Despite the film's inevitably downbeat tone and occasional repetitiveness, there is that heavenly music to remember -- or to encounter for the first time. You will leave the theater singing, if with a touch of melancholy.

What Machete does have -- and what saves it from itself -- is comic bloodthirst, shameless vulgarity and the determination of Rodriguez and Maniquis to wink at their audience at every moment.

A twisty, darkly comic story of greed, betrayal and murderous misunderstandings.

It does a nice job of balancing stillness and action, but it hits weakly when it hits at all and falls short of the small grandness to which it aspires.

The film is big and sprawling and moves with fiery energy -- there's little or no exposition or explanation between scenes or episodes, yielding a breakneck pace.

I cared enough about these characters to follow "Exorcism" to tense and occasionally goofy places, even if the setup proved a bit stronger than the payoff.

If I believed in the concept of "guilty pleasures," I'd classify "Centurion" as one, but I think I maybe just kind of enjoyed it.

Amir Bar-Lev shows in the absorbing, eye-opening and sometimes enraging film The Tillman Story, if there was one thing that you could count on Pat Tillman to do it was speak his mind: loudly, intelligently, and often in salty, pointed language.

There's a breeziness to Soul Kitchen, good performances by Moritz Bleibtreu as Zinos' slippery brother and Birol Unel as his fanatical new chef, and a peppy soundtrack.

Wright and company do a splendid job of distilling it down to a fresh and entertaining joyride of a film.

Brainless, witless, inept, ugly and crude,

Eat Pray Love is magazine-spread self-help bullcorn with the highest possible production values, and I wasn't having any of it.

Frightening stuff, and made all the more so because of how matter-of-factly by writer-director David Michôd plays it.

The Other Guys finds McKay back to trying something wildly ambitious with his comedy, and largely succeeding.

The plot doesn't really stand up to scrutiny, but Cairo Time works on an emotional level and is a hassle-free way to sample Egypt.

What could have been a complex portrait of a flawed man dealing with the perils of success ends up far less interesting.

A charming Rob Reiner film that more or less works as intended.

Lebanon isn't as resonant as the haunting mix of autobiography and animation in "Waltz with Bashir," which dealt with the same war. Still, the film's fresh craft promises more from a director who turns the tiniest possible of settings into a sobering metaphor for the madness of a larger world.

With Paul Rudd as the would-be mocker and Steve Carell as the mockee, and all manner of new supporting characters and plot lines thrown in, and much less energy, delight, wit, humor and fun than the original was able to muster without any evident strain. There's the occasional bubble, I confess, but almost no delight.

A winning, grown-up film that benefits from fine, homey performances, a steady directorial hand, and the sense that everyone involved was invested in the story and not just the job.

For at least three-fourths of its running time, The Concert is predictable, soft-edged and unremarkable. Then the titular performance, of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto, begins, and the music elicits the emotional response the rest of the film has been striving for the whole time. It's enough to almost make the whole thing worthwhile.

King is good enough that you can't help but root for her. But frankly, I can't imagine paying full ticket price plus concessions for that privilege.

Salt is hooey, but in a medium in which hooey is the stock-in-trade, it's effective hooey, and hooey with admirable craft, and, most of all, breezy hooey.

The biggest problems are Solondz's themes of forgiveness and glib, misplaced patriotism.

This is the first full-length movie about his painting and his being that gets anywhere near close to comprehending both.

This is a deeply felt work of art in the form of a big, brassy movie-movie.

What saves Kisses from its missteps is the chemistry between O'Neill and Curry.

There's almost nothing to grab onto. It's like a gorgeous graphic novel with a protagonist and story that vanish utterly from the mind as soon as the last page is turned.

Turteltaub has a workmanlike touch and an easy sense of humor here, and he and his team do a better-than-expected job of keeping you interested in the story, despite it being yet another Tale of a Reluctant Young Man With A Supernatural Hero's Calling.

There's no reason to actively dislike the film, but that's not enough, not at today's ticket prices. Just because you're not despicable, after all, doesn't mean you're the pick of the litter.

While Predators isn't nearly as vivid or fresh as the original, it's certainly its strongest sequel.

