Hannibal Rising isn't a classic, but it's entertaining and a surprisingly fitting addition to the franchise.

If Eddie Murphy gets an Oscar for "Dreamgirls" later this month, the deciding factor with voters may be his performance in Norbit. It's much more impressive than anything he does in "Dreamgirls."

It has an affectionate aura, a warmth to it. But at the same time, the audience is left standing on the outside, almost as though watching a home movie: Clearly, this meant something to the people who made it, but it's hard to say what or why.

If there is any suspicion that PBS is trying to butch it up for the Bush administration, this film's thoughtful and heartbreaking depiction of the hell and loss of war is an eloquent counterbalance.

It's a dreadful exercise, tin-eared and sincere, bereft of any truth or inspiration.

Extremely boring.

Compelling and deeply disturbing.

Puccini for Beginners is literate and sensitive, characterized by witty dialogue and smart, emotional two-person encounters.

It's a ton of fun, a totally irresistible tale of gambling, greed, love and violence. With gorgeous actors, designer clothes and thrilling action, it's fast-moving (even at 2 hours, 20 minutes) popcorn entertainment.

Those who love Nader will appreciate the respect and attention given his career. Yet others, even those for whom the mere sight of Nader's face is enough to cause a spike in blood pressure, will appreciate the film's evenhanded elucidation of Nader's faults.

Not since "An American Werewolf in London" in 1981 reset the standard for man-to-wolf transformations has anyone tried to get away with special effects as pitiful as the ones in this movie.

Rough around the edges, but once you get used to the laconic pace, the plot grooves along nicely.

Only a complete idiot could think Epic Movie is remotely funny.

Even more nihilistic and confused than "Narc," and yet a lot better. It's better for some specific and interesting reasons.

A Western short on dialogue and long on pomposity, is little more than an extended chase scene down a snow-filled mountaintop to a desert floor.

The most heartbreaking, moving film in theaters right now.

Any good will built up during the decent first half hour is quickly vaporized.

The result is a deeply moving experience, alternately funny and sad.

Lattuada has adapted a gritty neorealist style to suit his dark comedy and is in full command in the final half hour, when he ups the ante in surprising ways.

The whole thing is dizzying, like "Moulin Rouge" without songs and dances extolling love.

Stomp the Yard, at nearly two hours, has a decent story, a good subject and a horrible plot.

A well-made culture-shock documentary.

The movie is one big in-joke. It's watchable, but eventually wears you down with its over-the-top cleverness.

In many ways a meandering film, a collection of good scenes.

The best that can be said of this charmless animated picture is that whether or not it ends happily -- an outcome you're unlikely to give a hoot about -- it does, happily, end.

Overall Freedom Writers is a noble effort. At a time when New Year's resolutions to change already are falling by the wayside, you can't help but be moved by a group of young people who followed through on their resolve.

Although the finished product isn't great, it's more akin to a bad Steve Martin movie from the 1980s than bad Pauly Shore from the 1990s. We mean that as a compliment (sort of).

Visually stunning, it meshes haunting images with a complex multilevel story about the enchantment of youth.

This isn't pleasant to watch. Neither is it amusing, intellectually engaging, whimsically fascinating, coldly satirical or painfully poignant, though at any given moment in this erratic film director Tom Tykwer might be trying for one of these conflicting tones.

In every way, Miss Potter is a very beautiful thing.

The film is mired in gloom, not just sadness, but heaviness.

This is a movie about power, and its spectacle is that of a woman losing all of it.

The filmmaking is unremarkable, but the obsessiveness of the lead character is infectious enough to make this drama passable entertainment.

Oristrell's comedic sense only seems to succeed in spurts, and he often burdens the proceedings with a theatrical and contrived air that undermines the humor.

Besson is a pro when it comes to action movies, but this part live, part animation effort is a mess, highlighted by creepy animation, derivative plot points and a child star who speaks way too fast.

Remember that manic, rambling Oscar acceptance speech, when Benigni leapt around the auditorium? That might have been charming for two or three minutes, but imagine two hours of it.

