Mostly The Matador romanticizes a brutal tradition that has no place in the 21st century.

There have been worse horror flicks, but although this one offers a few scares, it doesn't have a lot of imagination.

The funniest movie of Smith's I've seen. It's "When Harry Did Sally."

While sporadically funny, the sophomoric My Name Is Bruce is no "Bubba Ho-Tep," the movie where Campbell unforgettably played Elvis Presley as a nursing home patient battling a mummy with the help of John F. Kennedy. But Campbell's fans can feel free to add a star or two.

A valuable reminder that for nearly three decades, basketball was dominated by Jewish players - and coaches who found the sport an ideal vehicle for assimilation in the United States.

Edward Norton plays Ray, a (possibly) honest cop wearing an unexplained scar positioned just so on his cheek. It looks like it was bought in the markdown aisle of Halloween Mart on Nov. 1.

There is also something surgically sterile. The movie sounds as though it was recorded in a padded chamber instead of a bustling school, and it looks like it came from some alternate world, one that basks in the eternal sunshine of the spotless skin.

Watching the film, I did manage to retain my empathy for the narrator, though: I was as desperate as he was to escape the situation I was in.

Another remarkable addition to Eastwood's directorial canon.

Scott Thomas' reserve as an actor - which probably helped keep her from top stardom after an Oscar nomination for "The English Patient" (1996) - makes her perfect casting for this French film, the auspicious debut of director Philippe Claudel.

Despite having no previous film experience, Kare Hedebrant and Lina Leandersson give evocative performances as Oskar and Eli, respectively.

It's got more imagination than half a dozen movies combined; there's nothing else out there like this, and to me that's a very good thing.

The film is loving but shallow.

There isn't a dud in the 10 shorts, although some are more dud-ish than others.

So powerful is Stranded that when the lucky few finally make their way back to civilization, you feel as thrilled as if they were your own loved ones.

An often compelling, tragicomic psychological analysis of Dubya, viewed through the prism of his relationship with an allegedly disapproving father.

Director-writer Seth Grossman provides a lazy narrative, with stereotypical characters and plot.

Thoroughly inept in just about every aspect.

Mary is a mess. An interesting one, yet still a mess.

The attempts to out-Matrix "The Matrix," with bullet-time super-slo mo, are staged with such theatrics that they're unintentionally funny. This movie also has "Blade Runner" on its mind, and Raymond Chandler, but mostly it's a weak little sister to "Sin City."

The Secret Life of Bees showcases Fanning, who is growing into an impressive teenage actress - even if a scene where she licks honey off an older boy's finger is, well, creeptastic.

Sex Drive has shaky moments, and its smutty gags aren't edited so much as slammed together.

The only thing missing is the mud that the big boys love to sling. But the Stuyvesant candidates are kids - give them a few years.

Aside from a nifty new way to avoid surveillance in the middle of the desert, there's nothing here we haven't seen in many other movies - including "Spy Game," directed by Scott's brother Tony before 9/11.

A decent football movie, just about good enough to be the 40th best episode of "Friday Night Lights" . . . which has aired 39 episodes.

The film has all the visual flourishes we expect of Doyle and Wong, and they're reason enough to see Ashes of Time Redux. Just don't expect to make sense of the plot.

Bland and timid.

This overlong, obvious and indifferently acted melodrama was written and directed by Luke Eberl, a former child actor, before he turned 21.