A confusing blend of noir mystery and screwball comedy, Testosterone never manages to reconcile its conflicting tones and ultimately lacks the wit necessary to fuel its outlandish plotting.

Macy once again brightens an otherwise mundane character.

It boasts enough camp, skin and 15th century flashbacks of torment to make it fitting fodder for campus screens.

A slim idea for a pulp-fiction short story padded out to 81 minutes with random encounters and celebrity sightings.

It's a frantic piece of filmmaking that invests nothing in the characters and moves much too fast for its own good. But things do pick up a bit for the final third, when a story line finally arrives.

Told with a tender vigor, the film explores relationships on a number of levels. It will ring true with mature teenagers of all classes.

Another effective civics lesson that, unfortunately, will probably never be seen by the people whose minds it seeks to change.

Gives these canines the sensual elegance of the Calvin Klein models Weber has so famously photographed. Would that the substance of the film have come close to having the impact of its visuals.

An unfortunately muddled portrait of a teenage girl going through a moral and spiritual crisis.

Achieves the dubious distinction of featuring a large gallery of nearly all unlikable characters.

A painfully unfunny, would-be comedy.

A not particularly satisfying ending that involves silly CG effects. On the other hand, the acting is uniformly compelling, the fight sequences are energetic, and, as character drama, the material is especially enthralling.

May have been adapted the 1996 French film "L'Appartement," but pretty much all evidence of what was once an engaging psychodrama has been lost in the translation.

First-time director Paul Abascal brings no style or personality to this B-movie exercise. Except for Farina, the actors go through the paces as if they too lack conviction in the proceedings.

Does a great service in offering new information at a time when open discussion is more important than ever.

The spirit of that most modern of 19th century heroines, Becky Sharp, remains intact, and Nair's Indian touches make for an intriguing, fresh approach.

This week's campaign commercial, er, political documentary, is a portrait of Democratic candidate Sen. John Kerry's service in Vietnam.

Suspect Zero has enough going for it to eventually develop a cult following. But compared to "Silence of the Lambs" and "Seven," it's still the minor leagues.

In his second feature as a director, Gallo acts as writer, director, producer, star, cinematographer, production designer and editor. Thus, the failure is all his.

The film leaves any opponent of the current administration with a discouraging ambivalence: On one hand, one wants to vehemently decry such tactics in American politics. On the other, one wants to know where the hell is the Democrats' Karl Rove?

Sufficient cheap thrills and enough of the prevailing camp quality.

The sequel retains not only the same gimmicky premise as the original but its preference for cliche-ridden dialogue and flat-footed comedy as well.

Poire's comedy often pushes the definition of good taste to its limit. Many of his jokes are vulgar and crass. Too often, they're downright puerile.

The first half of the film is a by-the-numbers rock docu. But at the halfway mark, the personalities and psychoses of the performers become as interesting as the history, and the documentary morphs into an involving human drama.

It's a quiet film, shunning melodrama and political polemic. Instead, it opts for a human touch, conveying how a group of very different survivors come to terms with the past and plan a future in their own unique ways.

Flawed but imaginative film.

At heart a love story, Rosenstrasse benefits from strong, sympathetic performances from two actresses who play the same character at different ages.

Intelligent, universal tale.