Effectively thrilling.

Even though it doesn't feel like an appropriate send-off, the lethargy of Star Trek: Nemesis is probably indication enough that the series should end here.

It's deeply ordinary, depressingly shabby stuff.

A sequel that never rises to the giddy pitches of skewed humor that the original managed to toss off with such unexpected glee.

You have to experience the thing to understand its simultaneous recklessness and care, its humor and sadness in the name of failure, its playful but dismal take on formulaic Hollywood endings.

Audacious, gorgeous and unique.

The result is a film that outrages and fills the viewer with poetry that's at once epic and intimate, scandalizing and life-affirming -- a real work of art.

Soderbergh, who hasn't ever attempted a film of this sort before, brings his gifts brilliantly to bear, with gorgeous shots of outer space, delicate, swift edits and a captivating score by his longtime collaborator Cliff Martinez -- But when the script becomes more about telling -- or, rather, arguing -- than showing, the film loosens its grip.

But with a potentially fascinating study of ethics, of how cheating rich boys become cheating rich men while humble souls do more good in the world, The Emperor's Club doesn't take the audience anywhere smart.

Another Bond film that turns out to be an unspectacular spectacle, at times winking and fun but too often plodding and hackneyed. That said, as usual Brosnan is terrific, walking through dunderhead moments and a tedious plot with grace.

Almodovar loves the human flesh -- indeed, one of his films is titled "Live Flesh" -- and with the quietly subversive Talk to Her, he utilizes it not just as mere decoration but weaves with it textured themes of powerlessness, love and obsession.

The film reveals itself to be not so much a historical allegory as an Iliad of the heart. It's sad and smart and beautiful and true.

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

Not much in the way of captivating magic, but all the expected notes are duly played. Hope springs eternal for the next film in the series, though: Columbus is handing the reins over to Alfonso Cuaron, an actual movie director.

It's an interesting effort (particularly for JFK conspiracy nuts), and Barry's cold-fish act makes the experience worthwhile.

There are many merits to the picture -- it's wonderfully shot and boasts a beautiful performance by Eul-Boom, who acts in gestures of subtle dignity and compassion. But it's questionable how we're to take actor Seung-Ho.

An impressive work in many regards -- the acting, the photography, the pace -- but it would've been even more so had Egoyan gone with his gut and been less indulgent of his brain.

It would've been nice to hear Robinson or Wonder reciprocate the affection of the band, and it would've been even more interesting to hear Gordy try to defend himself -- as if he could.

A seedy little movie with little in the way of theme, purpose, energy or wit, 'R Xmas is the latest slice-of-death drama from that earnest maestro of grub, Abel Ferrara.

While the urban texture and the unapologetic work of Basinger impart a sophisticated air to what is essentially a downtrodden-teen-makes-good film, that is, finally, just what 8 Mile is. That's not a bad thing, but it's nothing to rap home about, either.

The plot is straight off the shelf, the performances are television-caliber and the message of providing solace through deception is a little creepy. Then again, that formula resulted in record-breaking ticket sales for "Greek Wedding."

Far From Heaven would have been one of the great American films of the '50s; it is certainly the finest American melodrama of our time.

Starts with a flourish, staggers along for a bit and finally collapses -- even die-hard De Palma fans, will be left hungry.

A handsome picture, with lots of nifty borrowings from the "Star Wars" galaxy, but it's never particularly compelling as a story or as a vehicle for emotions, and when it's over you have a feeling of still waiting for it to get started.

The two stories never come close to meshing the way the filmmaker intended. The result is a well-acted movie that simply doesn't gel.

We're talking mediocre-to-bad. Still, the film has at least two bits that are funnier than anything in many better films and a fair amount of mild amusement in between.

It's nice that Demme reveres the Hollywood classic, the French cinema and the glamour of his actors. But nice is all The Truth About Charlie is -- a nice mess.

While the script of Frida struggles at times to be something more than an ordinary and-then-this-happened biography, there's a buoyancy to the direction and acting that make the film special.