Notes on a Scandal won't be everyone's cup of tea. But if you like your films strong, this one is not to be missed.

Children of Men is Cuarón's run for freedom, with a riveting story, fantastic action scenes and acting so universally solid that even the dogs perform masterfully under his direction.

Props to the Weinstein Brothers for having the guts to release a slasher film on Christmas Day. Too bad this one is the cinematic equivalent of tryptophan.

For all its dazzling computer-generated sequences, "Museum'' wouldn't be nearly the delight it is without the talents of some of the best comedians in the business.

May not be a very enjoyable movie, but at least the badness is in good taste.

The suggestion that Peter O'Toole is playing some version of his real self in Venus adds a bittersweet poignancy to this quietly affecting British drama.

Like a soap opera, but most of what glitters is gold.

Far superior to its companion piece, "Flags of Our Fathers," released earlier this year, "Letters" is a grim and humane film that has to be counted among the director's better efforts.

The year's best romantic drama.

Anyone who appreciates Sylvester Stallone or enjoys the "Rocky" movies will find moments to enjoy in Rocky Balboa and will leave the theater reasonably satisfied. It's just good to see the guy, and it's good to revisit the character. And that's everything good to be said for the experience.

Indeed, without Hudson's magic, without that extra feeling that comes from seeing the launch of something extraordinary, Dreamgirls might have been a break-even affair. The film has strong roles, good actors and a compelling story that takes place over the course of 10 or 15 years. But it has, with only a couple of exceptions, a pedestrian score that sounds like generic show-music schlock and lyrics that are not distinctive.

Blanchett's performance is Soderbergh's biggest mistake. He either encourages or permits her to play Lena as a Greta Garbo caricature, which is mildly amusing if you're interested in Garbo, but if you're interested in Lena and The Good German, you're out of luck.

The story, like the protagonist, floats along in a noodly sort of way, intelligent, benign and ineffectual.

There's an edge to this exemplary family movie, just as there is in the story.

Eragon may not be a big Oscar contender, but in a movie season filled with blood diamonds, fascist soldiers and Idi Amin, it provides a much-needed afternoon of PG-rated family-friendly adventure.

Will Smith has the right quality for the role -- he's an easy man to root for -- but he augments this by channeling some inner quality of desperation and need.

Yet Apocalypto has to be respected for the sheer audacity of it, for the commitment and ambition behind it, and for its presentation of a complete other world. It is the furthest thing from a cynical or casual piece of work. It's crazy, and it moves.

Director Edward Zwick tried to make a great movie, but somewhere in the process he forgot to make a good one.

This is familiar territory for writer-director Nancy Meyers, Hollywood's queen of the chick flick. Her latest has charming moments and a hopeful message for despondent singles, but it lacks the emotional resonance of Meyers' "Something's Gotta Give" and the zaniness of "What Women Want."

A half-baked script by Jacob Meszaros and Mya Stark admittedly gives Feig little to work with. But his young cast is capable of a lot more than is required of them in this so-called comedy.

There's nothing too small about Nolte's performance. He's the perfect companion for a rookie feature film director looking to make a good first impression.

Succeeds in making the case that the hatred that seemed dead and buried 60 years ago is alive and growing and beginning to present itself once again as a threat to humane civilization.

It's a serious subject handled with humor -- not the ha-ha kind, but the hard laughter that comes from recognizing parts of yourself in the Perelmans.

The film is dazzling and bewildering in equal measure.

The story here isn't much, and the truth it reveals, to them and us, isn't earthshaking, just quiet and somber.

A great film, the best I've seen since Terrence Malick's "The New World," and far and away the richest and most brilliantly acted picture to be released this Oscar season.

By grounding everything that went before in an earthy realism, Hardwicke earns the elevation of the nativity sequence, one of the more beautiful scenes in this year's cinema.

While Kal Penn manages a decent lead performance as Taj, the writing is terrible.

If nothing else, Fitzgerald has demonstrated how huge a challenge the AIDS epidemic is on a worldwide scale, and how it will take a concerted, intelligent effort to solve it. It'll take a lot more than throwing money around.

