As formulaic, but occasionally outré multiplex-bound behemoths go, Gladiator is a foaming beast.

This overall good feeling helps smooth over the sometimes shocking lapses in logic.

It is a traffic jam of broken hearts, fluxing racial identities and deplorable outfits that has everything but a salsa overhaul of "I Will Survive."

Works as a quixotic study of emotional quirks.

There's a novel, engaging story trying to transmit through the storm of special effects and convoluted plot twists that mar the movie.

Like sitting on the beach under a cozy, warm afternoon sun. The view is beautiful, but not much is happening and soon you drift peacefully to sleep.

Demonstrates that sadomasochistic streak in von Trier that equates the raw with the experimental.

A depressing show of how truly, madly, deeply outmoded Hollywood can be.

Just fascinating in an empty, trendy sort of way

A particularly egregious array of Kodak moments.

One of those truly biodegradable experiences.

Certainly it isn't about to give "Das Boot" a run for its money - but nevertheless it is irresistible entertainment.

Ethereal.

Prince-Bythewood's movie is an occasionally clunky, mostly engaging coming out party for herself.

Funny and untouched by cynical, ironic bids to be taken seriously.

Revelatory.

Most of American Psycho just sits there, looking at trouble, rather than looking for it - complacent, overjoyed in fact to exist at all.

Needs a gritty intervention.

If you haven't taken your mother to a movie in a while, this is the ticket, with its PG-13 rating, lack of violence and like that.

May be the funniest movie about parental and spousal abuse ever made.

A grand, old-fashioned movie of spies and Communist repression.

If Restaurant feels like a high-caliber TV drama, it's one that tries to pack an entire season (plus pilot, plus backstory) into one episode.

If nothing else, The Filth and the Fury is a searing, forceful, entertainingly biased reminder only that the English group mattered - as musicians and as anti-social curs.

Tucci and Holm brilliant as magazine writer and artist.

A wildly dull, predictable script whose holes seem to be courtesy of random sniper fire.

Crammed with such earnest belief in the power of love - even if it happens in the Chicago Zoo - it almost doesn't matter that O'Connor and Loggia have better chemistry than Duchovny and Driver.

It's a truly strange coupling of mooning romanticism and rank stupidity that fairly screams, "Teenage America, we love your money!"

Ideological disaster!