A small-scale charmer that provides a tailor-made role for Malkovich, who is always fun to watch.

This time the execs are lobbying us, yet the public grows increasingly furious as our tax dollars fund corporate welfare, bailouts and dumb ideas like the $41,000 golf cart that is the Chevy Volt.

Lane and Costner are swell, but the film jolts to life the second we walk into Blanche’s dimly lit kitchen, occupied by even dimmer men. The villainous Manville acts like a rooster, clucking, crowing and, worst of all, pecking. A sickening scene in a motel won’t have you taking the kids to South Dakota anytime soon.

An Irish indie that is well-observed and well-acted - but ultimately, not much more exciting than the love lives of its lead characters.

Made to win awards, and I'm here to present it with one: the Cliché of the Year honors, otherwise known as the Hackney.

Performances are up to par, but the story unfolds conventionally - it lacks the fragmented fury of its predecessor. You might call it "City of God Lite."

So once you figure out the first rule of Zombie Fight Club — nothing too bad can happen to Brad Pitt — the movie is, despite intermittent thrills, rote.

As Callas so devastatingly starts to lose it, “Maria” satisfyingly stirs our insides in the mysterious way an opera does.

Field, as usual, goes all-out; the film may be a comedy, but she attains a few moments of real heartbreak.

How can a movie with such a charming cast (let's not forget Ry Russo-Young as Hannah's female roommate) and believable dialogue (seemingly taken from the actors' real lives) go wrong? It can't.

The movie is so heavily weighted toward the Simmons character that no one else really gets to breathe. And though McBride's shtick is brilliant - he could get rich by playing variations on this character for the next few years, and probably will.

A series of beautifully bleak black-and-white images of the sexy actress Islid Le Besco staring gravely out of windows.

Unfortunately, you could probably improve Split by editing out everything around McAvoy and making it an experimental one-man show.

Sweet, funny, well-acted and nicely shot on locations in the south of France -- but on the dull side overall.

The result is a remarkably beguiling documentary, on a number of levels.

Doesn't always succeed -- the premise is hard to believe. Still, it's an unusual and interesting piece of filmmaking.

Makes its biggest misstep in failing to persuade the viewer the five family members are charming eccentrics rather than irritating weirdos.

Not a definitive portrait of the designer, nor does it pretend to be. But it should be of interest to viewers even if there's not a single YSL label in their wardrobes.

Binder has allowed Allen, a brilliant actress, to go overboard with Terry's obnoxiousness, just as Brooks (his apparent role model) did with Téa Leoni in "Spanglish."

Director Philip Martin’s film is not poorly made per se, but its efforts to make the behind-the-scenes scramble to get the Duke of York on TV exciting are for naught.

A miracle of badness, a kind of art- house "Showgirls" -- which actually exceeds "Showgirls" in its self-indulgence, shallowness and sheer stupidity.

At the Professional Bull Riders championships, a rough animal is called "rank." In this skillful documentary, you can almost hear the cracking bones as brave and/or stupid riders attempt to stay on these snorting 2,000-pound monsters for eight seconds.

One of the 10 best American movies released so far this year, Kit Kittredge: An American Girl is the surprisingly satisfying first theatrical film inspired by a long-running series of historically themed dolls.

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

So full of solid performances and appealing characters that I wished writer/director/producer Preston Whitmore (“The Walking Dead") had considered the dictum “less is more."

The best thing about the film – which is true of most of his roles – is Rockwell.

The Devil Wears Prada 2, the sequel to the 2006 comedy that’s not at all about Anna Wintour, is a good time, even if the high-pressure world of Vogue, er, Runway magazine is no longer the epitome of New York luxury and glamour it was back in the aughts.

A funny, shambling buddy comedy that mostly serves as a vehicle for our two stars to do what they do best, which is riff on race and pop culture.