Proceeds at that pace to an ending that is as inevitable as it is poignant.

Still feels stagebound, inert when it needs to be cinematic.

These people are so stupid that they make us think, well, wait a second: Maybe those livers and kidneys could be put to better use.

Although well intentioned, has the superficial gloss of a TV movie of the week.

Dreamland has vitality and emotional truth underlying all its interactions. And the young women, Agnes Bruckner and Kelli Garner, are superb.

There's more than a touch of whimsy in A Touch of Spice, a sentimental Greek offering that's been immensely popular in its home country but doesn't translate well.

A rollicking comedy for the gay niche that rarely rises above the level of a high school skit, Phillip J. Bartell's sequel to 2004's "Eating Out" is loaded with silliness and eye candy.

Some long patches in this show are surprisingly boring and unfunny. Maybe part of the problem is that the rest of the world has caught up with Waters -- nowadays everyone's a provocateur. In-your-face gay-themed material is no longer such a novelty; there are simply fewer boundaries left to transgress.

The Fountain' never comes together. Like the time traveler at its center, it's all over the map.

Belongs in the holiday hall of shame.

A needlessly complicated and confusing thriller.

Comic gold for anyone who is currently stoned, has been stoned in the past or spends a lot of time around stoned people.

It's tear-jerker material but ends up being quite touching, and it's a good choice for family viewing.

Somewhere in the translation from stage to screen, The History Boys has become an intelligent misfire. What's left is a literate but listless film.

Casino Royale is fresh, actually fresh.

Don't little ones have enough to worry about without ecological concerns popping up in family entertainment? Happy Feet should have stayed light on its feet.

For all its depiction of a descent into drug addiction, Candy is filled with surprisingly sweet moments and goes down more easily than seems possible given the subject matter.

For all the filmmaker's good intentions, Fast Food Nation isn't a particularly good movie. It doesn't hold together or grip you the way a documentary might have.

Some people may be put off that For Your Consideration lands in a serious place. But I see it as evidence of an expanding vision, of continued artistic growth.

Why such a structurally scattered movie should hang together at all is a mystery. That it does more than that, that it works brilliantly, is a miracle, or at the very least the product of unquantifiable causes.

The careful camera work, beautifully dank cinematography and the quietly nuanced performance by Darín keep our attention, but in the end, the film's bigger challenge isn't its length, or its deliberate pace: It's that it's overly freighted with symbolism and meaning.

Curiously, the film seems to have no discernible point, and yet -- this is practically unique -- the absence of a point becomes, in itself, a form of narrative interest.

It's difficult to ignore the fact that they've created a romantic comedy that has almost no romance and even less comedy.

All along, you know something terrible is going to happen, and when it does, you leave the theater shaken and deeply moved.

At the heart of The Return is a murder that even the most bumbling homicide investigator could have solved in about 12 seconds.

In a film that easily could have been cold or ironical, Ferrell provides the emotional thrust.

In this last passage Longley shows a poetic, almost elegiacal artistry. After two years, he might not understand the Iraqi people fully, but they have won his heart and mind.

It's as if a trumped-up biopic of Andy Warhol were to appear titled "Soup.''

This is a timeless, and nearly plotless, look at the day-to-day life of a nomadic Mongolian shepherding family. Yes, it moves deliberately, and impatient viewers will find it intolerably slow. But those who can get in track with its serene rhythm will be rewarded.

Harris' impressive channeling of Ludwig is diluted by the decision of screenwriters Stephen Rivele and Christopher Wilkinson to put the copyist front and center, possibly to distinguish their feature from "Immortal Beloved."

Often the movie seems like a lot of empty-headed blather, with one side hating the First Amendment and the other side unable to find a better use for it but to say the f-word.

A likable, extremely goofy piece of fluff.

Sounds like silly fun -- and Linda Linda Linda is -- but it is also an extremely well-written, emotionally complex coming-of-age tale that has a John Hughesian respect for teenage angst.