A barbell of a movie that carries some weight at either end. What's in between is purely utilitarian, though.

Harrelson's charming flamboyance - seen to great effect in "No Country for Old Men" - is a great fit for Carter, who carries no small amount of self-loathing under his carefully coifed toupee.

Good grindhouse fun until a last act that's like a meeting of a psychoanalysts' convention.

Hollywood's Woman of the Year is a pregnant 16-year-old, the incredibly hip, smart-mouthed and totally endearing heroine of the wise and witty Juno.

In her directorial debut, Venditti does her best to keep a distance between herself and her subjects. But you have to wonder how much of the Billy we see on-screen is affected by the presence of Venditti's camera.

You won't have a more viscerally emotional experience at the movies this year.

As a history lesson, Oswald's Ghost is valuable, but don't go expecting any new revelations.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work. None of the talking heads is as interesting as Yu thinks they are; and it's difficult to build sympathy for any of them.

Initially shows promise, but filmmaker Frank Cappello (the early Russell Crowe vehicle "No Way Back") gets bogged down when Slater becomes involved with Elisa Cuthbert, a paraplegic survivor of the shooting who wants him to kill her.

The year's dullest movie has arrived: the deeply silly Badland, which is as dead as winter and twice as long.

Darkly hilarious.

The movie falls into all the usual rhetorical traps.

Taylor also makes an impressive comeback as the conflicted daughter who instinctively distrusts Heather, but Starting Out in the Evening is first and foremost a triumph by Frank Langella.

There are many new Japanese movies that deserve a stateside release. Why this hapless mess beat them out is a question that deserves an answer.

This movie's heart is in the right place, which is one way of saying it's terrible.

This is the sort of movie that requires you not only to suspend disbelief, but to check your sanity at the ticket counter.

The first half hour or so of Enchanted is brilliant.

If someone ran this guy through a scanner, the readout would say: “Mark down and stock in straight-to-video aisle."

Bob Dylan would probably love I'm Not There, which may be all a Dylanist needs to know before seeing it. Non-devotees are in for puzzlement, if not exasperation.

A pretentious left-wing monster movie with about 15 minutes of alarming creatures and a whole lot of bickering, is a pre-9/11 story which Stephen King wrote eons ago. It operates in the post-9/11 era about as well as a Studebaker at the Daytona 500.

So full of solid performances and appealing characters that I wished writer/director/producer Preston Whitmore (“The Walking Dead") had considered the dictum “less is more."

Highly entertaining - but far from classic.

I've had root canals that were more enjoyable than Margot at the Wedding, Noah Baumbach's hugely pretentious, ugly and annoying follow-up to "The Squid and the Whale."

There isn't anything terribly exciting or original on offer in the somewhat poky directing debut of screenwriter Zach Helm.

De Palma is extreme, visceral, usually in bad taste but almost always riveting. De Palma's Redacted, a no-budget fake documentary that imagines the circumstances behind a real rape and murder of a civilian girl committed by US troops in Iraq, is a piece of anti-war propaganda whose aims I don't agree with, but it jolted me nonetheless.

If you've seen "Gone With the Wind," you've seen what Love in the Time of Cholera isn't.

If a more incoherent and self-indulgent movie has been released so far this century, I'm not aware of it.

Not like a lump of coal in your stocking. Coal is useful; you can burn it. This movie is more like a lump of something Blitzen left behind after eating a lot of Mexican food.