Pina, so exquisitely made and filled with such powerful beauty, suggests thrilling new possibilities for the marriage of movies and dance.

The chief attraction of Albert Nobbs is the acting.

Kudos to the makers Red Tails for paying homage to a remarkable group of men and their genuinely heroic deeds, and a hat-tip as well for the idea that the best way to tell the story was the old-fashioned way. But would that the film's old-school aura felt knowingly retro rather than dutifully rote.

The quality of the craft at the best moments of the film is undeniable. But it depends, finally, to how well you can embrace a young man named Horn -- a terrific gamble for a film and a subject of such size.

It isn't perversely genre-busting like "Drive." Instead, it feels like somebody turned down the volume on a hard rock album so as to hear the details better -- for which relief, much thanks.

The actors make the trauma in Another Happy Day feel real. But it's too often undercut by directorial fussiness that feels more academic than personal.

Anyone looking for a full-bodied account of the woman, her deeds, and her place in history shouldn't be encouraged to linger too long with The Iron Lady.

It's a tiny story, told on an intimate scale, and it is rich in emotion, specificity and care.

The story told in Garbo: The Spy is so outlandish that you almost feel as if you're watching a mockumentary. But it appears to be entirely true.

A modestly charming family crowd-pleaser despite too-broad characterizations by many in the supporting cast.

A smart and engaging entertainment.

Pieces of War Horse that may charm some eyes might well bore others to tears.

Because nothing says 'holiday fun' quite like an intellectual struggle between Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung peppered with a few vivid episodes of S-&-M sex, voila A Dangerous Method.

It's a bit precious, yes, but its earnestness and joy carry you along, and its climax simply delights.

Never quite as resonant as Spielberg's earliest "Indiana Jones" films, in which, for all the clamor, it often feels like something real and vital and human is at stake. But at its best, this film is as joyful as anything in those movies, and that is something of a movie miracle.

There's powerful craft here, and Larsson's story has more than proven its ability to grip. But missing almost entirely is a sense of urgency and discovery.

Resembles an amusement park ride -- a visit to a house of horrors that ends, more or less, where it begins.

"Juno" was accused (wrongly, in my view) of having things both ways: being cute and cynical, edgy and sentimental. Young Adult, despite the fun afforded by Theron and Oswalt, seems content to have things neither.

The sequel has all the merits and demerits of its predecessor, only with a less-snarly antagonist, a more thoughtful final showdown and broader Holmes/Watson relationship jokes.

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.

It offers a rare look at the everyday life of a spiritual leader, so that even if Yeshi's dilemma never seems that urgent or vital, My Reincarnation remains a compelling, universal film.

It's a film that casually mixes comedy with dread more or less deftly until faltering near the end. Up to then, however, it imparts the sensation that, along with Lonnie, you are being cooked alive in a pot of water that's slowly but steadily heating up toward the boiling point.

The experience of psychological depression has been described with a variety of metaphors. William Styron called it "darkness visible," and Winston Churchill euphemized his bouts as "the black dog." In typically grandiose fashion, though, Lars von Trier tops them all.

This is more Errol Morris' or Truman Capote's territory than Herzog's, and his patient, determinedly respectful interviews with members of the American underclass bear a whiff of European condescension.

Arthur is sort of a dull hero, but the grandfather is classic, hilarious Aardman -- a thoroughly British eccentric prone to weird nostalgic/fatalistic utterances.

It might have poked a bit more into Clash's personal story, but as a story of man and puppet it's grand.

You can find movies with better scripts, direction, acting, songs, and jokes than The Muppets -- but you won't find one that's nearly so much fun.

There are ample opportunities for the film to soak in pathos, righteousness, farce, or pictorialism, and Payne manages to nod at those pitfalls without falling into them. In a way, it's just like Matt King's world: enviably plush but filled with the real pain of real life.