As we learn in director Jonathan Berman's fun documentary Commune, the ranch was financed by people such as musician Frank Zappa and actor James Coburn.

To kill 80 minutes, the movie has to pad itself with several dull speeches and stagy moments. The worst? How about when the five men, who have ample reason to fear each other and are facing a life-or-death reckoning, whistle "Ode to Joy" together like a bunch of Whiffenpoofs?

Mark Becker's Romantico is beautifully realized on old-fashioned film. And that's only part of its charms.

Luke, who seems to have been marking time since his impressive debut in the title role of Denzel Washington's "Antwone Fisher" four years ago, is fiercely good as this reluctant warrior and devoted family man.

This is a serious movie overflowing with memorable acting, unforgettable images, searing tragedy, unexpected humor and an eloquent plea for international understanding. And while it's by no stretch of imagination light entertainment, it's fundamentally a more optimistic work than either "Amores Perros" or "21 Grams."

As with "Distant," the dialogue is minimal, the takes are long, the narrative is laconic (too much so for many viewers, I imagine) and the cinematography is painterly.

God, if you exist, why do you keep letting morons like Walsch get rich?

Sharper and far more entertaining than most political documentaries.

The only thing that's shocking about Death of a President is how boring it is.

There are a couple of grams of interesting stories about Miami's drug traffic in Cocaine Cowboys, but the good stuff is cut with 50 kilos of cinematic baking soda.

The chief attraction in the overlong 20 Centimeters, besides ample soft-core sex, are the well-staged musical numbers.

A serious, wrenching and oddly poetic documentary.

Wavers between (sometimes) brilliant and (mostly) boring. But it would be wrong to call it a failure.

Would that all death be so peaceful.

Coppola works in weird ways, but the real Versailles was so much weirder.

While Murphy never manages to make this crazy quilt dramatically credible, he does hit the mark for laughs and has written some juicy scenes for his excellent cast.

Beach ("Windtalkers") gives a tremendously moving, Oscar-caliber performance as Hayes, portrayed by Tony Curtis in an earlier movie and celebrated in a song performed by both Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan.

As misconceived as it is corny and predictable.

On the M. Night Shyamalan scale of stupid endings, The Prestige isn't as bad as "The Village" but it's comparable to "Unbreakable."

It's not exactly going to be on PETA's 10-best list.

We keep waiting for one of those outlandish musical treats to bring some life to the clichéd script. Kunder throws in a few breaks, but they're tepid and brief.

Five people did escape, and they contribute their stories to the spellbinding documentary.

Anybody who's ever seen a movie about exorcism knows that, in cases like this, the first thing to do is call 1-800-PRIEST, which the family does.

Since they seem like real people we want them to work out their differences. In the second half, their story is nearly lost in favor of lots of documentary footage of the actual protests. This stuff was pretty ho-hum to look at two years ago, and it hasn't gotten more interesting with age.

This year's actress to watch is Elizabeth Reaser, who delivers a tour de force as a determined German mail-order bride who comes to 1920 Minnesota in Ali Selim's captivating indie Sweet Land.

Utter junk.

Halfway through, the jokes stop - the laughs never began - and give way to a tiresome thriller.

The movie's prideful silliness makes it semi-watchable in the manner of Saturday afternoon cable flicks like "Delta Force."