The film ends on an absolutely sick-making note, with live-action footage of the massacre and its aftermath.

Of all the roles where the star has played a character transformed from ordinary to goofy ("The Mask," "Me, Myself & Irene," "Liar Liar"), this is the one where he seems the most human, achieving that elusive quality in a Carrey film: tolerability.

A modestly scaled, sharply observed film.

The movie gets just enough right that the things it doesn't get right (beyond its overdependence on a not-so-surprising story puzzle) smack you cold in the face.

It's a raw and honest film, and it keeps its feet firmly on the ground, even as The Ram flies through the air to deliver -- or receive -- another beating in the squared circle of life.

The one unforgivable crime committed in this remake is the lack of the original's most famous line of dialogue: "Klaatu barada nikto." Would it have been so tough to squeeze that in somewhere?

The script is just all kinds of terrible. The characters are hollow mannequins telling a thin, depressing story that's less of a noir and more of a simple-minded bummer full of barely connected scenes and stunningly empty dialogue.

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

Gran Torino amounts to one more elegiac movement in Eastwood's astonishing late-career symphony.

Leaving aside politics, it's quite an achievement in art.

An immaculately crafted, splendidly acted drama with a message at its core of forgiveness and humanity. It's also blatantly manipulative, and, upon reflection, rather banal. In other words, it's the epitome of Oscar bait and almost serves as a step-by-step guide to creating such a beast.

The film is exquisitely realized, with a tremendous, naturalistic performance by Michelle Williams at its heart and a pervasive, assuring sense that Reichardt and Raymond have distilled everything nonessential from their story and imparted exactly the impact they wished.

The result is a totally absorbing and entertaining film, one of the best historical dramas from Hollywood in many years.

An alternately harrowing and poetic take on the fatal 1982 hunger strike of Irish Republican Army prisoner Bobby Sands, Hunger is also one of the most impressive feature directing debuts in years.

For those disappointed in the grim, gritty feel of the latest James Bond movie and who long for the absurdity of the Roger Moore-era entries, Transporter 3, ought to fit the bill.

It's pleasantly funny, and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny, from start to finish, even when it's staging broad, easy gags about baby barf and fat kids.

It's a testament to Van Sant's way with actors that the performances are better than the lines and that the film tugs undeniably at the heart as the awful finale falls. But a lack of poetry and freshness in the writing nags.

Travolta does a nice job, but Bolt is of course the most boring, blandly cute character in the movie.

Every generation gets the cinematic vampires it deserves...The current decade, judging from the bloodsuckers on display in Twilight, will be remembered as one of guilt, restraint and denial. It's just not that fun to be undead anymore.

An engaging chronicle not only of a memorable game but also of an era that seems at once more innocent and combustible than our own.

Yes, you can enjoy bits and pieces along the way, more than a few, even. At the end of this journey, though, you feel more exhaustion and relief than catharsis or satisfaction.

The least erotic, exotic, luxurious and sarcastic Bond film ever made. Its hero is haunted, obsessed, merciless, cold. There are no gadgets or flippant one-liners and there's almost no sex.

Boyle, one of the premier stylists in the world fills "Slumdog" with ebullient energy and ceaseless invention.

The surprisingly funny Role Models does three things extremely well. It gives killer roles to comic actors frequently stuck in ensembles. It directs hilariously harsh words at children and lets the children direct even harsher words back at the adults. And it's oddly determined to give a fair shake to fans of both medieval role-playing and the band Kiss.

One of the best movies playing in Portland is, I kid you not, a loopy dramatic thriller starring Jean-Claude Van Damme.

Turns out this is a thoughtful, well-acted film that manages to view this most inconceivable of travesties through the eyes of child without being childish itself.

You can't help getting emotionally involved, and as the central outrage -- a case of judicial negligence that would seem unbelievable in a work of fiction -- plays out, you feel the pain and anger that Bagby's family and friends experienced. Then the story takes a final, horrible twist that's almost too much to endure.

As in many of Smith's earlier movies, the moments of ostensibly genuine emotion aren't nearly as convincing as the moments of juvenile obscenity and quasi-homophobia.

