It may not be saying much, but what keeps this movie afloat, aside from solid performances, is the nearly sophisticated dynamic of an otherwise redundant punchline.

The film stubbornly refuses to fill empty space with dialogue or adhere to any structure other than its own downbeat atmosphere, forcing viewers to be intensely patient or squirm. It's the best film I’ve seen in a while that I wouldn't recommend to anyone.

It's a fascinating portrait, but it's also choppy and rushed and lopsided.

You've got to give the guy (De Palma) some credit. He's made a bizarre, baffling and at times flat-out bad movie. But at least it's rarely boring.

Though Flushed Away certainly aims to please viewers of all ages, it’s the anglophiles of all ages who are going to get the most out of the film.

Chris Rock's I Think I Love My Wife is less interesting, and less successful, as a remake of a much-bruited '70s art film than it is as a compendium of Rockian observations on the current state of the African-American bourgeoisie.

Singleton’s film is, in fact, pretty enjoyable if you look at it as the B-movie it really ought to be, rather than the E-ticket major studio release it actually is.

The Orphanage's joys come from the experiential: Bayona's cultured technical skills, including some phenomenal sound design, and sustained anxiety. It's about as healthy as junk food gets.

One of those novelistic independent films more concerned with atmosphere and character than the particularities of narrative, where contemplating the backstory is more satisfying than anything we see.

Raises some probing questions about the secrecy of ratings decisions in a way that entertains and educates audiences with or without agendas to protect film integrity.

Dullaghan's film is a bit too straightforward and introductory to be declared a definitive portraiture. The gold nuggets worth sifting for lie in the anecdotal minutiae.

One suspects the truth will only be revealed if or when Phoenix starts acting again. Certainly on this evidence, he's no great shakes at hip-hop.

It sticks to what the series does best, mixing souped-up cars with corny jokes.

At its best though, the film offers a pointed critique of a youth culture that views someone like Jesse James Hollywood as a person to emulate.

Albert Brooks is expertly cast as a hopelessly neurotic, fanny-pack-wearing podiatrist.

Van Sant has mastered this kind of driftingly contemplative imagery and his layered soundscapes would make Sonic Youth proud (of course, Kim Gordon makes an appearance), but the introduction of other characters fracture the film's greatest asset, its lonely first-person atmosphere.

Lawrence too often errs on the side of embellishing details that didn't need to be expanded upon.

Two-hours of trashy eye-candy that, while fast and loose with the truth, functions as a perfectly adequate divertissement in a time of year when studios tend to unleash their worst.

Never achieves greatness, but it has the right people in place to suggest the greatness that might have been.

In this vibrant character study, newcomer Lázaro Ramos plays Francisco with an almost animal intensity.

Diverting and often funny enough, largely thanks (as is not unusual in cases like this) to its cast.

The intellectual aspirations of this series are just window dressing. Which left this viewer to enjoy the freeway chase sequence (which really is cool), Hugo Weaving’s smirk, and even the PlayStationish stuff.

Before it descends into dull sadism and general incoherence in its third act, Turistas is a mostly effective exploitation picture, the kind of movie that would have been proudly displayed on the marquee of a '70s-era grindhouse.

Considering how much new additions Rosario Dawson (as Mimi) and Tracie Thoms (as Joanne) bring to the film, it's a shame Columbus didn't introduce more changes.

Part of what makes these kind of war movies such cinematic comfort food (aside from the moral certainty they strive to convey) is their familiarity. But I wonder if said familiarity is what compels contemporary filmmakers to overstuff the material -- Flyboys is a good two hours and 20 minutes.

If you enjoy a cop drama, regardless how packed with trite and worn plot points, Pride and Glory should do the trick.

A slick, bloody, fast-paced, and ultimately enjoyable B-movie.

It's the stuff of countless advice columns, daytime talk shows, sitcoms, romantic comedies. Quite frankly, it's tired. What makes a difference here -- although really not enough of one -- is the people.