Even with Burton's imagination turning its trademark cartwheels, the film's big beating heart holds the whimsical offshoots steady.

Lacks even a trace of imagination. Its by-the-numbers plot is depressingly familiar, and each line of dialogue is so predictable that the script... could have been generated by a computer.

A crock - a pandering epic that's as phony as it is condescending.

Despite some fancy editing, Forget Baghdad is forgettable.

The script falters at the end, as the two reach the Turkish village where Ibrahim was raised. But the winning performances -- and killer '60s soundtrack -- save the day.

Bell has added unexpected shadings to what could have been simply a sordid tale of highway prostitution, gradually revealing surprises to the characters that keep a murmur of unease thrumming throughout.

This absorbing documentary, which has already been shown on cable, is getting a theatrical run to capitalize on the Broadway musical "Taboo."

Be warned: Some of the afflictions are so disturbing, you might have to turn your eyes from the children. Susan Tom doesn't have that option. And 11 children are all the better for it.

That's all laudable - but Perry, a longtime filmmaker, should have given the doc more urgency and punch.

The two leads have strong singing voices, but they're not helped by songs with titles like "It's Time to Disco."

It's a wistful yet penetrating film, shot through with magic realism and life-affirming humor, that gets you deep down where you live.

Chomet's wacky tale is so crammed full of eye-popping images, it's impossible to forget afterward.

A determinedly raunchy holiday comedy about a libidinous, larcenous and perpetually soused St. Nick with a nonstop potty mouth.

This mostly laugh-and scare-free turkey offers an utterly bored -- and boring -- Eddie Murphy taking a back seat to special effects, elaborate sets and a wispy story slapped together by David Berenbaum (the overrated "Elf").

It reeks of contempt for the audience. This is not just a "B-movie" -- it's a B-movie that fails to entertain on any level.

Unfolds leisurely, in anecdotal style, with deadpan humor and a sense of the absurd.

The best thing Baldwin has done in years, and a triumph of low-budget storytelling by a director to watch.

Stunningly photographed, largely with a hand-held camera, by Rodrigo Prieto (another member of the "Amores Perros" team) on gritty locations in Memphis and Albuquerque, 21 Grams is also a visual tour de force - and a rare Hollywood product depicting class differences with any kind of honesty.

The narrative itself, attributed to three former "Seinfeld" writers who also worked on "The Grinch," reeks of desperation.

The movie spins further and further into coincidence and incoherence.

Schmaltzy and contrived.

Occasionally becomes melodramatic.

The sensitive subject matter is handled discreetly by writer-director Chin-yen Yee, who never lets the story sink into exploitation or finger-pointing.

As if the witless cultural stereotypes weren't bad enough, misogyny is rampant -- bare-breasted women abound, yet the protagonist remains fully clothed while having a bullet removed from his butt.

Never rises above the level of a soap opera, although the steamy sex and Lo's abundant nudity might make it worthwhile for some viewers.

Ironically, what's lacking in Howard's stark, often brutal, late 19th-century chase drama is emotional punch.

Comes perilously close to being a vanity production for the obscure singer Isabel Rose, who stars and wrote the autobiographical screenplay with neophyte director Robert Cary, based on her own struggles as a cabaret singer.

A thoughtful, rousing and beautifully crafted epic.