An atmospheric and subtly engrossing relationship saga, which wowed the critics when it played on British TV and is just now getting a theatrical release.

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.

If you're starved for on-screen nudity and sex garnished with art-film trappings -- The price you'll pay is putting up with the director's relentless Euro-pretension, manifested in a tediously contrived plot crammed with absurd coincidences, clunky symbolism and soap-operatic melodrama.

It strains belief that nuclear weapons couldn't kill off the dragons, but three people with crossbows could.

Paved with such good intentions and talent that it's sad to report this lavishly mounted gangster epic - the most serious-minded Hollywood film of the season - doesn't come close to living up to expectations.

Bank's discursive but oddly riveting documentary, Last Dance, offers a glimpse of what was probably the most important, and conceivably the most bitterly contested, collaboration in Pilobolean history.

Kicks into high gear in its final 45 minutes, when the singer's fans descend on one of her concerts. It's worth the wait.

Purists will probably have a conniption at the mere idea of messing with the form, but the worst thing about Jacquot's post-modern treatment is that its incongruity wrenches you out of the story.

It's so devoid of joy and energy it makes even "Jason X" - a recent attempt to prolong the rival "Friday the 13th" slasher franchise - look positively Shakesperean by comparison.

Clayburgh is the most dignified thing about this dreadfully overwrought, often preposterous romantic comedy.

Nearly stolen by the veteran Stamp's gently fatuous John.

Covers three years in the Public Defender's office with a fast-paced, tabloid gusto.

It too often looks and feels like a high-concept home movie, thanks to cinematography that's crude and ugly even by the standards of documentary video. But Group is also a remarkably believable piece of improvised theater.

Though it boasts excellent performances by Anna Friel and Michelle Williams as bosom buddies whose lives meander over three decades, it plods on with a wearying predictability and some truly terrible dialogue.

Isn't just scary, charming and delightfully unpredictable - it's also smarter and subtler than any new movie out there.

So eager to please, it practically licks you in the face.

Unfortunately, the vehicle chosen for the corn-rowed cutie's Hollywood coming-out party is pretty lame.

A devastating indictment of unbridled greed and materalism, made all the more relevant by the Enron and WorldCom scandals.

When the Powerpuff Girls blink those soulful dinner-plate peepers, you could forgive them anything - even their movie's wafer-thin excuse for a plot.

If you like your language blue and your humor coarse, Margaret Cho is for you.

The film is almost worth seeing just for the extraordinary scene in which a stark naked Mortimer has her movie star lover (Dermot Mulroney) deliver an exhaustive critique of her body's flaws.

Psst! Wanna vicariously experience a consciousness-raising LSD trip and watch Sarah Michelle Gellar star in some explicit sex scenes?

Indulgent, tedious documentary.

The story is also engaging and hip enough to make it a far easier sit for parents. And it's hard not to like a hero who takes public transportation to a showdown with the bad guy.

Sporadically funny, dumbed-down version.

The movie, directed by Mick Jackson, leaves no cliché unturned, from the predictable plot to the characters straight out of central casting.

I laughed harder at Pumpkin than at any other film I've seen this year -- but be warned: This dark campus comedy is not for all tastes, or probably even most tastes.

Weatherford and Murphy lead a young and bright cast. All in all, Money Buys Happiness shows that Lachow is a director worth keeping an eye on.