They've made a movie-movie of Sweeney Todd, and if you've got the stomach and ear for it, you'll be grateful.

The thrill, alas, is gone -- and Fellini seems to know it better than anyone. [11 Jun 1993, p.15]

It's a fascinating instance of a filmmaker working with self-imposed rules, but never forgetting that those restrictions are only worthwhile to the extent that they serve character and story. It's a ride well worth taking.

Talented, prolific, familiar with film, etc. Cave is a natural to push documentaries in a new direction, and 20,000 Days on Earth does it.

A hard and bright and tough film in all the best ways.

Creed is no "Raging Bull" -- it's a little too long and throws in an unnecessary disease to gin up the emotional content of the third act -- but it's surprising proof that iconic franchises that started in the 1970s can be revived in all the right ways.

The problem here is we never get much more than the pretty, the quaint and the comfortingly familiar. There's a place for such stuff in the world, yes, but that doesn't make it art.

Discreet, delicate, and cautious, Monsieur Lazhar takes you by surprise -- and that goes for both the movie and the man.

A man can be a treasure just as a work of art can be, and O'Toole is one of the handful of living film actors worthy of a museum of his own. Venus would make a brilliant final exhibit.

The performances, especially that of Regina Casé in the lead role, inject potent, lived-in humanity to the movie's flat political allegory.

The film is all the more remarkable because its actors are untrained and their lines are improvised. Clearly, they've lived this.

Before it traps Ralston, 127 Hours gives us ample evidence of his energy, zest and boyish charm and wit.

In the fine tradition of well-made thrillers, it's enough that it all feels solid at the moment, and the final revelations are unexpected and seemingly inevitable.

Simple enough for children, deep enough for adults, clever enough for cynics.

The End of the Tour can feel like a down-home deification at times: Like Einstein riding a bike, only it's Wallace going to the Mall of America. It's not sentimental, though, at least not until the very end, and is moving in beautiful, unexpected ways.

With this amoral business environment, it's not a question of if there will be another Enron, but when.

Reigns as the most assured, provocative film so far this year.

A rare movie that serves both the head and the heart. The issues it broaches are achingly real, brought to vivid life by a consistently excellent cast.

It's Cronenberg's most mainstream work, and yet it has all the power of his creepiest nightmares.

There's quality, wit and emotion throughout.

One of the most affecting true-life character studies in quite some time.

There are moments that stir, and it's always lovely, but it's generally too remote to gain hold of you truly.

Somewhat marred by Bruno Coulais' treacly New Age score -- as well as by Perrin's somewhat daft and repetitive narration. But the key word is "somewhat." In the main, Winged Migration is an unforgettable piece of moviemaking.

Isn't easy to watch, but it's beautifully written and acted, with a sharp eye for the small embarrassments of divorce.

Crowd-pleasing, feel-good stuff.

Full of life, wit, smarts, thrills and sheer gratifying entertainment that it launches the mind on a stream of merry somersaults.

Nair takes mostly low-key material about a traditional Indian family raising kids in America and turns it into something sensual, funny and quietly devastating.

It's visually appealing, but embodies the movie's (and Frances') problem: wanting to be taken seriously without putting in the real work required to prove you're actually serious.