It's a little depressing to see such a thrilling talent deployed in such an ordinary and sordid movie. Training Day isn't awful, but it's absolutely nothing special.

His life stands as a testament to the idea that an average-looking bloke with a can-do attitude and a dream in his heart can rub shoulders with the folks the rest of us only get to read about. And he's got the photographs to prove it.

A decent-enough treat for fans of this particular Gallic genre.

The best thing about the film is the acting of the guys.

It's fast, it's sure, it's violent and it's fun, even as it sometimes pushes the limits of ready coherence or dramatic plausibility.

The storytelling -- the script is co-written by Verhoeven's old collaborator Gerard Soeteman -- is messy, and the result never feels real or human or vital.

Next Goal Wins isn't the most slickly made documentary, and its chronology can be confusing at times. But, despite a bit of salty language, it's an inspiring, never-say-die chronicle for all ages.

The film may have its troubled spots, but its poignant depiction of human tenderness more than compensates for them. [18 Nov 1994, p.17]

This movie about a great woman and a great man ends up merely good.

A nasty little tube of frozen horror concentrate.

They also, with brilliant simplicity, point to the possibility of these actions being taken for real.

Quiet, sexual, disturbing, often beautifully melancholic, Rain, as seen through the eyes of a precocious girl, recalls a parental split-up with sobering accuracy. It reminds us why so many teen-agers go through a sullen phase -- and sometimes never shake it off.

So filled with riches that it seems a bit unfair to single out Szabo and Fiennes, no matter how outstanding their work.

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.

Get On Up never finds its rhythm. Blame most of that on director Tate Taylor.

The Boys of Baraka leaves you outraged in the way only the best documentaries can.

A rather schizophrenic comedy that gives respected performers Dame Judi Dench and Bob Hoskins a chance to show they don't take themselves too seriously.

At its best, Prisoners dwells on the ways the characters affected by the case are held mentally captive -- by conviction, compulsion, procedure, skewed beliefs, rage, and grief -- and how each character's blind spot and/or maniacal focus furthers or frustrates the search for the girls.

A rough little comedy of tone. White, making his directorial debut, asks if the search for self is still heroic when the discoveries are unpleasant.

The picture is Logue's entirely, and without him, it might not be worth a visit.

Takes the typical detective-hunting-a-serial-killer story and twists it into a creepy, enigmatic bit of psychological terror that by its final ambiguous scene leaves you truly chilled.

A big-hearted French movie that shines with wit, beauty, humor, sunshine and the love of love.

It's witty, gripping good fun.

The real star of the film is Horton, whose straight-talking ways and supportive circle of friends are a stark contrast to the haughty insults of academia.

Begins with an eye on satire but dissolves quickly into grotesquerie -- and if the first tack was a bit narrow, the second is far too scattershot.

Just because others bear blame for what went on doesn't mean they bore none, and while the deal they got was raw, they never lacked the ability to say no.

The real revelation is Lou Ferrigno, in his first non-Hulk-related big-screen role since 2002. OK, so he plays himself.

In addition to providing a fascinating, agenda-free look at an unseen way of life, the film presents a lesson that should be welcome among people of any faith or none at all.

The rare movie that improves as it goes along, shedding its cliches and getting down to what matters.

The combination of ideas and wit, lively characterizations, believable human dilemmas and a climax that both melts and braces you makes for a fine blend. A movie about ideas may sound like a drag, but this one packages them in well-earned emotions.

If The Paper were a newspaper story, a savvy editor would demand a rewrite. [25 March 1994, p.AE13]

Acted with earnest commitment and scored and edited with jazzy, laconic grace, "Lights" tells us absolutely nothing we haven't heard before -- and often -- in sports films

Director Claude Berri plays the story out steadily, beautifully and thrillingly. [25 Dec 1987, p.F20]

The chief problem with Shadow Boxers is that it's too short.

Beneath its frantic surfaces, Narc is terribly ordinary, built on a mystery that will puzzle only those who have never watched a TV cop drama.

In its own slightly disturbing way, this psychological thriller serves as an absorbing diversion without sapping brain cells -- almost the perfect summer movie for smart people.

