Holland lets things peter out midway, but it's notably better acted -- and far less crass -- than some other recent efforts in the burgeoning genre of films about black urban professionals.

Some of the visual flourishes are a little too obvious, but restrained and subtle storytelling, and fine performances make this delicate coming-of-age tale a treat.

Dirk Shafer's feature doesn't offer much in terms of plot or acting. But it does have oodles of hunky male bodies. The choice is yours.

Auteuil gives a superior performance. While Rush played him as a buffoon, Auteuil gives the character the charm of an aristocratic savant.

Even a hardened voyeur would require the patience of Job to get through this interminable, shapeless documentary about the swinging subculture.

Partly a schmaltzy, by-the-numbers romantic comedy, partly a shallow rumination on the emptiness of success -- and entirely soulless.

A thumping soundtrack, including David Bowie's "Rebel Rebel" and Pink Floyd's "Us and Them," fuels this high-energy look at a pack of underdogs who sowed the seeds for today's extreme sports craze.

Never decides whether it wants to be a black comedy, drama, melodrama or some combination of the three. The acting and direction are all over the map in this consistently depressing, if occasionally interesting, slice of life.

Pierre is at best competent as the star, director and writer of this good-natured compendium of ghetto movie clichés, which doesn't have an awful lot to offer in the way of laughs, pacing or originality.

There's a hint of nostalgia toward the end, with Jason encountering two nubile female campers in a virtual reality Camp Crystal Lake -- but it merely serves as a reminder that the franchise should have quit while it was ahead.

A truly baffling late entry in the "Pulp Fiction" sweepstakes that ends up drowning in its own pretensions -- along with, quite possibly, what's left of Val Kilmer's movie career.

To say that Vulgar is not for all tastes might be the understatement of the year. For starters, this black comedy has a male rape scene that makes the one in "Deliverance" seem mild by comparison.

The best thing about Some Body -- an amateurish, quasi-improvised acting exercise shot on ugly digital video -- is that it's all over in 80 minutes.

Makes a powerful case against the wisdom of budget cuts at universities everywhere.

Uses the compelling true story of the triumph of the Enigma code-breakers as background for an invented but believable story of love, betrayal and heroism.

It includes abundant sex and full-frontal nudity, not to titillate but because it's needed to convey the inner sexual turmoil the girls are going through.

Calling it pretentious doesn't do justice to the toxic faux-bohemianism and unearned self-regard that bubble and ooze out of every aspect of Chelsea Walls.

Delivers a sugar rush without the calories.

Unfortunately, Scorpion King has none of the qualities -- epic sweep, relative originality and heartfelt bloodthirstiness -- that made "Conan" so trashily entertaining.

In effect gives you two movies for the price of one. The better one doesn't star Sandra Bullock.

It would be a crime in itself to reveal the surprises of Nine Queens, which provides two solid hours of corking entertainment.

Amidst the ennui, there are some fine performances.

It's full of Plympton's trademark twisted humor, with lots of sex thrown in.

This is what IMAX was made for: Strap on a pair of 3-D goggles, shut out the real world, and take a vicarious voyage to the last frontier -- space.

A triumph of misguided moviemaking, starting with a grotesquely miscast Mira Sorvino, who arguably gives the worst performance ever by an Oscar winner.

A treat for aficionados of oddball movies.

Very funny. It's also heartbreakingly sad.

Glossy, big-budget thriller that qualifies as the season's biggest and most rewarding surprise.