Saraband, flat and static both visually and thematically, doesn't begin to approximate the austere beauty of the director's art-house classics.

A taut, tricky thriller.

Beautifully shot, in long, fluid takes, The Beat That My Heart Skipped is that rare thing: a remake that improves on its source.

For the first 100 minutes of his 117-minute film Spielberg holds the audience in a grip of fear. When Ray and Rachel take refuge in the storm cellar of a survivalist (a miscast Tim Robbins), the director's grip relaxes only a bit, but the film never recovers from this excursion into the Gothic.

One thing Kidman is not is a clown. She thinks fizzy and dizzy and klutzy are funny. She is mistaken. To be a clown requires a kind of witchcraft.

Oddly enough, though Land of the Dead is more clever and grand than Romero's early classics, it is not as haunting.

Rize shows how clowning led to krumping, and argues that its practitioners' fierce dedication to dance has saved countless kids from drugs, crime and gangs.

Potter explores midlife ennui, (middle-)East-West tension, theology, biology and the irrational nature of romance in this ambitious, if ultimately sketchy, drama.

This remake is about half of a very likable film. But in movies (as in auto races) it isn't how you start, it's how you finish. And Herbie should have kept something in the tank for the late going.

Once upon a time there were made-for-television movies. Now there are made-for-television movies for movie theaters. The Perfect Man, another anemic Hilary Duff vehicle, is a case in point.

Heights manages to make the lives of all these beautiful people seem quite tedious. Despite their accomplishments, the only thing they seem suited for is hailing cabs.

Although Me and You and Everyone We Know requires patience on the part of the viewer - to get past the faux naivete of its grown-up characters, to get past its deadpan arty tone - Miranda July's feature debut is worth the time.

An exquisite exploration into the realms of seduction, obsession, deception and disillusionment.

Burton gives us SuperDude; Nolan gives us Sir Subdued.

Mr. & Mrs. Smith kicks off with panache and star power - and quickly wears out its welcome.

This one is so bad that even Ed Norton couldn't get this mess to move through the sewer.

A case of a yummy yarn spoiled by cheesy visuals.

It is almost inevitable that Miyazaki, often compared to C.S. Lewis and J.K. Rowling, should have found in Diana Wynne Jones a kindred spirit.

Cool, clinical and not altogether convincing.

Cinderella Man is not a movie about boxing, but about this boxer who personified the heart and hope of 1935.

The film doesn't hold together in any compelling way.

Thoroughly engaging.

Salvadori's choppy film never establishes a comic rhythm.

Paolo Virzi's film looks at school as the microcosm of society and at fathers too self-absorbed to be there for their daughters. He combines the themes played in "Mean Girls" and "Look at Me" and makes them vibrant.

Sisterhood is Stand by Me for girls, as sullen, plucky, melodramatic, exuberant, athletic, graceless, crafty, artistic, arrogant, modest, helpless and resourceful as its teenage heroines.

What makes the new movie almost bearable is the byplay between Sandler and Chris Rock.

This slight and amusing 'toon is mostly a trip designed for the kiddie crowd to take in.

A first film with a deft comedic touch and a trio of charming stars, Saving Face isn't deep - but it doesn't profess to be.