Although their latest film is not without a certain charm, it quickly wears out its welcome.

Salt goes down easy, but it's lacking both nourishment and flavor.

So friction-free that it slips from memory before the credits fade.

When the smoke clears, heady Farewell stands tall among the movies that view the Cold War at close range.

There are audiences for movies that amuse us, and arouse us, and scare us, but the career of Todd Solondz ("Storytelling") raises the question: Is there an audience for movies that make us feel icky?

Christopher Nolan's "Memento" was a movie-lover's dream come true, a puzzle that was engaging both intellectually and emotionally. But his Inception is a wake-up call, a blaring reminder that cheap tricks can't compensate for personal investment.

A tamer tale of supernatural shenanigans that is far more appropriate for young children than the sometimes too-scary scenes from J.K. Rowling's stories.

It's not exactly aiming for the moon, but in a marketplace where surpassed expectations are as rare as unicorns, Despicable Me is delightful.

The Kids Are All Right probably could have used a few more scenes to come to an even more satisfying conclusion. But it's a terrific film anyway.

A passable popcorn movie, but fans of the first film who expect lightning to strike twice are liable to get burned.

A toxic potion that will put children to sleep and kill his (M. Night Shyamalan) career.

Why the bloodsucker and the wolf boy treat Bella as if she's the cat's meow is still a mystery.

Nobody escapes unscathed, except, of course, for Sandler, who co-wrote the infantile screenplay.

Although it alludes to romantic conventions, with overt references to Hollywood history and an overemphatic jazz soundtrack, Wild Grass is neither poignant nor zany. It's an exercise in artifice, not unlike David Lynch's "Mulholland Drive" set in the City of Lights. I'm sure the French have a word for it, but je ne sais quoi it is.

If you're looking for a political message, either for or against U.S. involvement in Afghanistan, this is not your movie. The directors were satisfied with telling us about a group of courageous, honorable young soldiers - a salute these men richly deserve.

An action comedy that works. But it’s also a surprisingly poignant romance. This is the summer flick you’ve been waiting for.

It's a well-earned curtain call for some of the most beloved characters in one of the best-sustained feats of recent cinema.

Like the recent "Greenberg," Cyrus is not the jokey, polished production you would expect from its Hollywood cast and LA setting, but audiences who are comfortable with discomfort should find it "funny."

I Am Love is easy to savor but tough to swallow.

The first half of the film dusts off some kitschy picket-fence footage and alarmist news reports to invoke an era when homosexual acts were illegal in 49 states, and gays were subjected to arrest, electroshock and sterilization.

The kids in the movie, from musicians to marital artists, are unusually skillful, and Smith seems assured of more starring roles. By the end of The Karate Kid, we can't help cheering, even when we know we've been sucker-punched.

The diabolical sadist of the team was director Joe Carnahan.

The most provocative thing in Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work is the moment during the opening credits when we glimpse the comedy legend without makeup.

Winter's Bone is the best film of the year.

The documentary ends on a hopeful note, as Indians themselves have taken control of their image.

It's a little black dress of a movie, an elegant hint of something sensual that is ultimately denied to us.

Ondine is dipped in whimsy and might have drifted out to sea, but it's bounded on four sides by love stories -- between a father and a daughter, a man and a mermaid, an actor and his co-star, and a director and his country.

Moves along well until the characters and situations become too ridiculous to be believed.

It's not quite infectious, but some of the high notes manage to drown out some of the guttural lows.

The film confirms it's hard to do brain surgery on a battlefield. But it doesn't take a brain surgeon to think it could go deeper.

"Beverly Hills Chihuahua," we owe you an apology. Among talking-dog movies, Marmaduke is the runt of the litter.

Prince of Persia is woven of recycled fibers, but by the slipping standards of summertime entertainment, it's a magic carpet ride.

A bland family-feud potboiler with no sign of the cook.

Jeunet -- whose influence can be seen in everything from the short-lived TV series "Pushing Daisies" to the Oscar-winning film "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" -- remains one of the world's most imaginative directors. But Micmacs is a misfire.

Sex and the City 2 will never be compared to "The Godfather, Part II." But it's everything a fan could want in a sequel.

