Cross "Get Shorty" with "State and Main" - Hollywood hustlers, colorful crooks, crafty poseurs, and a production crew on location - and you have the stuff of The Last Shot. One other thing: eliminate anything funny.

Raunchily entertaining farce.

Not a great movie, but it's affectionate. It reveals the cuddly side of Mac.

A slick comedy that's more fun than it has any right to be.

The film's save-the-world scenario may be the stuff of crusty cliff-hangers, its imagery may be borrowed, and its jaunty dialogue anything but deep, but there's something exhilarating going on here. It's darn sublime.

Catastrophically overdone.

The story is as basic as a peasant meal - and just as hearty.

Essentially a series of walking character sketches. The storytelling is slack and lackluster, the cliches rampant.

The imagery is uniquely that of Oshii, who deserves a place in the pantheon of visual artists.

Those who want something more substantial from a movie than a vid-game script with centerfold appeal will not find it in this noisy, bone-crushing survivalist flick inspired by the Game Cube diversion.

Apart from Luna's exquisitely subtle performance, Criminal's strongest suit is the so-artless-it's-artful cinematography by Chris Menges, which gives the impression of being shot by a fly on the wall. Similarly, Alex Wurman's jazz-infused score contributes to the improvisational atmosphere.

An unfortunate collision of earnest coming-of-age cliches and off-key acting, Evergreen almost, and certainly unintentionally, presents itself as parody.

A dementedly artificial and artsy film, a headache-inducing jumble of fractured narrative, flashbacks within flashbacks, and shifting perspectives.

If the shrill Italian melodrama Remember Me, My Love were a television soap opera, it would be called The Not-So-Young and the Restless.

A triumph for its director and its star.

Quite possibly the biggest ego trip ever to play Cannes, or anywhere else, at any time.

Its stars - especially the photogenic Leung and Cheung, fresh from Wong Kar Wai's jazzy romance In the Mood for Love - are wonderfully charismatic. And wonderfully athletic.

From its jungle forays to its waterfall tumbles to its deadly spider bites - is entirely, utterly unoriginal.

Fails to provide one essential ingredient: suspense.

It's a gently provocative film diary about tobacco and its mixed legacy.

This so-called comedy is a frayed string of anxious jokes about whether male bonding is manly or sissy.

Fry's film has the frantic energy and kaleidoscopic style of Waugh's feverish prose.

Offers a fascinating chronicle of the birth, glory days and waning years of a motorcycle-jacketed, bowl-haircutted quartet of middle-class geeks who unwittingly spawned the punk movement.

It is at once inspiring and troubling.

Has a jumpy, reality-TV kind of feel that adds to the story's sense of unsettling authenticity.

Delightfully creepy suspenser.

Anderson gets style points for the pyramid, though. The building - a combination of Aztec, Egyptian and Cambodian elements loaded with sophisticated gadgetry - totally rocks.

All four performances are strong and nuanced, which makes the film oddly compelling. At the same time, all four characters are hard to like, difficult to care about. They're like car-crash victims in a demolition derby of narcissism and lies.