The dialogue is clipped and theatrical, and, aside from Harvey Keitel's German officer, accents are abandoned, which may distract viewers. For me it worked fine.

A little movie, fine, but a little movie with little in the way of character composition, cinematic panache or intelligent writing.

As sometimes occurs in unsupervised experiments, the result proves foul-smelling and potentially toxic.

Reggio, who is sufficiently eager for a large audience that he has allowed his film to be distributed by Miramax, a wholly owned subsidiary of the Walt Disney Co., surely one of the villains in his piece, is neither so honest nor so bold (as Moore's "Bowling for Columbine").

Never quite catches fire. They take a crackerjack premise and a comely, committed leading lady and turn in a merely OK film.

It's a small-minded and jejune film, and it feels strangely out-of-date considering how loaded it is with right-here-right-now signifiers.

It all makes you realize the importance of the guy who should have played Malkovich's role -- Christopher Walken. He makes films like this bearable.

Impressively reframes the gun-control debate in terms that advocates of both sides might find fruitful, but Moore doesn't do anything to shed his reputation as a snot.

A blending of international film sensibilities -- France meets Hollywood meets Hong Kong -- with a very cool anti-hero protagonist.

It's an agreeable, sometimes hilarious picture that looks at the world of comedy from many vantage points, chiefly the apex.

The result is an experience of painful awakenings, gorgeous textures, committed acting and silences filled with moment -- a lovely balancing act

Anderson delivers a satisfyingly quirky, cinematically masterful valentine that contains more seeds of truth about the human heart than a hundred big fat Greek comedies.

Not just love, but maybe an escape from a wretched world. We're not sure, but that's what makes Heaven so inexplicably, intriguingly soulful, even in its most remote and architectural instances.

It's raw, visceral stuff that precious few movies are capable of equaling.

An absorbing film, acted with real force by all parties and directed with competence and assuredness if something less than inspiration.

Some aspects of Siddhartha seem terribly dated: the '60s-ish nude sequences, the wispy music, the big-eyed earnest acting. But it is a lushly beautiful film. Shooting largely in natural light, Nykvist creates a poetry more beautiful than Hesse's prose and as profound as the author's message.

Its cool, glib observations, delivered by good-looking creative people who live like the cast of "Friends" gone cynical, becomes forced and often stupid. The film goes off the track enough to make for an interesting train wreck.

Not much in The Man From Elysian Fields resembles life on Earth, but there are a few moments with Jagger that feel desperate and human -- stuff from another movie entirely, in other words.

In The Tuxedo, ridiculously, Chan's just a suit. A suit walking Jennifer Love Hewitt's breasts around. Chan deserves better.

Too sugary to be funny or offensive or even offensively funny, though any kind of funny would be welcome here.

Understands that extreme feelings bring out weird reactions. Tension and sadness will occasionally be interrupted by humor -- even slapstick.

A flimsy film that's too clean and corn pone to be anything near rock 'n' roll.

Works as pure escapist entertainment, but it's on the cusp of being smarter -- making it all the more frustrating.

Director Steven Shainberg makes something draggy out of something that wants to be light. It's got wit, but it's also earnest, and in proportion to those two traits it wins and loses you.

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.

Miyazaki is a genius, and this film is a masterpiece; go see it.

You'll gasp appalled and laugh outraged and possibly, watching the spectacle of a promising young lad treading desperately in a nasty sea, shed an errant tear.

Working with a weak script and too lightweight for its freakier moments with Green, the picture never gels. Green's the star, but he really should be in a movie much weirder than this one, a film that can accommodate his humor.