A solid, twisting, well-acted mystery, but it strains credulity at times, and its ultimate revelations are unsurprising and, when you think back on the whole film, confusing. It also lacks a distinctive atmosphere, shot in an almost TV-style flatness.

Ultimately, a heart in the film to go with Rebney's considerable bile.

The fun thing about Eclipse is watching Lautner emerge as the Han Solo of this series, getting all the laughs and calling Edward and Bella on their preciousness.

You can't help but share the feelings, many of them subrational, that coarse through the soldiers as they live a hellish year in a hellish place.

Still, when a director of his pedigree and years brings so much life to the screen, inconsistency hardly seems to matter.

Incomplete, shrill and smug.

If you can settle into its odd, low-key groove, I think you'll find it's a light pop beverage that goes down easy during one of the lamest blockbuster summers in recent memory.

In the year's least surprising news, Toy Story 3 continues Pixar's near-perfect streak.

As the eye-opening documentary Stonewall Uprising shows through interviews and frequently horrifying old footage, homosexuality in this country was once a highly illegal behavior, widely viewed, at the very least, as a mental disorder, possibly even psychopathic.

How pleasant to report, then, that a new romantic comedy -- small, smart, funny, tender and dear -- should emerge from a pair of filmmaking brothers still in their 30s and with a distinct indie film pedigree that informs, while not dominating, their work.

Here the homages/critiques of old craft and form are often laughably mangled, and nothing sexy, profound or illuminating results. For all its prettiness, it's the sort of picture that gives the arthouse a bad name.

Ultimately, it's a formulaic sports movie for kids that hits the expected dramatic beats.

It's shaping up to be a long, dry summer, at least at the multiplex.

Rarely has a documentary subject projected such palpable fear and anxiety as Joan Rivers in Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work.

With a level-gazed approach to its milieu, empathetic but clear-eyed, Winter's Bone practically makes up for 40 years of "Deliverance"-style hillbilly cartoons.

Unfortunately, neither of these fascinating artistic giants is given much of a personality.

Well, if Jordan believes he's made an excellent film, that's one thing, but the fact is it's a minor, though mostly enjoyable, one.

Horror fans should still seek the film out for Dren -- one of the most striking abominations to hit the big screen in a while.

This final act goes on far too long and devolves into such a miasma of pap that it's clear Stoller had no idea how to wrap things up.

Clever but, alas, largely forgettable.

A well-acted, convincing portrait of a successful but overworked film producer.

Shrek 4 is at its best when it's sadistically doing these character remixes; you can feel the filmmakers' glee at getting to shrug off story continuity and make a mess.

In trying to make Kalmen's story unique, the film inadvertently exposes him as the most typical sufferer of midlife crises you could imagine.

There’s quality throughout, but, visual verve aside, the enterprise is dull, heavy-handed and dispiriting.

iI’s a film more content to amuse than truly to probe or feel.

Takes a little while to find its way but becomes steadily more compelling as Lenny's character and considerable issues come into focus.

Only a shadow -- if an agreeable and harmless one -- of its predecessor film.

Babies will capture your eye -- and, probably, your fancy.

Prolific documentarian Alex Gibney takes a labyrinthine, detail-laden story and crafts an attention-holding film, polemical without ranting.

Something like a finely-written and -acted soap opera. That isn’t death, but it’s less like life than you’d hope.

Her film is just as effective as a portrait of two unknowable, individual souls caught up in events of global scale.

Time to retire OSS 117's license to kill before any more innocent people suffer.

Alas, the drama surrounding him (Caine) rarely rouses anything but yawns.

There are laughs and moments of pain and many instances of embarrassing (and deeply human) behavior throughout, but there's also delicacy and grace.

A breezy, dumb and lightweight film that has the benefit of not trying terribly hard to be about much of anything and succeeding (bravo?).

Suffers from sludgy pacing, flat writing and acting, and a strange and puzzling fondness for scatology and coarse language.

Director Kim Ji-woon creates a funny, fast-moving pastiche of Spielberg, Woo, Leone and George Miller, but it's really a must-see for its three big action set pieces -- which go on for a million years each and become almost hallucinatory.

Doesn't make the case that watching truly bad movies is worthwhile. But it does make you realize that nobody gets up in the morning, showers, breakfasts, dresses and goes to work thinking they're making the worst film in history, either.

