinfeld" writers who also worked on "The Grinch," reeks of desperation.

The movie spins further and further into coincidence and incoherence.

Schmaltzy and contrived.

Occasionally becomes melodramatic.

The sensitive subject matter is handled discreetly by writer-director Chin-yen Yee, who never lets the story sink into exploitation or finger-pointing.

As if the witless cultural stereotypes weren't bad enough, misogyny is rampant -- bare-breasted women abound, yet the protagonist remains fully clothed while having a bullet removed from his butt.

Never rises above the level of a soap opera, although the steamy sex and Lo's abundant nudity might make it worthwhile for some viewers.

Ironically, what's lacking in Howard's stark, often brutal, late 19th-century chase drama is emotional punch.

Comes perilously close to being a vanity production for the obscure singer Isabel Rose, who stars and wrote the autobiographical screenplay with neophyte director Robert Cary, based on her own struggles as a cabaret singer.

A thoughtful, rousing and beautifully crafted epic.

The meta jokes come thick and fast - some clunk, but there's no time to mourn - and the references are far from limited to the Warner Bros. world (at one point, Bugs exclaims, "Whaddya know - I found Nemo!").

Paints a vivid portrait of a compelling young man but, perhaps inevitably, goes overboard on the deification.

Ultimately has a somewhat unfinished quality that complements the movie's themes -- and Hall's haunting performance.

Amateurish, irritatingly gabby indie.

One of the most original and stylish films to come along this year.

The result is an immensely enjoyable portrait of a strange-looking, non-comforming genius who loved women as much as designing masterpieces but was never able to commit to them. In other words: great architect, lousy family man.

Ferrell's manic, overgrown-kid energy sweeps all before it, announcing him - after his standout turn in "Old School" - as a major leading-man talent who can charm as well as amuse.

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.

Follows a narrative arc as choppy as a messy windswell, and the result is a dog's dinner of profiles, repetitive narration, safety tips and banal "insights" into the joys and dangers of cresting waves that sometimes reach 70 feet.

The fine cast, the elegant settings and the swoony title song somehow draw you in.

Needless to say, In My Skin isn't for everybody. It's recommended to viewers who, like Esther, want to feel something, no matter how distasteful.

A mediocre music documentary about veteran country rocker and activist Steve Earle, who created a furor with a song sympathetic to American Taliban John Walker Lindh.

The result is anti-Army propaganda rather than a balanced piece of reporting.

Might have worked as a 10-minute sketch.

This (hopefully) final chapter's interminable first hour...showcases some of the clunkiest dialogue and wooden acting since the most recent "Star Wars" movies.

A fascinating front-row seat for what could be history's shortest-lived coup.

Though Human Stain is sometimes too chaotic and sometimes too neat, it boasts some of the best acting of the year.

The opening and closing scenes are scary and should please fans of the genre, especially at Halloween time.

Occasionally stagy and flat, "Die" is worth seeing for Busch's grand performance, which won him a Special Jury Prize at this year's Sundance Film Festival.

The sheer loathesomeness of protagonist Stephen Glass as portrayed by Hayden Christensen makes Shattered Glass hard to watch.

Gripping and even-handed film.

Makes an earnest stab at illustrating the hardships and sacrifices humanitarian workers contend with - but in the end, all the suffering merely forms an amorphous backdrop for a Harlequin romance.

It's hard to say what's more offensive about the out-of- tune Radio - Cuba Gooding Jr. trying to ingratiate himself by mugging up a storm as a mentally challenged man, or the mawkish narrative surrounding him like so much syrup.

Although Scary Movie 3 boasts the same relaxed attitude to racial and sexual humor, some of the same eye for movieland ridiculousness, along with the usual cameos (Pamela Anderson and Simon Cowell), it lacks a single explosive, roll-on-the-floor gag, and too often repeats and belabors jokes that are merely OK.

An uninspired recycling of themes that were far more gripping in "The Lion King" and countless other earlier Mouse House classics.

Van Sant's audacious, poetic and emotionally distanced film doesn't even have a plot. It's just a random series of incidents one day at a suburban high school.

Too unfocused to make any point worth taking with us into the 2004 presidential campaign.

It is worth catching The Singing Detective to see the brilliant Robert Downey Jr. in another extraordinary performance... Unfortunately, the film itself doesn't really work despite its lineage.

Sister Helen don't take no bull.

A disappointing erotic thriller from director Jane Campion that amounts to an implausible update on "Looking for Mr. Goodbar."