Intriguing, not-terribly-probing documentary.

Tautou is, as ever, radiant and deep and affecting, but a film about such an extraordinary personage as Chanel shouldn’t feel so ordinary and wan.

The performances are uniformly fine, with Perez showing a heavy amount of presence and complexity. It's no wonder the film works best when fixed on his face.

Lumet blatantly, simplistically stacks the decks in favor of the defendants, pitting them against mean, stupid cops and a cartoonishly nasty prosecutor.

Though its characters aren't terribly complex, and its plot holds few surprises, the screenplay (in English, German, and Hebrew) amounts to a worthy treatise on the need to forgo revenge.

The film is tangled but not chaotic, thoughtful but not terribly deep. Still, it's intimate, entertaining, and most impressive, genuine.

It has a dickens of a time telling a story.

The authenticity of its setting and its actors make this effort worth a look.

Raimi does everything extravagantly and swiftly in Darkman. Instead of deriving from a particular comic book, he seems to be creating one -- or creating a film series. Or a TV series. Or two of the three. [24 Aug. 1990, p.R11]

The film is uncommonly evocative. [19 Dec 1990, p.D6]

And that ultimately may be the problem with the Polanski version: by bringing Oliver forward, you push the drama backward.

If Rod Serling had hired Robert Altman to direct a "Twilight Zone" episode, it might have turned out something like this.

In the end, as gay people and other marginalized groups throughout history have shown, the only real solution is to learn not to be agonized or ashamed over differences, but to celebrate them with pride.

Writer-director Patrick Brice is interested only in his male characters; Alex and Kurt work out their issues while their wives serve as support or comic foils. The laughs stop about halfway through, and the 79-minute running time feels about right.

It would make a fine TV after-school special. But after getting to know the thoughtful, funny Chantel from the first half of Just Another Girl on the I.R.T., you may find yourself thinking this terrific character deserves a better movie around her. [07 May 1993, p.AE15]

There's some great fun in the film, and a bit of unexpected wit, and lots of action, much of it ludicrous but some quite engaging.

Idris Elba exudes the requisite militaristic authority as Raleigh's commanding officer, and Rinko Kikuchi is his determined partner in mecha mayhem.

The film's soldiers are more the mom-and-apple-pie, God-fearing lads of World War II movies than the cynical grunts of "Platoon" (1986) and "Full Metal Jacket" (1987).

While breezy and fun, the film is also flimsy and sloppy in style and content.

The film continues the tone that "Half-Blood Prince" set: we're leaving childish things behind, and human and magical concerns are starting to mingle in a grown-up way. When "Part 2" hits theaters eight months from now, I suspect I'll appreciate the buildup to a (literally) explosive finale. It's going to be a long wait.

The question that lies at the heart of the documentary Aristide and the Endless Revolution is whether his exile was his own idea or whether he was pressured, even kidnapped, by the United States.

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.

Odd, beautiful and ambitious film.

The acting is superb across the board, and the film moves dreamily yet with razor-sharp precision, building to a sequence of deeply felt climaxes.

The story of Matt VanDyke, as told in the fascinating documentary Point and Shoot, is a vivid illustration of the ups and downs of reinvention.

Greenaway's latest, The Pillow Book, might disappoint purists because it is relatively intelligible. [27 Jun 1997]

The result is persuasive but incomplete. Dick is working here as a journalist, and the story is far from fully unfolded. Still, what he proffers will keep you thinking, talking and engaged.

There's much to enjoy in the lively, fun and fresh documentary Comic-con Episode IV: A Fan's Hope, but chief among them may be that its director, Morgan Spurlock, is nowhere to be seen.

The performances are solid, the cinematography is stunning, and the setting is intriguing. But the whole thing feels bloodless, hitting us over the head with its understatedness. Anytime a film's soundtrack features The Shins, James Taylor, and Nick Drake, you know you're in for an overly laid back time.

Bad comedy.

A cult classic-in-the-making.

Despite its flaws, Sky Captain indulges that inner kid who always wanted a single movie crammed with robots, airships and dinosaurs, with World's Fair hopefulness and panache.

