No one's going to confuse The Core with art -- or even a good film -- but it's 25 minutes longer than "The Hours" and I had at least 25 times as much fun.

A love letter to a New York neighborhood that is rapidly disappearing -- a tight-knit Dominican community.

Overly long and uncomfortably intrusive, but never less than compelling.

The most interesting parts of the movie are the long, sexy and well-staged dance sequences, some of them involving a very nimble Duvall.

Chases its tail for so long, it morphs from a whodunit into a who-cares.

The sloppily shot, crudely edited Head of State fails as satire, for starters, because of its utter disconnect from any kind of reality.

A stunning study of ennui.

Beautifully photographed and fitfully amusing, Gaudi Afternoon would be an impressive film from a first-timer, but Seidelman is experienced enough to know she should have told the actors not to camp things up so excessively.

Co-star Christina Applegate, who's much more at home in this down and dirty milieu, wipes the floor (in one scene, literally, in a ludicrous cat fight) with the erstwhile Oscar winner.

Dreamcatcher is a lark probably best enjoyed by 12-year-olds -- or anyone still able to get in touch with their inner 12-year-old.

The story won't win any prizes for coherence, but that doesn't much matter. As in most Hong Kong thrillers, it's the visuals - love those boldly choreographed shootouts! -- and moments of absurdity that count.

Fairly cringe-inducing, full of witless double-entendres and the requisite "gags" involving bodily fluids.

When the world gets too big and scary, the Hundred Acre Wood remains a clearly delineated comfort zone.

Carion, in his feature debut, means well, and his characters are lovable. But the plot is so predictable and sentimental that viewers are likely to lose interest before Sandrine and her goats walk off into the sunset.

The trouble with authenticity in a punk rock film is that it comes off as amateurish, and while "Dolls" has a feverish energy -- and some good songs -- it suffers from crude performances and a trite rise-and-fall plot.

Doesn't have the crossover appeal of the Mexican sexcapade "Y Tu Mama Tambien," but it does herald the arrival of an audacious young filmmaker. We can't wait to see what he does next.

Morgan never reaches the heights the film probably would have hit if had been directed by Tim Burton, whose style is frequently evoked -- especially Shirley Walker's playful score, which seems channeled directly from Burton's frequent collaborator Danny Elfman.

The plot has all the ingredients of a soap opera, but Bani-Etemad, who has been making movies since the '80s, is able to make it much more.

Spun is quickly exposed as being all flash, no substance.

The only prize this shamelessly derivative schlock is likely to be in the running for is the year's dullest thriller.

Awesome filmmaking. But it doesn't make for easy film-watching.

The cheap-looking special effects, embarrassingly clunky attempts at humor and one-dimensional characters are bad enough, but the PG-rated movie's most offensive crime is its uncomfortably lewd interactions between adults and kids.

An energetic, feel-good blend of comedy, romance and benign drama -- with a side dish of social commentary -- that works despite its strict adherence to the culture clash/generation gap formula.

The plot is neither here nor there, but you have to see this for the luscious cinematography by Chi Xiaoning, who loves shades of blue and amber.

Although deft editing provides neat segues, "Safety" suffers from a case of too many dramas, too little time. Characters are given no chance to develop and, too often, their behavior turns on a dime, hurtling off into a parallel universe of extreme acts.

Tried to turn this into a replay of its 2000 military-rescue hitBlack Hawk Down -- though, in the end, it's almost totally lacking in the serious hardware and viscerally paced action that propelled Ridley Scott's movie to the top of the box office.

The narrative is fractured, David Lynch-style. Everything eventually makes sense -- sort of.

Schmaltzy and endless.