It's no classic, but Shrek Forever After is a pleasant reminder that every time a cash register rings, this ogre turns angelic.

As a testament to traditions that are usually kept hidden from Hollywood, Holy Rollers is a mitzvah. But as a thriller, it's bubkes.

Perhaps best appreciated as a character study -- about a character some moviegoers might prefer to avoid. Still, it's a smart, funny film that flirts with the edge.

Like other so-called "mumblecore" movies, including Bronstein's own "Frownland," this is an unnervingly intimate glimpse of dysfunction, with a shaky-cam aesthetic and seemingly improvised dialogue.

A lot of care went into crafting the handsome production but not enough into making the handsome hero come alive.

Letters to Juliet has about half as much Shakespearean content as "Shakes the Clown" and even less sincerity.

The been-there, done-that nature of the plot doesn't take away from the undeniable sweetness found in Just Wright.

Although it's stuffed with subplots, gadgets and bad guys, this tinny contraption is half-hearted.

As a diversion, Babies is like a wind-up toy that will tickle anyone with a pulse. As a documentary, it's like a cache of home videos that will frustrate anyone with an inquiring mind.

Unfortunately, Garcia can't quite resist sentimentality, giving us an ending that's a bit too emotionally neat. Still, Mother and Child is a thoughtful and provocative film about the way we live now.

Maybe in his native language, Dujardin is no funnier than Steve Martin's "Pink Panther." But with subtitles, his deadpan delivery is hard to resist.

The message that needs to be posted at the theater door is "No trespassing."

A film that's as much a character study as it is a crime drama. At the heart of it is Caine's hauntingly memorable performance.

Sophisticated comedies have gone out of fashion, largely because Hollywood finds it easier and more profitable to simply gross out moviegoers. But Please Give has real class -- and for that it deserves our gratitude.

Whether you're betting on action or laughs, this is a lose-lose scenario.

With movies like this, Lopez might want to start leaving low-end romantic comedies alone and look at her movie career's backup plan.

The surprisingly rich documentary Best Worst Movie views the phenomenon from a unique perspective.

An evolutionary leap forward, a visually exquisite film that doesn't ignore the truths of pollution and predatory survival.

Maybe I enjoyed the similarly themed Kick-Ass because it took me back to that innocent time. Or maybe it's because this is the most brazenly funny bloodbath unleashed on the public since "Pulp Fiction."

In my old New Jersey public school, the first thing we learned was the smell of baloney.

With its seductive images and smart dialogue, The City of Your Final Destination has the setting and circumstances for a ripe family drama or a literary love story, yet it never awakens from its siesta.

For a public that's been bullied by the tastemakers, the mystery is a gift. Once we exit this fun house, the only giant left to obey is ourselves.

The spoof of consumerism scores some predictable points, but the tidy ending is a sell-out to the ultimate marketing machine: Hollywood.

Although it has some memorably disquieting scenes, this story of long-delayed justice is sustained by its melancholy more than its thrills.

This shrill caper is more like a blind date between fingernail and chalkboard.

The macabre comedic undertones are reminiscent of a Coen brothers film like "Blood Simple." But a more apt comparison is to an obscure Canadian bank-heist flick called "The Silent Partner," in which teller Elliot Gould pockets some loot from thief Christopher Plummer. Both movies imitate an American idiom with a provincial accent.

In the new Clash of the Titans, the effects are computerized, the hero is questionable and, instead of an owl, we get a turkey.

Sadly, The Last Song is badly out of tune with real filmmaking.

Hot Tub Time Machine isn't a good movie, but like a bubbling bath it keeps pounding at us until our resistance wears down.

Egoyan doesn't flinch from exploring the dark side of curiosity. That includes dealing with sexuality in a way that might make some moviegoers uncomfortable.

Would have benefited from the kind of objectivity that Bass -- as Sar's well-heeled sponsor -- was hardly in a position to deliver.

In steering a course between the rock of rude humor and the hard place of perilous drama, How to Train Your Dragon flies high.

Perhaps tracking down the folks responsible for this film should be Milo's next assignment.