For all the technical beauty of Marie Antoinette, there's nobody at home at Versailles.

The real star is Katz, who has stretched into a longer and more plot-driven form without diluting any of his talents or compromising his personal vision. And the other star is Portland, which is so beautifully and truthfully rendered.

With such actors at work and with locations including a first-time use of the Houses of Parliament, Suffragette should look and be a richer experience than it is.

While the subject matter is certainly American enough, it seems possible the original had a bit more depth.

You would think "The Day" might offer a grim, realistic sketch of the dangers of street life for runaways. In fact, the dangers look exciting and even stylish. Rocco gives the film a rich, complicated visual design, with consistently beautiful photography, no matter how grubby the setting is. [03 Nov 1992, p.D05]

This sci-fi thriller -- which is alternately nail-biting, gorgeous and a little silly -- spends most of its time throwing mechanical and human errors at the most important space mission ever.

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

One of those hard-to-pin-down movies where you're not quite sure which sort of story the filmmakers wanted to tell.

The little film is made uniquely engaging by the performance of its young star, Chris Marquette.

The atmosphere of the movie is dense and unrelieved; it's a heavy role for such a little boy, and some people won't want to watch such a bleak, monster world.

The story sounds horrifying, but the film takes some unfortunate twists and never presents us with a multifaceted character in Paxton. Paxton just doesn't play the nice-but-nuts role with a modicum of terror.

If you simply love Vogue magazine, you'll love 8 Women just as much as the cinematically educated. This breezy entertainment often feels like an exquisitely photographed fashion layout come to life.

Sleeping with Other People turns out to be more entertaining than it sounds. The movie, that is.

Bekmambetov revs it up furiously and unleashes one bit of hyperactive, dazzling invention after another. The result is a throwaway wrapped up in the coolest packaging imaginable, which is acres better than the opposite.

Once all the pieces of the story are assembled, the whole thing turns out to be not that big of a deal.

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

Judged scene by scene, Girls Town is often great. Judged as a whole -- it isn't. [06 Sep 1996, p.21]

Dolphin Tale is inoffensive enough -- little kids will probably dig it -- and I'm not suggesting that family-friendly docudramas should tightly conform to real life. But when they do embellish, they should distill the story into something more compelling, rather than watering it down with pleasant-but-utterly-forgettable inspirational boilerplate.

Weitz does it again here, turning what could have been another manifesto of liberal guilt into a genuinely moving tale of a father and son banding together in a hostile world.

A feature film has to be more than just an interesting theme; it needs something that constitutes drama -- conflict, journey, adventure, what have you. The Notorious Bettie Page is a perfect example of a film that has a subject but no story.

The film isnt without bumps -- theres something rather gnomish and self-serving about its tolerance for grotesqueries and caricature -- but it presents us with a wholly rendered, largely credible world peppered with witty little moments and wryly chosen details. [19 Jun 1998, p.30]

Ultimately well-made but only intermittently gripping.

There's real craft here and a vision that's nothing if not unique.

Despite all this hokum, Quartet is amusing and heartwarming.

Prometheus is breezy and comely and sufficiently clever to mitigate most qualms, and Fassbender, especially, is wonderful.

Such a powerful sincerity and goodness flows through Paper Clips.

Goon is a hoot.

There's a lot of ground to cover -- too much for a short documentary -- and Wolf goes past his boundaries for a quick, unnecessary glimpse of Sinatra, Vietnam, and some of what came after 1945.

There are surprising developments and revelations along the way, and they all eventually dovetail into a beautiful conclusion.

There's something in this nostalgic, lovingly photographed film about the transition from the classical art of painting to the new art of the cinema, as embodied by one of the greatest practitioners of each. The independent-minded Andrée, who would go on to marry Jean Renoir and star in several of his early films, is presented as something more than a mere muse, if something less than a full-fledged character.

Still, there's a decency at the film's core and a desire to do the predictable thing in a generally unpredictable fashion. Those traits make it impossible to reject "Happyness" out of hand.

The bitterness of the film is a far cry from the peppy young Godard's embrace of life -- and a very far cry indeed from either praise or love.

What's best about Belle is the performance of Ebatha-Raw.

