Offers a diverting tale of erstwhile indie filmmaking and the power of porn to generate change - both at the box office and in the bedroom.

In the end, Bellocchio suggests in this spiritual thriller that perhaps faith is the dream from which we do not awaken.

A creaky, cliched, feel-good family drama about learning to stop and smell the roses - and planting a vegetable garden while you're at it - Uncle Nino is shameless, sappy fare.

A loving, dopey documentary about the bird man of a place with a view of Alcatraz.

While stylishly filmed and edited, Boogeyman is filled with every imaginable fright cliche... It's like a meal consisting entirely of airy hors d'oeuvres.

A vaguely creepy and mildly diverting rom-com.

It's a quietly powerful work, pulsing with gentle humor and a gripping sense of imminent calamity and dread.

It addresses the essential human need for dignity, for freedom, for mastery over one's life.

Fulfills the promise of its title: It's transporting, it's magical.

Even Boll seems to lose interest as the story unravels. By that time, the supernatural cliches, plot inconsistencies, dead ends and red herrings have piled up so high you can barely see the screen.

The movie's main purpose seems to be to make audiences squirm uncomfortably. Yelp and shriek in armchair-clawing glee? Not likely.

This is not the plot of your typical Ice Cube movie. It does, however, combine the plots of at least three John Hughes movies.

Despite all its roiling melodrama, Head-On has its moments of sharply observed humor.

Has a certain captivating quality about it.

The big shift between Carpenter's B-movie and filmmaker Jean-François Richet's comic book-style remake is that instead of a troop of bloodthirsty gang members encircling the precinct, the bad guys here all look like good guys.

Sweet, poignant, and winningly evocative of the period, though occasionally dogged by predictable scenarios and caricatures.

It's fair to say that Coach Carter is more an education film than it is a sports movie.

"Kill Bill" without irony, and without Quentin Tarantino's flair for cool dialogue and chop-socky action (and without Uma Thurman, for that matter), Elektra is a pretty-looking, pretty dull adaptation of the Marvel Comic about a dishy, deadly assassin.

Like "Mr. Holland's Opus," only in French, with an all-boy cast in white shirts and short pants, The Chorus is the kind of sugary, crowd-pleasing fare that only the most curmudgeonly moviegoer can frown upon.

The characters are (hand-painted) so flat that the film looks like a paper-doll convention at Epcot.

Has a low-key tone that works in its favor for a time.

While Weitz's story is diverting, the performances cut deeper than the film.

Collins and Pacino plumb the depths of acting, of Shakespeare, of the difference between law and justice.

An accomplished feature debut with stunning cinematography (by Elliot Davis), a jambalaya story line and yet another heart-stopping performance by Scarlett Johansson.

A downer of a drama.

Alas, this eternally sunny character's mantra, "I don't have a problem, I solve problems," makes for paltry dramatic tension.

Bacon's portrait chills to the bone.

Combines fingernails-on-blackboard audio agony with bamboo-under-fingernails physical torture.