Valkyrie, despite being a more straightforward thriller, is less gripping than "Downfall," the most recent film in which Hitler had significant screen time.

While the voice acting is fine and the story is nicely paced, the visuals are disappointing.

Undemanding, light, and enjoyable.

Considering the strength of performances given by the 25-or-so teenage actors portraying the students, it's amazing that none of them have previous experience.

There are no big-name stars. Barbara Serafian, who is excellent, has a thin, eclectic resume. She looks a little like Frances McDormand.

Seven Pounds works better the more the viewer feels and the less he/she thinks. On an emotional level, one could decree that the movie is satisfying. On an intellectual level, it's disappointingly shallow.

Aronofsky's directorial style is simple and spare. There are no flourishes or attempts to convince us that he is a master of his craft.

It lacks the simple elegance and intelligence of the earlier film, and employs special effects and pointless action scenes to replace passages of dialogue.

An intellectually and emotionally exhausting and engrossing experience. It is drama of the highest caliber.

An amazingly over-the-top anti-racism parable but, despite its obvious shortcomings, it is nevertheless effective and affecting.

Like fruitcake, movies like this are ubiquitous at this time of the year but rarely are they devoured with great relish or enthusiasm.

What potentially could have been the greatest asset possessed by Che - its unapologetic length - turns into its greatest detriment.

The Reader is closer to a near miss than a rousing success but, on balance, this is still worth seeing for those who enjoy complexity and moral ambiguity within the context of a melodrama.

The transformation undergone by Michelle Williams to play this role is nothing short of astounding.

Howard and Morgan have transformed this story into something more than an embellished re-telling of recent history. They have shaped a tragedy that is almost Shakespearean in force.

There are plenty of small pleasures to be found throughout Darnell Martin's feature, but a compelling storyline featuring three-dimensional characters is not among them.

This is essentially a Steven Seagal movie without the Ponytailed One, and may appeal to those who enjoyed Seagal's rather bland, cookie-cutter action films.

Transporter 3 is the most frustrating entry into a series that has never set the bar terribly high.

Four Christmases is waste of time and a disappointment, but it's also relatively painless.

Milk feels like an important picture, but not in a way that makes it tedious to watch. There's no pretentious sheen to the proceedings.

Twilight isn't an especially good movie, but neither is it an abomination. At times, the dialogue is laugh-aloud bad - almost to the point of being hilarious.

It's an epic pretender, not an epic contender.

The film's biggest problem is its director. Marc Forster is an experienced art house filmmaker with impressive credits (most recently, "The Kite Runner)", but he is clueless when it comes to action sequences.

The film's success or failure depends almost entirely on a viewer's ability to relate to and become involved in the lives of the characters. We are with them for less than a week and, during that short time, we come to understand the lifetime of hurt and misunderstanding that stands between them.

After starting with a lackluster introduction and a by-the-numbers heist sequence, the film concludes with an upbeat and appealing final act that recalls "Big Night."

The result is magical and life affirming, and will enrapture those who are not scared away by the mention of "subtitles."

It's disposable entertainment at its most extreme.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas should be heartbreaking, but it isn't. The muted quality of its impact is the result of narrative shortcuts and a desire to keep the images from being too startling.