Director Matthew Vaughn has provided an imperfect but still wickedly hilarious take on Mark Millar's deconstruction of superhero mythos.

A diverting, playful and puzzling documentary.

The Joneses turns out to be a smart little comedy that tosses some sharp little darts at our consumer-driven culture.

All that talent behind and in front of the camera is mostly wasted due to a rare substandard screenplay.

The movie knows enough, most of the time, to just let the funny people be funny.

The whole thing unfolds with sadistic precision, but Edgerton's expert manipulation makes it a fun ride nonetheless.

It all passes quickly, as far as that goes, but when it’s over it passes entirely. And something that sells for a premium price ought to linger.

The movie's as casual as its lead characters' approach to changing history; it's also lewdly and frequently laugh-out-loud hilarious -- especially if you wasted any of your youth watching a certain brand of '80s comedy schlock on HBO at 2 a.m.

The ensuing love triangle culminates in a frankly loopy finale that tarnishes the film's earlier insights and ensures that it will be only remembered for some hot and heavy bedroom scenes.

It's charming, funny, exceedingly well-made and features enough comically thrilling flying-lizard mayhem to cause your child's head to lightly explode.

What could have been a biting, darkly comic action flick about capitalistic health care run amok is instead a familiar, gory, post-apocalyptic slog.

This Diary of a Wimpy kid is too often dull, unappealing and clumsy, hobbled by unnecessary changes and inventions that add no charm, energy or, truly, point.

Why would you watch a film about a creep like Greenberg? Well, aside from the fact that it’s well-done and intense and occasionally funny (in a dark, dark way, mind you), there’s the sneaking suspicion that there’s a little of this fellow in all of us, and self-knowledge of that sort is a gift that, often, only art can give.

Apparently it’s the second film of a trilogy Demme intends on Young -- and the middles are always the hardest parts to get right, yeah?

A movie that tells -- or rather, circles -- the story of the band's formation and abortive career.

To follow up his superb "The Host," director Joon-ho Bong has crafted a remarkable film about love, faith, determination, guilt, and honor, a full-blooded, constantly inventive movie that enthralls, entertains, horrifies and never lets go its grip.

Indeed, Green Zone plays a little bit like a video game version of the Oscar-winning film (The Hurt Locker)-- which should tell you right off whether it's for you or not.

Kazan has a gift for letting you see her think, even when she's perfectly still; the film's title refers to the ferocious trauma happening between Ivy's ears and her silent struggle to keep it in check.

Unfortunately, the movie is the worst sort of liar: an unfunny one. Its gormless, assertion-free protagonist offends as a role model for idio youths, and, even worse, offends as drama.

A strangely passive film, dutifully ladling out its bits of filmic wizardry and expanding Lewis Carroll’s fantastical mythos in a promising new direction without any palpable sense of glee or verve.

Fine moments, images and performances stand cheek-by-jowl with the clichéd, the on-the-nose and the slightly dopey.

Cop Out wouldn't be as disappointing if it hadn't been made by Smith, but for those who dig the vulgar wit of his early, funny films, it's not just stupid, it's sad. At least the worst film of the year also bears its most forgettable title.

Long and sometimes grueling, but it never feels indulgent or excessive. In order to be subtle about the horrifying transformation he records, Audiard needs to let it unfold slowly, so that only when we reach the end can we see Malik as a new man who has come unimaginably -- and terribly -- far.

Packed with more intrigue and excitement than one might expect.

Even if Prodigal Sons is ultimately more buildup than payoff, Reed is a nimble enough filmmaker to roll with unexpected developments and make poignant connections between her family's unremarkable past and its extraordinary, wrenching present.

Unfortunately, the precision and presence Hurt brings to the table aren't enough to carry this warmed-over Southern melodrama.

Atmospheric, absorbing and completely in the control of the man who made it -- unlike, especially, “Bringing Out the Dead,” which it sometimes resembles.

Ferrific fun and rousing proof that there’s still vital life in an aging master filmmaker.

If the plot unfolded in a less formulaic way, this could have been an impressive dark-tinged comedy. But in the end, it's more a case of talented actors trying to find something fresh in a fairly stale tale.