With the abysmal A Little Bit of Heaven, Kate Hudson's possibly unprecedented losing streak remains unbroken: She hasn't made a good movie since Almost Famous, 12 long years ago. Even Nicolas Cage can't say that.

The most engaging is straight-shooting Erin Brockovich (whom you'll remember from that Julia Roberts pic), still helping average Joes fight uphill battles against corporate toxin-dumping.

The movie still seems fresh in the way it respects both the art in ballet and the discipline it demands - even in childhood.

Wilkinson's reflective and regretful searcher, burdened by secrets, is also touching, as are Dench and Nighy's creations, so it's easy to cheer them on as they inch toward revelations and rebirth.

Make no mistake, though: The Perfect Family is Kathleen Turner's show. And when a series of crises forces Eileen to re-examine her values and beliefs, Turner rises magnificently to the occasion.

Even for a surreal black comedy, Jesus Henry Christ requires massive suspension of disbelief.

Glawogger doesn't make any moral judgments, but you can't help but feel sorry for the "girls'' and their johns.

This remarkable new documentary from Raymond De Felitta ("City Island") fruitfully revisits the aftermath of a TV doc that his father, Frank, produced for NBC in 1965.

Doreen's scenes are meant to highlight the cost to the people surrounding Eddie. But the many efforts to link his psyche to his war experiences never gel, and Eddie remains a wraith, his real emotions as pallid as the film's colors.

Holds your attention for a while, but fails to build much suspense as it races toward a predictable climax. It probably would have worked better as a series of Webisodes, which reportedly was the original plan.

All are subjects worthy of discussion, but tackling them in one film disrupts the movie's momentum and shortchanges viewers. Baichwal could have devoted a single film to just BP's disgraceful behavior.

Szumowska provides lurid scenes of perverted sex, but she offers no new insight into the sordid world of prostitution and the dangers sex workers face. Nor does she flesh out Charlotte and Alicja. The result is a superficial and voyeuristic film.

The sex, nudity and violence are nonstop, but that's what makes Headhunters exciting entertainment. See it before the Hollywood remake, possibly starring Mark Wahlberg, gets it all wrong.

The biggest thrill for this mild-mannered crew isn't plundering or plank-walking, but Ham Night.

There are zero surprises, but it looks good, moves well through a trim running time and wields its clichés with defiant aplomb.

Jack Black gives the performance of his career in the title role of Bernie, under the pitch-perfect direction of his "School of Rock'' director, Richard Linklater, who expertly crafts a black comedy with a deceptively sunny surface. It's the best movie I've seen all spring.

It might not have as many gut-busting laughs as "Bridesmaids,'' but there are still plenty - and for once in Apatow's phallocentric universe, most of them don't come at the expense of female characters.

In the skilled hands of Cusack - who recites quite a bit of Poe's poetry - and director John McTeigue ("V for Vendetta''), it's good pulpy fun.

The Avengers is neither overwhelming nor underwhelming. What it expertly is, is whelming.

The movie has enormous force - because it's about a genius, yes, but even more so because of the intelligence, passion and wit of the people who knew Marley.

Fightville, you had me at "gladiator school."

My Way is not, as the title might suggest, a Frank Sinatra biopic. No, it's an eye-popping, empty-headed World War II epic made in South Korea.

Goodbye First Love showcases two young women with bright futures.

There was no need to edit it in overly slick ways that often make the story line seem contrived, accompanied by gag-laden narration that frequently made me want to gag.

Yes, there's some spectacular footage. But there's also an awful lot of filler for a 40-minute movie.

While it's not a disaster like Kasdan's last film, "Dreamcatcher'' (2003), Darling Companion doesn't amount to much more than a fairly painless way for the AARP set to spend an hour and a half watching a movie with stars their own age.

Shove people into categories, then into a film like Think Like a Man, and it's a recipe for tedium.

I'm beginning to think writer Nicholas Sparks isn't one person at all, but a roomful of ladies doing Harlequin-romance Mad Libs. Occasionally they'll hit a winning combination, as in the Sparks novel "The Notebook." More often, you get eye-rollers like "The Lucky One."