May be the first movie that effectively erases virtually its entire story line by the very last scene.

I suppose it's nice that Romero has a hobby, but he couldn't be more of a bore if he were showing off his pine cone collection.

Jean-Pierre Jeunet, the French di rector of "Amelie," is back to more lighthearted whimsy with the delightful Micmacs.

There is much opportunity to turn the film into a soaper, but Hansen-Love resists.

There are a few exciting battle sequences and the sets are lavish, but mostly the film meanders aimlessly for more than two hours. No wonder new sword-and-sandal movies are in short supply.

Working from a well-thought-out script co-written by director Stéphane Brizé, the two stars deliver impressive, understated performances.

The ever-excitable Martin Scorsese, who is listed as a producer and who pops up, bizarrely, to talk about how he decided to stage the last shot of "The Departed," concludes things by saying, "Cubism was not a style. It was a revolution!" Yep. And not in any way a fad.

The transformation of the girls from winsome wisecrackers into whiny bling-obsessed chuckleheads is complete.

Tired? This series is as exhausted as Shrek after a day of baby wrangling and diaper changing.

There's a reason you've never seen the words "Will Forte" topping the billing of a major motion picture. After the throbbing flameball of unfunny that is MacGruber, you never will again.

A rare drug-crime movie devoid of violence, and pretty much anything in the way of excitement.

The fine supporting cast includes Steve Buscemi, as a cynical American doctor who at first doesn't get along with Rabe; and Anne Consigny, as the French head of a local school for Chinese girls.

A comedy that forgot to install the funny.

Superb as an auto salesman who sinks deeper and deeper into disgrace in Solitary Man, Douglas' juiciest vehicle since "Wonder Boys."

An interesting but flawed look at the birth of the French New Wave.

Has a certain dark charm if you can put up with very jittery camera work and editing.

Head and shoulders above the sort of lightheaded epics Hollywood typically offers during the summer season.

A girl with relationship woes can hardly set foot in Europe these days without finding herself hip-deep in yummy food and tasty men. The latest iteration of the story is Letters to Juliet or, as I like to think of it, "Eat Pray Hurl."

A very rare contemporary romantic comedy that doesn't succumb to terminal stupidity.

The landscapes are exotic and Kilcher is erotic, but the film plays like a generic made-for-TV biopic.

A mashup of Nick Hornby and Martin Scorsese? Why not?

This is a terminally whimsical vanity project that would probably have been a chore to sit through even in its original intended format, a 20-minute stage monologue.

Mendoza gives a heart-tugging performance as Mariana.

Sometimes painfully sincere male weepie.

Borderline clichéd, and it makes getting a US visa seem way too easy. But I can think of much worse ways to spend an hour and a half than watching this absurdist comedy.

It’s only fitfully entertaining as an all-star indie team led again by director Jon Favreau, who gets swallowed up by the same sort of overproduced overkill as “Spider Man 3.”

Even I realize that other people's babies are boring. So is Babies.

As one interviewee opines: "It's all about the money."