This is, simply put, one of the most beautiful movies you’ll ever see.

Perhaps the greatest, most affecting articulation of the theme Eastwood has been exploring since 1990's "White Hunter Black Heart": how violence--real violence, not movie violence--perpetrated and experienced, can erode and/or obliterate the human soul.

As it happens, each one of these tales is also a love story, and The Fountain is Aronofsky’s profession of faith concerning love’s place in the idea of eternity. It’s a movie that’s as deeply felt as it is imagined.

With its use of aggressively cheerful hues that are equal parts Technicolor and Tim Burton Candyland, Fido is a "boy and his dog" movie thrown into a horror movie blender. This is perfectly realized in a jaw-droppingly funny "Timmy's trapped in the well" sequence that almost seems like it could have been made in the 50s had George Romero ever worked on "Lassie."

This is a movie where you WANT to stick around for the credits. The beauty is that you are totally set up for it, and you don't mind one bit. That final sequence ties the movie together in an awesome fashion.

This is a smart script. There is a wealth of twists, but none of them have to beat you over the head.

Rourke is getting tons of press and award nominations, but Marisa Tomei kicks ass too. Not only does the one-time Oscar winner look amazing and perform her own pole tricks, but she effectively humanizes what could be just another naked chick in a movie.

Every performance here is wonderful, and the movie abounds in moments so true as to be cringe-worthy.

Masterfully put together.

Resnais employs all the tools of studio-bound moviemaking, silent-era to post-modern, in a way that is not only is consistently dazzling in a purely visual sense, but contains an empathy that lifts the picture to tragic heights even at those points at which it seems practically weightless.

Depp and Winslet in particular are, as you might expect, immaculate. I don't think there's another actor alive who can convey the intermingling of gentleness and passion with as much precision as Depp.

The film succeeds on the strength of the four actresses, first and foremost America Ferrera, who beautifully essays the role of narrator Carmen.

Herzog not only tells an incredible story but implies a dark metaphysic of the natural world that makes this film unsettlingly larger than its human subject.

The result is by far the most original comedy of the year. Russell might alienate some audience members here--but it’s possible they literally won't know what they're missing.

A triumphant revisiting of territory in which Scorsese is an unchallenged master -- the crime drama.

It's flat-out comedy all the way, head-spinningly clever (you'll be talking about a sequence set in the Louvre for weeks) and always engaging. For my money, it's the comedy of the year.

Yep, this movie is basically a yakfest, but an incredibly fluid and involving one, and if you have any kind of affinity for either of the characters, you’re bound to find the picture a kind of miracle.

Has a warmth that’s utterly enchanting, and a tenderness that’s genuinely touching. This is a real gem.

Newell puts his own stamp on the franchise and delivers the best Potter movie yet filmed.

The thrills of this movie are aesthetic ones, the creation of new, ravishing imagery (and all three of our young heroes are beautiful enough to be up to this task), the surrender to dream logic, the adoration of the silver screen.

Inland Empire is interchangably terrifying, maddening, shockingly hilarious and perversely exciting, and that's just to those who end up disliking it.

Much like the actual summer (the season, not the character), we never wanted it to end.

This is a movie of head-spinning richness.

Land of the Dead is Romero's long-awaited masterpiece, a slyly suspenseful and droll thrill-ride that expounds on both the highbrow and the chewed-off-brow concepts of his previous trilogy, then flippantly dismisses the cheap scare tactics of the control-pad generation's gimmicky genre knockoffs.

Scene for radiant scene, shot for nary a wasted shot, The New World is the most artfully sculpted film in American cinema this year.

Over the course of almost two and a half fascinating hours, they make a cogent, compelling, powerful argument, and they also make a terrific movie.

Almodóvar has created a dense, audacious film in which layers of cinematic artifice lovingly camouflage (at least for a while) its characters’ dark, damaged heart.

Steven Spielberg turns the pure adventure of Saturday afternoon serials into a solidly entertaining spectacle.