I've seen many films about Italy, but this one - possibly because it's so colorful and stylized and possibly because the songs are such economical distillations of a state of mind - feels like being there.

Neatly, and often humorously, summarizes a very unhealthy situation.

Rosewood is startling, infuriating, painful history played out as a not-very-satisfying, overly ambitious and overlong movie.

The film's freedom and control, its inspiration and focus, announce it as the work of a confident and mature artist.

If Public Enemies lacks anything, it's something audiences can't legitimately expect to find: a certain EXTRA something.

With Margaret threatening to lose it at any moment, “Resurrection” is #MeToo horror at its cringiest.

It grabs you from a symbolic opening scene of gang members rolling the dice -- the odds, it soon becomes clear, are stacked against them getting lucky -- and never lets go.

A gentle comedy.

This is a sobering piece of advocacy cinema.

To the extent Final Portrait succeeds, and it does intermittently, it’s a rather deadpan comedy about two men trying to understand each other against a cultural and generational gulf.

The movie’s one flaw, a notable one, is that the first hour is better than the second. The first is jaw-dropping. In the second half, the film slow downs somewhat, but by then, the audience is hooked into the movie’s reality, so there’s no turning away.

Angourie Rice, who plays Gosling’s intelligent and highly moral 12-year-old, deserves a special mention. The character is an unexpected presence that adds dimension to the story, and Rice plays her beautifully.

Its take on the political scene is unsophisticated, and its humor heavy- handed. Like any satire, it exaggerates, but it exaggerates the wrong things. [11 Sep 1992, p.C1]

The Little Prince is heartbreaking, beautiful and irresistible.

While Wilde captures its subject's singular charm, it ultimately doesn't do justice to his complexity.

It’s an engaging product, typical of its era and elevated by Crosby’s non-singing breeziness and Astaire’s all-around brilliance, plus the appeal of Marjorie Reynolds, who has to pretend that she’s enthralled every time Crosby warbles something in her direction. Now that’s acting.

The movie's excruciating length is without dramatic or thematic justification.

A showcase for Wang's greatest strengths as a film maker: a chance to explore friendships, connections and random serendipities.

A fascinating fact-based portrait of a gambling addict.

The movie belongs to Rodriguez: A gorgeous woman with a powerful body and the face of an Aztec princess, she's also a natural talent who instinctively understands the importance of economy in good acting.

Rich with physical and psychological texture, and boosted by Thomas Newman's muted score, Unstrung Heroes is that rare mainstream film that doesn't shout in our ear to make its points. It draws us in, subtly and gracefully, and casts a lingering charm.

It’s still a relief that the love story here is between a kind woman and a creature far nobler than his onetime owner.

It doesn’t ascend to the sky. It’s not profound or great. But Vigalondo takes Colossal to all sorts of unexpected places and then brings it home, intact.

Mainly Blank City shows a succession of engaging, intelligent, middle-aged people showing some very bad home movies that they once hoped were something more.

It’s a complicated tale, and at 92 minutes, the film is a very brief summary.

There's a zippety-doo-dah bounce and brashness to Roger & Me, but it's not the definitive word on what ailed Flint, Mich., when assembly lines stopped rolling. [12 Jan 1990, p.E3]

May provide a service by making gay issues innocuous and funny and more acceptable to a broader audience, but Rudnick's play-it-safe script and Frank Oz's antiseptic direction manage instead to trivialize the subject.

Not only more crazy than “Reservoir Dogs,'' but it also feels more real. [1 Jan 1993, Daily Notebook, p.D1]