Amazing as Penn is, Morton is his equal, creating a complete personality out of gestures, glances and unadorned bits of actorly business.

It’s possible the movie’s actually too unflinching; there are moments where your nose is dangerously close to being rubbed in this pile of emotional trauma. Then again, when you come from the same country as the Dardennes brothers, you’ve got to pull out all the stops to compete in the misery department.

In some regards, watching Passione is like being cornered by actor John Turturro and forced to watch a slide show of his trip to Italy.

The film always teaches and entertains in equal, ample measure. It's a treat -- and it's good for you.

Gabrielle borders on the manipulative, but Archambault’s refusal to shy away from the tougher questions the narrative raises keeps it from being swallowed by its own sentimentality.

Sincere, delicately funny, a little staid, a little precious, and more interested in the ebb and flow of the heart than in the dubious rewards of sensational narrative twists.

The problem here is that while some of Mann's work is overwhelmingly great, the sum of it simply never compels.

With a predictable and borderline manipulative plot, Tsotsi depends on strong performances for its impact, and its cast delivers.

Wild demonstrates that even a workaday movie can become something special when blessed with once-in-a-lifetime casting and a couple of dozen hilarious one-liners. [19 Jun 1998, p.32]

It's long, like life, but like life it continually fascinates.

Rodriguez, who never acted before auditioning for the director, is utterly convincing, fluid and determined and jaded and wild like any teen-ager, but with a bracing spirit and a shocking store of ferocity.

Owning Mahowny may at times feel futile in its colorless, disheartening subject matter, but that's the point -- to see how barren Mahowny's life becomes. Hoffman gives the film relevance.

It is affecting, accomplished, witty, poignant and memorable.... Unstrung Heroes is one of the year's best films. [22 Sep 1995]

Oswalt sells Auferio's pasty indecision and makes him a more sympathetic figure than he has any right to be.

Whether Waddington's film comes across as hypnotic or boring, mythic or pretentious, may depend on the viewer's mood or tolerance for quasi-allegorical storytelling. But, as the women in House of Sand learn, patience can sometimes be its own reward.

Despite some of its more rickety story elements, Captain America: The Winter Soldier is possibly the studio's best action film and the one most able to stand on its own since the original "Iron Man."

If it happens to lose you as you wander through this strange land, at least it does so to the accompaniment of captivating visuals and music.

A spry and appealing film that throws off comic sparks with aplomb.

It's not afraid to be funny, tragic and decidedly female.

Lohan has a fresh presence; in a world of pale blond princesses it's a relief to see a freckled redhead who looks like she eats occasionally. A pleasure, too, to watch a young actress accomplished enough to play not only a punky high schooler, but a punky high schooler with a middle-aged woman trapped insider her.

Merry Christmas is long and ponderous, but for a few moments, its heavy hand is refreshingly light and agile, and you feel something other than frustration.

Gets behind the armor and the camouflage to give viewers a clear if brief view of the men and women who fight and die under the American flag every day in Iraq.

And while it may be true that Almodóvar doesn't have Hitchcock's way with terror, it's not clear that Hitchcock could leave the real world behind so wholly and convincingly as Almodóvar does here.

There are fine actors at work here. Chow is quiet and cunning, Gong Li is haughty and cold-eyed, Chen Jin is sturdy as a ghost who appears out of the past, and Gin Junjie is vividly bratty as the youngest, and most underappreciated, prince.

There's visual poetry here, in small doses, but it doesn't take long for one's patience to run out.

A highlight of Sunshine Superman is archival footage of Boenish attaching a homemade ladder to the side of the cliff, extending it 20 feet out into nothing, climbing out and sitting on a bicycle seat, and facing back toward the cliff with a movie camera.

The exquisitely exact photography and sound design represent the highest level of craft of Van Sant's career.

This fascinating and occasionally transporting film never quite transforms into something really great.

Just because it's how they did things in the old country doesn't excuse clinging to these outdated, oppressive traditions, even if Ravi manages to negotiate them with surprising good humor.

It's a splendid ensemble, equal in almost every way to the fine, probing script.