If Repo Men could have sustained its ghoulish humor, it might have been a guilty pleasure.

A charming throwback filled with authentic characters.

The kiddie audience will laugh a few times, but it would take an electron microscope to find an original idea or joke in this entire cartoonish movie.

This Swedish sensation is a magic trick that jolts the murder-mystery genre back to life.

Like "The Squid and the Whale," this character study pushes the definition of comedy to the breaking point, and unlike the far less successful "Margot at the Wedding," it leaves us faintly smiling after the workout.

For better or worse, this is a straightforward performance film.

Because the movie captures the period so well and argues so convincingly that the Runaways' very existence was revolutionary, it doesn't have to exaggerate the highs and lows to create a more salable story.

Vincere, which translates as the battle cry "Win!" is like invisible ink on the ledger of war, a secret record of love and loss.

Green Zone can't make up its mind whether it's "The Bourne Insurrection" or "Hurt Locker: The Prequel."

If all you want from a movie are generous doses of laughs and some tender moments, She's Out Of My League should be right up your alley.

Director Rick Famuyiwa did much better when focusing just on African-American culture in films such as "Brown Sugar" and "The Wood." Here, in bringing together two cultures, he does neither any favors.

a horrific misstep in the branding of Robert Pattinson. The erstwhile teen vampire, who daringly portrayed gay surrealist Salvador Dalí in last year's "Little Ashes," lurches backward into a pile of romantic rubbish.

This gravely serious drama is as insular as a tomb with Muzak. It takes a particularly heavy hand to make us numb to the abduction of two children, but that's the effect of the wall-to-wall music and earnestly dour performances.

Here's a riddle: What's Alice in Wonderland without wonder? It's a beloved character landing in the rubble of wrong-headed revisionism.

In the end, audiences will be neither shaken nor stirred. Just bored and confused.

While the plot is as flimsy as a hooker's halter top, it's buoyed by two actors with attitude and timing.

Essential viewing for art-film buffs and crime-flick fans, but also for anyone who's looking for a great story, terrific acting and masterful filmmaking.

While the rich people who violated a dead antagonist's wishes seem sleazy (especially when they refuse to be interviewed), transporting world-class artwork five miles to a bigger facility where more people can enjoy it hardly seems like the end of civilization as we know it.

It's deliberately difficult to untangle the crossed allegiances of the people that Kelly interviews, and it's melodramatic that he tries to smuggle Ming and a surrendered assassin onto a plane bound for the United States. But dramatizing such a complex situation is a necessary evil.

Given the stormy milieu, The Yellow Handkerchief could have been a sordid slice of life or a maudlin metaphor. But the unhurried direction of Udayan Prasad and the unafraid choices of the sure-footed cast keep this character-driven drama afloat.

This quasi-horror film has the great director's usual craftsmanship and a stellar cast, but ultimately it's an infuriating trick that makes its most provocative ideas disappear.

As an exercise in craft, it's surprisingly successful, thanks to the strong cast and the vivid depiction of a modern leader's security apparatus. But as a political statement or personal drama, The Ghost Writer is nearly invisible.

Falls into that middling ground of horror film: neither scary enough to be exciting nor campy enough to be amusing.

The CGI effects are a familiar sort and so is the heroic-quest motif. The principal virtue in this modest entertainment is that the young characters act like real teenagers.

What might have seemed like a lively idea -- an all-star roundelay about love in Los Angeles -- is as fossilized as the wooly mammoths in the La Brea Tar Pits.

The beauty of October Country, beside its artful images, is how it compresses the windblown fortunes of working-class America into the fallen leaves of one forlorn family.

Fulfills its mission, which is to be a crowd-pleasing tearjerker.

This deadpan police story produces unexpected chills.

Ajami is neither a puzzle nor a polemic. It's an admirably even-handed portrait of life in an occupied ghetto that is bounded by checkpoints. Everyone we meet is a more or less honorably motivated victim of circumstance. That the circumstances were inscribed centuries ago makes Ajami a tragedy of biblical proportions.

Here most of the punishment is inflicted on the audience, which gets nailed to a cross of boredom.