The kind of small gem that's becoming increasingly rare in American films.

Sweet isn't a word often used to describe movies these days, but it's one that applies to The Cave of the Yellow Dog.

Harris can be a brilliant actor, and there are flashes of that here. But he's done in by a script that lacks any subtlety.

The initial suspense of Cautiva gives way to sentimental clichés, but Lombardo's performance (including a daring nude scene) keeps us watching.

Rarely has a documentary been so pleased with itself - with so little justification.

I can't wait to see Borat, which has twice as many laughs as all of this year's other movie comedies combined, for a fourth time.

How this thing got made in Hollywood is a mystery, but I laughed at most of it, especially the mean stereotypes about the French and the even meaner stereotype about England's soccer team.

Martin Short as Jack Frost, means we're getting a turkey and a ham for the holidays. As for Tim Allen as Scott Calvin, an ordinary guy who took over Santa's job by chance, he's more like a tasteless lump of mashed potatoes.

Described as a cross between "Mildred Pierce" and "Arsenic and Old Lace" by Almodóvar - which ought to be more than enough to entice his fans.

It loses direction, turning contrived and sentimental. There's even a touch of Frank Capra.

Relentlessly grim.

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.