Elliott has come up with an ebullient entertainment propelled by garishly jaunty musical numbers, adroitly handled comic banter and an optimistic faith in people's ability to roll with the punches. [26 Aug 1994]

It's all polished and slick and credible, but it never truly engages. Perhaps it's because Irving's story is well-known; perhaps it's because of the script's repetitions and tangents; or perhaps it's simply because Hallstrom himself is ambivalent about his protagonist.

They were fast, they were sexy, they were clean, they were the future -- and they're already gone.

At the end, you're refreshed, like Pauline after she swallows an entire soft drink in one gulp, and it feels terrific.

Someone should send him (Kerry) a copy, if only to remind the senator of the days when he was willing and able to speak with the courage of his convictions, and when he had a lot less to lose.

Kidder's performance as Danielle is a highlight, creating a childlike woman who is beguilingly naive yet obviously fraught with peril. [22 Sep 2000]

The environment is one of unrelenting cruelty and misanthropy, which certainly brings out the novel's darker themes, but can be something of a slog to watch.

Despite a strong start, Only Human loses its grip on all that merry energy and comes to feel more like a sitcom than like "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown" or "Some Like It Hot," to name just some of its forebears.

While a splendidly acted and worthily grown-up movie, too often has the feel of a potboiling soap opera, with twists and turns that range from the grimly ironic to the absurdly sensational.

Merchants of Doubt is an important film. It's a riveting film, a necessary film, one that every American should see.

Ellroy's bully-boy schtick is getting stale, and Moverman is overly beholden to it.

It's not without one or two missteps, but remains likely the most impressive juvenile acting you'll see this year.

The team did better later, but they did just fine with "Shanghai." [07 Sep 1988, p.E05]

Delirious. Hilarious. Absolutely one-of-a-kind.

The film is enthralling, even as the tale becomes more and more dire, with scores of millions dead and societal upheaval imminent. The circumstances depicted in Contagion are terrifying, but the power with which the film is made blends the horror, as only the best art can, with beauty.

Pieces of April isn't the biggest or best film of the year, but it's touching, witty, smart and well-made. You have to sort through a lot of chaff at the multiplex to find all those qualities in a single movie.

It's a film for those people -- and they are legion -- who recoil in horror from the very notion of Christmas cheer. If you're in that crowd, and you know who you are, you'll love it.

Feels like an iffy concept album with some great singles.

As a brief introduction to Belle and his amazing gifts, District B 13 is a treat. But as a movie its feet are dully planted on the ground.

It is a strange, fascinating hybrid film, but it is Madonna's film, and she plays her role to the hilt. [17 May 1991, p.05]

Though it somehow manages to be a movie about inner peace with crazy, incredibly staged fight scenes every 10 minutes, it is, first and foremost, a movie about inner peace.

An informative and frightening documentary.

The ensemble rolls gleefully with the script's twists (which aren't all that twisty, to be fair), and the film piles up laugh after laugh agreeably.

A good test of a movie like this is whether it would be more or less stimulating to hang out with people you really know for 82 minutes. If Happy Christmas is the time better spent, it might be time to find a new crowd.

The movie has "heart" in a way that doesn't feel cloying or dishonest. And the cast -- especially Janelle Schremmer -- just nails it.

Gosling is excellent playing a character who's fundamentally unknowable.

Waititi is still telling stories of offbeat, semi-delusional New Zealanders, and he's still sprinkling his work with cartoonish flights of fancy -- but this time he grounds the comedy in a big-hearted, bittersweet story about a boy desperate to connect with his father.

As it stands, the film is perhaps a tad low-key to catch the eye, but it's carefully enough made and, especially, acted, to keep a hold on the brain and heart long after it's over.

It's a film with many strengths, but it's not a knockout. And that's Tarantino's own fault, though not in the first way you might imagine.

An intermittently engaging and confused blend of biopic, chop-socky, dopey mysticism and, oddest of all, melodramatic weepie, is no ``JFK.''[7 May 1993, p.AE15]

The world depicted in Mark Romanek's Never Let Me Go is among the more beautiful dystopias in film history.

Even as Inarritu has matured as a craftsman, he has stood perhaps one beat too long in the same place as a storyteller. In ways, Babel is his best work, but it's time to move on.