Thanks to Scott's charismatic Roger and Eisenberg's sweet nephew, Roger Dodger is one of the most compelling variations on "In the Company of Men."

Has a promising start. But it quickly becomes tiresome and cliché-ridden - not to mention depressing and pointless.

Does briefly sizzle in the scenes between Newton and French actress Christine Boisson, as the bisexual French police commander assigned to the case.

Some solid performances and pretty scenery don't do much to conceal that there's a whole heap of nothing at the core of this slight coming-of-age/coming-out tale.

The most effective moments in Taymor's gorgeous, surprisingly romantic Frida are those that evoke the visual world from which Kahlo's work was formed or the paintings themselves, often using clever animation and other special effects.

Despite a crafty premise and a clever kink in the tale that almost saves it, Connolly isn't dexterous enough to achieve the Hitchockian level of suspense the movie needs.

Apart from the slightly sanitized look of Reagan-era Harlem, this raw ghetto drama rings true, from the smooth dialogue to the unaffected performances of the central actors.

A big, incoherent bore, interesting only as an example of assembly-line movie-making gone awry.

To call Jackass: The Movie the worst movie of the year is practically a compliment. This plotless, crudely videotaped collection of moronic stunts is a movie in the same sense that those hideous, velvet depictions of Elvis are paintings.

Leigh's uncanny ability to mine emotional truth packs the usual punch. And the trademark flashes of humor sprinkled throughout ease the bleakness of the landscape.

The result puts a human face on Derrida, and makes one of the great minds of our times interesting and accessible to people who normally couldn't care less.

The episodic film makes valid points about the depersonalization of modern life. But the characters tend to be clichés whose lives are never fully explored.

Generally delightful, and reminiscent of two vanished ages: when men were men, and when movies were movies.

A confusing mishmash.

No light leavens the ashen wash of writer-director Tim Blake Nelson's relentlessly downbeat Holocaust drama The Grey Zone. None.

Less of a "You go, girl" manifesto than its title would suggest.

Desperately unfunny and unexciting.

Who needs mind-bending drugs when they can see this.

A stylish but distressingly generic and not particularly scary American remake of a phenomenally popular Japanese supernatural thriller that spawned two sequels and a TV miniseries.

Schrader's strongest movie since "Affliction," is another meditation on American masculinity powerfully told with great wit and style.

Makes a convincing argument that the decades-old Cuban blockade has outlived its usefulness.

A well-intentioned, semi-autobiographical pastiche, is trapped in a straitjacket of political correctness, self-conscious acting and spurts of try-hard dialogue that come off as precious.

Most troubling is just how easy it is to sell nuclear secrets with the help of large corporations and the acquiescence of governments.

Technically competent. What it needs is an original script.

Represents a kind of progress. Where once only a few ultra-talented, lucky black filmmakers got to make big studio movies, now we have standard-issue Hollywood schlock that happens to be made by, about and for African-Americans.

A substandard attempt to outfit a World War II submarine with every haunted-house cliché known to man and filmmakers.

Ambitious, guilt-suffused melodrama crippled by poor casting.

Looks and feels like a bad imitation of "Trainspotting" without any of that film's wit or charm.