Director Julian Schnabel and screenwriter Ronald Harwood have performed a small miracle in adapting for the screen Jean-Dominique Bauby's autobiography The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Christensen delivers a low-key performance that is ultimately quite appealing, and he's well matched by the beautiful Alba. Olin brings unexpected depths to what could have been a stock role, and Terrence Howard uses his easy ability to project innate decency to excellent effect.

Never really decides whether it wants to concentrate on providing information or sociological analysis, with the result that it fails to fully satisfy on either level.

Very much reminiscent of "Napoleon" in numerous ways only minus the wit, the film is made somewhat palatable by its inherent sweetness and its treatment of typical adolescent angst.

It never hits any erotic sparks, and the aftermath is distinctly anticlimactic. Breakfast is handsomely shot; the settings are minimalist but well chosen. An old, rather questionable maxim says that sex sells. Not in this wan rendition.

Although it takes a while for Yu's thesis to jell, the film makes a lasting impression as it delves into an unfashionable territory: character as fate rather than a function of pharmaceuticals.

Overlong, over-the-top dirge.

It is more sad-funny than funny-funny, but Jenkins has enough empathy and wit to realize that even the sad parts are, somehow, funny.

Succeeds so beautifully because of a compelling story, great acting, intelligent writing and sensitive direction.

The story is about musicians and how music connects people, so the movie's score and songs, created by composers Mark Mancina and Hans Zimmer, give poetic whimsy to an implausible tale.

A sometimes clever, other times grating mix of live action and animation that plays tricks with levels of movie reality as the world of fairy-tale animation invades contemporary New York.

All the while, the music screams and clamors like an ignored child because director Xavier Gens and writer Skip Woods can't pump suspense into this inept mess.

The star of the show is undoubtedly Blanchett, who has great fun playing Dylan as a showboat who quite knowingly goes about creating his reputation for rebellious independence.

Less horrific than it is horribly didactic.

Writer-director Preston A. Whitmore II throws enough soap opera for an entire TV season into a story that nearly -- but not quite -- sinks from the weight of all these implausible events. Animated acting and the sheer chaos of this squabbling family give the film a comic buoyancy.

Director Robert Zemeckis not only deploys 21st century movie technology at its finest to turn the heroic poem into a vibrant, nerve-tingling piece of pop culture, but his film actually makes sense of Beowulf. In Zemeckis' hands, it's an intriguing look at a hero as a flawed human being.

Has thoughtful and funny characters, something that should give this droll drama appeal beyond a niche gay audience.

Shot on location in vibrant Cartagena, the film's strong suit is aesthetic. Cinematographer Alfonso Beato, designer Wolf Kroeger and costume designer Marit Allen evoke aged exotic locales, rugged rural settings and dimly lit period interiors. A closing, aerial image has a breathtaking, spiritual beauty.

Noah Baumbach has followed up his acclaimed 2005 breakthrough "The Squid and the Whale" with another wryly observed, giddily cringe-inducing, bracingly original winner.

For all its playful touches and neat-o nostalgia for nondigital entertainment, the whimsy feels forced.

De Palma's screenplay is outstanding, and he draws wonderfully naturalistic performances from his youthful cast.

Despite effective moments, VanAlkemade's film is too diffuse. He gives us snippets of the group's spirited performances, but their effect on audiences remains unclear.

The English term "shambolic" best describes a slow-paced, bloated and self-indulgent picture that combines science fiction, sophomoric humor and grisly violence soaked in a music-video sensibility.

The Coens' typically superior filmmaking sustains the electrifying mood for most of the picture, but they are undone by being too faithful to the source novel by Cormac McCarthy.

The film isn't just not funny, it is off-putting.

Politicians, the media, educators, military commanders and a docile public all come under fire in a well-made movie that offers no answers but raises many important questions.

In the sadism-for-thrills sweepstakes, P2 is no "Saw," but it will get young women to clutch their dates for a week or so in theaters before fading to DVD shelves.

It's overblown and extravagant business as usual.