What begins as an alert and witty barbed satire degenerates into a senseless bloodbath in the black comedy Sightseers.

The two lead actresses rise to the occasion when they're finally forced to confront each other at the climax.

The first half has erratic pacing, but past the midpoint the film roars into action. Dornan is monotonous, but Murphy is intense enough for them both; side romances for the men feel phony but apparently are based in fact.

Essentially an hour-long monologue, but this talking head is so engaging that you can't blame director Lech Kowalski's camera for not wanting to stray from the late Dee Dee Ramone's party-ravaged face.

The movie is overwhelmingly positive. It would have helped if Araki's critics had more of a say.

If one enjoyed manufacturing symbols as much as Miller, one might speculate that Rose is Rebecca Miller, aching to be her own artist, and Jack is Arthur.

Not one of Hartley's most successful efforts, but it's witty, daring, different and a welcome alternative to Hollywood pap.

Possibly the most unintentionally hilarious film since Ed Wood's "Plan 9 from Outer Space," Steve Irwin's big-screen debut is destined to become an instant cult classic.

The Giver is at its best when Bridges expounds on civilization’s lost beauty and savagery; at other times, it’s strewn with implausibility: For a totalitarian society in which everyone is monitored constantly, our hero is able to sneak around an awful lot.

This chest is overfilled with exposition and physical comedy, without a doubloon's worth of the scary suspense that made the laughs in the first one such brilliant comic relief.

The insult comedy is sometimes brilliant.

A sensual performance from Abbass buoys the flimsy story.

This Michael Mann-directed film is full of Michael Mann-isms, many of them familiar from, and done better in, “Heat.”

Occasionally becomes melodramatic.

Joker starts grim and gets grimmer, as Arthur embraces his inner demons and finds they resonate with the huddled masses of Gotham.

More fun than you'd expect from an adaptation of a '60s Hanna-Barbera cartoon that was in turn derived from a comic book.

An exploration of the way the sins of the father trickle down to his offspring, is dense with quirky characters and subplots all woven into a rather heavy-handed meditation on the evils of globalization.

Stretched both timewise and for plausibility.

The performances are more than serviceable and The Fluffer is well-paced and engaging until the flaccid climax.

I love the series, but Jason Bourne is the worst of the five.

The film's attempt at a sort of beautiful anguish works best in its middle section. It takes far too long to get going, and it doesn't have much of an ending.

A thoughtful drama which sags when it tries to shoehorn its characters into by-the-numbers plot points.

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!").

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

Bears more than a passing resemblance in story and form to "The Twilight Samurai," but stands on its own as a pleasant, if unremarkable, romance.

Ed Radtke's film-fest favorite does at least boast some fine acting, excellent photography and an authentic feel for life on the highway.

This documentary, a love letter to their sisterly bond, gives a reasonably engaging look behind the scenes.

Among the year's ultraviolent pulp movies, "Sin City" was prettier and "The Devil's Rejects" more focused.