The Bubble surprises us at every turn.

A complete bust, but the ways in which it fails are interesting.

The spectacular scenery and compelling message counterbalance the somewhat plodding pace and wooden performances.

Garlin's directing has little pacing, and many of the borderline gags could have been salvaged with some sharper editing. And there's a shocking amount of jokes and situations that just don't work.

Almost everything about the movie lands with an emphatic, preordained thud.

The producers have stated that they're going after an American market that supports Spanish-language TV networks, radio stations and newspapers. This niche audience may well respond to not being required to read subtitles, for once, in a movie geared to them.

Filmgoers looking for copious amounts of mindless violence won't be disappointed.

Creative and bizarre, maybe too bizarre, but since most action films adhere to a cookie-cutter formula, its quirkiness is most welcome.

Though the script and storytelling could have used more polish, Lapica's honesty provides the lasting impression.

The real trouble is that it's supposed to be an outrageous comedy, but in fact it's fairly tame and not all that funny.

In the end, all the bitterness seems like window-dressing to disguise a trite story.

One of this year's better studies of the human soul.

Never gets the mixture right, lurching between bullet-happy shootouts and overwrought domestic content.

Only intermittently funny.

There's something painful about watching Scarlett Johansson, who looks as if she never had an indecisive moment in her life, struggle to seem ineffectual.

It's the complexity of Lurie's moral universe that makes it linger in the mind.

Grows more and more incredible leading up to a twist ending worthy of an O. Henry short story that is as appropriate as it is ridiculous.

If you want to see Li and Statham in an underwhelming martial arts film, rent "The One" instead. Li talks considerably more in that movie, but at least he punches a lot of people out.

Would have worked better if it had stuck more closely to real estate as the source and target of satire.

Hawke has created a standard-issue, Sundance-friendly indie film that's full of the predictable angst suffered by Manhattan artistic types, but unfortunately the lead characters are both so callow that you finally don't care much about them.

Though it has merit and is recommended for the curious and adventurous, Joe Swanberg's film wears out its welcome about halfway through its 83 minutes. I'd say it doesn't go anywhere, but that's the point of these movies.

For pure laughs, for the experience of just sitting in a chair and breaking up every minute or so, Superbad is 2007's most successful comedy.

The humor manages to be simultaneously sophisticated, supremely silly and very dark.

There's some serious food for thought here.

Connects on a gut level in two ways, political and existential.

As impressive as it is geeky. Most of the principal characters look like they haven't seen daylight since "Pac-Man Fever" was on the charts.

Wonderfully giddy meditation on the nature of fame.

Better than its promotional description: "A stir-fried journey of self-discovery" - but not by much.