It gets by on its concept for a little while but too often mistakes stupid-stupid for clever-stupid.

Levinson keeps the film locked into a sort of low-key middle-age depression.

A movie full of actors improvising their idea of how cops in a Scorsese flick would talk. It's a special sort of cartoonishness, a hard-to-pin-down brand of emotionally grandstanding fakeness you sometimes see in movies trying way too hard to be "gritty."

An extremely weird and frustrating viewing experience. I think it's that way because Eastwood, 78, can't be bothered to wrangle the vast material into a tighter shape.

It's no insult to the rest to say that this is one of those films that sells itself on the strength of a single performance.

It's one of the great horror films of recent years -- and a welcome antidote to the in-your-face sonic assaults that all too often pass for genre fare.

In effect, Caden's life passes before his eyes while he is living it. And Kaufman shares this effect with us through a strange process he achieves with invisible strings; it's a knockout.

At one point during the big race, the kids get passed at close range by a team of pros so seasoned, they wrote the navigation software the kids use. I was begging the camera crew to follow them.

Bees is a movie in which a bunch of powerful African American women get their lives upended and in some cases destroyed so a little white girl can feel better about herself.

Doesn't have much new to offer in either style or substance. It's got the same glossy-gritty urban warfare sheen as "Black Hawk Down" and every other Third-World geopolitical action thriller of the last few years.

Maybe the real Ernie Davis really was this perfect, but the movie plays as if the filmmakers didn't want to offend his family.

One man's befuddlement is another's awe at the ineffability of time, and from either perspective, this is a spectacle not soon forgotten, even if never understood.

Entertainment-wise, City of Ember is a good family deal: exciting and simple enough for anyone over 8 to follow yet mature and mildly satirical enough for parents.

Has a shocking anger and force.

It devolves too often into slapstick shenanigans and comedy of embarrassment.

Lest anyone think this soils Cera's record, the movie actually highlights his unique gifts; his easygoing chemistry with co-star Kat Dennings is practically the only thing about this picture that isn't pathetically contrived.

Visually nervy, beautifully acted, intense and philosophically compelling, it struggles to connect emotionally as it wrestles with the challenging source material.

No matter how noble, not everyone's life should be made into a movie.

The longer it goes on, the more you're swept up into the jet stream of good feeling.

The overall thrust of the story -- that downtrodden folks in desperate circumstances have the capacity for goodness -- is one too rarely seen.

Lee is not an action director, and the movie often feels like it was made in the 1940s rather than set then.

Rockwell is spectacular here, infusing Victor with a charm that makes you root for him despite the essentially sleazy con-man emptiness of his existence.

It's not a political film, but it's also not a bland recitation of homilies about the honor of serving one's country. It's a jokey road movie, in which three soldiers heading home from Iraq are forced into a cross-country van ride together.

Not the stuff of greatness, but you couldn't ask for a better time to see it.

Grabs a fistful of hot-button story elements -- race, sex, politics -- and promptly mixes them into the thriller equivalent of tapioca.

If you're an actual adult who likes old-school Westerns, this won't disappoint you.

Ultimately, though, it's unfortunate that the movie tries to make so many oblique comparisons to more modern tragedy (paparazzi with sketchbooks; yes, we get it!), since Georgiana's life seems fascinating enough on its own.

Nothing more and nothing less than a savvy and talented cast having its way with a clever, hilarious script, with absolutely no weighty issues at stake.

Is there anything more depressing than when middlebrow filmmakers decide to remake bona fide classics that did not, under any circumstances, need to be remade?

Beautifully acted and accomplishes exactly what writer/director Alan Ball set out to accomplish.

If you've been wondering what Billy Elliot would look like all grown up, naked or in a fetching frock, here's your chance.

In the end it may amount to little more than an exotic fable, but it is a particularly conscious, wise fable.

In the end it's those amazing, nutty set pieces, coolly guided by the veteran director, that make it all worthwhile.

Its easy to see why Don Cheadle wanted to play Samir Horn, the hero of the post-9/11 thriller Traitor. Cheadles face is basically a perfect delivery system for woe, sadness and internal conflict. And Samir a deep-cover operative trying to infiltrate a terrorist outfit has to make brutal Sophies Choices roughly three times a day.

