Every role is miscast. Whose idea was it to have the boyishly British Bale play an illiterate Greek peasant, or the elegant Hurt a gruff-voiced country doctor? Cruz’s run of bad luck in American movies continues.

Has its flaws, but at its best it’s a fleet, fun action movie -- and certainly one of the cooler blockbusters that Hollywood will cough up this godforsaken summer.

This shamefully underpromoted, gloriously silly romp made me laugh harder than any other movie this summer. Make that this year.

Resoundingly so-so.

In the hearts of losers, Zwigoff’s found a real winner.

If this Popsicle of a movie melts long before it's over, the first half has more good laughs than all of “Sweethearts.”

Ferocious and sometimes creepily funny, Bully is a raunchy suburban "Crime and Punishment."

Vertical Ray slows our rhythms and heightens our senses: it's a shimmering, tactile experience.

More sweet than savage, this amiable farce creates laughs with old-pro efficiency.

The result is fascinating -- a rich, strange, problematical movie full of wild tonal shifts and bravura moviemaking.

Goes on too long, and much of it is hooey, but it’s hard not to have a good time.

Couldn’t have arrived at a better time: movies have been so bad lately that audiences are positively starving for something mediocre.

A demonstration of bravura acting.

Nutty paranoid thriller.

Ninety minutes into this massive movie the attack commences, and the spectacular images come hurtling like fireballs. This is, let's be honest, what we're here for, and what most Jerry Bruckheimer-produced movies serve up best: the poetry of destruction.

Hilarious and captivating.

Luhrmann has raised the level of his game, deconstructing the Hollywood musical -- a genre all but left for dead -- and reassembling it with a potency that hasn’t been seen since “Cabaret.”

Maybe you have to be 14 to find all of this terribly clever.

She's (Zellweger) so disarming and so deeply Bridget -- gliding between mortifying slapstick and pathos -- that she's entirely won you over by the time the credits have rolled. The opening credits.

Hilariously unhinged, but also desperate and confused.

When George’s fortunes start to go from bad to worse, so does the movie.

He’s (González Iñárritu) conjured up a dark, brutal vision of urban life that sticks to your skin like soot.

A gripping, utterly unexpected noir, glinting with bits of poetry and a hard, deadpan humor.

The comedy gets better, and more unpredictable, as it goes, and so do the performances.

Whether Series 7, filmed on digital video for less than $1 million, is reactive or prescient doesn’t change the fact that it’s a dead-on parody of the form.

A tired, confused romantic comedy/noir thriller with all the suspense of an infomercial. Buy the poster; skip the movie.

A very funny movie, full of eccentric, deadpan little moments. What's more, it resonates, and has subtle, tender and acute things to say about romance, art, class and -- why not? -- interior decorating. It's a winning tribute to the flighty Aphrodite.

Strikingly devoid of suspense. It’s not always clear who’s the protagonist and who’s the antagonist. Nor is it scary—at its most intense moments, it’s merely yucky.