While this sort of thing can easily devolve into bourgeois comfort food, Thompson, a veteran of the genre, knows how to serve it up just about right.

Along the way it provides the grand, intelligent entertainment of a superior cast playing smart people amid a compelling plot. It may not be perfect, but it's decidedly a cut above.

The lack of sentimentality and rhetoric is refreshing. It's a grown-up movie about some harsh facts of life.

Sometimes verges on silliness.

Terrific lead performances make this epic stoner comedy watchable but can't save it from flat direction.

Bettie Page Reveals All earns its title from more than the uncensored images it includes.

Fright Night joins "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" as proof that you actually can do this sort of thing correctly.

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

It feels more like a retreat for all involved, a chance to kick back and bounce some ideas off each other and the surrounding mountains. Several of them stick and give Youth an emotional core that covers the bare spots. Caine and Keitel, old pros on the home stretch, deserve nothing less.

If Look Both Ways has a familiar form, this sort of emphasis on humanity, with which the film refreshingly pulses, is rare.

It's certainly all Araki up there, and the film is handsome and swiftly paced. But it also feels terribly routine and even, strangely, for all the trangressiveness it strives for, retrograde.

Marshall does such a good job re-creating the otherworldly energy of a temple of youth that the rest of the picture feels strained and sometimes trite. Nevertheless, parts can be absorbing, reflective and touching.

It's gory, it's bleak, it's shamelessly tricky -- and it's also a good deal more fun than it had any right to be.

It's so steeped in the coldness and inhumanity of its protagonist that it's ultimately more clinical than absorbing.

A sort of low-down, dirty-faced Irish cousin of "Love Actually," the glossy smarm replaced by a jittery raunchiness.

You're guaranteed never to have seen anything like it; objectively speaking, it's a wonder.

A little slapstick, a sexy twist, and we're all happy.

It's a fine idea, but Dominik beats that drum without cease, making his passionately furious message come across anything but softly.

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 Ruffalo brings is a gravelly voice, soulful eyes, and absolute commitment. He's a little aw-shucksish in a Midwestern way but never corny and with a strong backbone. You like him and wouldn't want to cross him. Frank Capra would love Ruffalo. So would Hitchcock.

It's a sharp and vivid film, filled with moments of tremendous ingenuity and characterized by a persistent avoidance of the expected tropes. It's far scarier than the big-budget remakes of "Godzilla" and "King Kong," more engaging than "I Am Legend," more human than a sackful of slasher films.

David Ayer's film is a gory, muddy, downbeat tale of war's hellishness and the fraternal bond between those stuck in the middle of it. It's also, like "Ryan," full of tense, grippingly staged action scenes that capture moments of pure adrenaline, and it's the tension between those two impulses that makes "Fury" fascinating and ultimately flawed.

Perhaps Following Sean is as much of a cultural oddity as "Sean" itself turned out to be. But it's a decidedly interesting one nonetheless.

A fresh look at the first chapters in the monarch's life, while maintaining historical fidelity.

The Road walks a tremendously daring and delicate line between inspiration and horror, and it does so not only in the events it depicts but in its very air and atmosphere. It was unforgettable on the page, and it impresses equally, or at least it does so remarkably often, on screen.

What makes Surf's Up stand out is its look and texture.

Capable but not transporting, never unraveling the mystery of its hero's genius or, worse, making us care enough to look deeper.

A murky, turgid work that is no doubt exactly the film Malkovich wished to make but is so indirect and affected as to border on incoherent.

Every once in a while a picture comes along that captures not just love, but romance in all its fear, yearning, fantasy, eroticism and unexpected epiphanies. German filmmaker Tom Tykwer's The Princess and the Warrior is one such film.

A deliriously entertaining field report from a historical moment when porn darned near became mainstream.

In comparison to others who struggle against real travails (the young Buck Brannaman, say), he (O'Brien) seems spoilt, entitled, impatient, shrill and mean.

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.

Ant-Man wastes the regular-guy appeal of its star, Paul Rudd, on a bland, by-the-numbers story that starts small and keeps on shrinking, a metaphor for the movie itself. Its modest ambitions are admirable and unrealized.