Occasionally sloppy, with a finale so abrupt and incoherent that it feels like something is missing. But it's also pleasantly odd and truly funny, and it builds in strength as it goes along.

Cthulhu (kuh-THOO-loo) shows that you can't go home again. Seriously: Don't ever go home -- you'll be sorry.

The film works as well as it does thanks to Kimberly Roberts' magnetic screen presence.

Perhaps the most indispensable cast member is the Jacobs' dwelling, their residence since 1966.

An informative and frightening documentary.

Unlike its predecessors, this one doesn't even try to aspire to myth. It aspires only to merchandising.

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 symbolic ending may strike some as a letdown but it's well-played by Sagnier, capping another in a string of memorable performances.

Every so often there's a tabloid news story about the Virgin Mary seen in a piece of toast or Mother Teresa on a tortilla, and most of us equate them with Elvis sightings. This film is for the rest.

Fairly lightweight, going after targets we can all agree deserve the needle. But there are five, six, seven gags you've never seen before -- real surprises- -- and the film deploys them smartly to keep you laughing and unsteady for the duration.

The film is exquisite on every level, full of sadness and emotional surprise.

So filled with verve and wit for much of its running time that it's depressing to watch it devolve into genuine foolishness and borderline incoherence in its final act.

Bottle Shock never quite connects. And considering the more recent transformation of Napa, the movie's triumphant ending rings a bit false.

Most frustratingly, Smith's powerful music is heard only in snatches.

Shrill, unfunny third installment.

If the title hadn't already been taken by another equally strained recent comedy, the new Kevin Costner vehicle could have been dubbed "Idiocracy."

Very much a time-and-place film, by 2030 it will be useful fodder for historians.

Takes its point -- our nation has an unhealthy obsession with beauty and physical perfection -- and uses it as a bludgeon.

It's not a happy film, but it feels true.

Worst of all, not once does Mulder answer his cell phone to hear those immortal lines: "It's Scully. There's been another death."

Are Will Ferrell and director Adam McKay getting tired of their own shtick?

Unsurprisingly, the formulaic "Breakfast Club" casting yields a formulaic narrative.

Baghead has a nearly documentary quality that infuses it with a sense of heightened stakes and real peril. In a characteristically offhanded way, it's cunningly skillful.

You could wish for more, but for that there's still the epic-length miniseries. If you want just two hours of mournful, lovely melodrama of manners, this is a fine choice.

What saves CSNY/Dejà Vu from its self-importance is the surprisingly lively, timely and timeless music. The only dicey onstage moments involve Stills' falling over or wheezing his way through "For What It's Worth."

Takes on the air of a heist film as the preparations proceed, and even knowing the outcome, tension still remains.

That the audience is forced to examine its own assumptions about the situation is the result of an extraordinary, moving performance by Andrew Garfield.

Because make no mistake: The Dark Knight is many things, some of them deliriously fun, some of them deeply impressive, and some of them puzzling and frustrating. But most of all it is dark.

I can see how Mamma Mia! might be a fun stage musical. As a movie musical, it's a train wreck.

The sheer volume of amazing things that del Toro is able to mine from his unconscious and render plausibly on the screen is remarkable. Hellboy II feels pretty sequel-y, as these things go, but there's a lot in it that has no precedent of any kind, anywhere, ever. That stuff makes it worthwhile.

It's inoffensive and shiny and competent and kids will dig it, and I can already barely remember a single thing that happened.

I wish Zenovich wasn't forced to skate surfaces when it comes to Polanski's perspective -- his interviews are vague and archival -- but she skillfully works around him to craft a maddening look at one of Hollywood's most infamous trials.

More a collection of character vignettes than a full-blown story, Garden Party nonetheless shows as much promise for its makers as it gives to its characters.

Because there was anarchy and randomness in Thompson's life and work, you find it in Gonzo.

A mordant, almost-too-dark comedy, but a comedy nonetheless.

The most adventuresome element in The Wackness isn't its pop-culture skin but the unlikely friendship of Luke and Squires...As buddies, they're a kick. But you wish they had a kickier picture to support them.