Raw, uncompromising and surprisingly explicit.

Running just a little over two hours and wordily narrated by talk-radio host Amy Goodman, Stephen Vittoria's hagiography spends more time bemoaning the past 30 years of U.S. political history and setting the dismal tone for McGovern's arrival on the political scene than it does on his 1972 campaign.

Though conceptually clever, the results look stagy and schematic and recall nothing more than a pale imitation of Terry Gilliam's "Brazil" (1985).

Her heavy-handed montage of war, civil rights demonstrations, revolutions and KKK gatherings, intercut with Shicoff's delivery of the opera's devastating fourth-act aria, is so amateurish it very nearly succeeds in trivializing the power of his performance.

A hip-hop reimagining of "The Great Gatsby" that fails both as an update of F. Scott Fitzgerald's dissection of American aspirations and class barriers and on its own boorish terms.

Shot as "Backwater" and test-screened as "The Reaper," this film contains a couple of bracingly mean sequences, but it cleaves so closely to the slasher-movie formula that it can't muster up any suspense at all.

If there's pleasure to be derived from the misfortunes of others, then Julian Fellowes' wickedly entertaining adaptation of Nigel Balchin's nearly forgotten 1951 novel is a barrel of fun.

Despite its shortcomings, it's an effective clarion call that will no doubt stir audiences to action, even if it doesn't quite prepare them for the important battle ahead.

The melancholy joke - if you can call it that - is that the pall of global mediocrity has erased national differences and turned women like Tamiko and Amanda into ghosts drifting through their own lives.

There are moments of such breathtaking grace and artistry that you'd be forgiven for thinking you're watching the most beautiful movie ever made.

If it weren't for the running flatulence gag, the whole silly business might be mistaken for slight, clean, fast-moving fun.

Lasse Hallstrom's leisurely drama about remorse, forgiveness and spiritual healing is a film of big emotions and ferociously small gestures.

Simultaneously sober and silly horror picture.

In Ducastel's and Martineau's hands all the unpleasantness blows away like a kiss on a soft summer breeze, a light wind that nevertheless leaves a vaguely unpleasant scent in its wake.

Harrowing but enormously empathetic.

The film's real star is the stunning Montana landscape, beautifully captured by cinematographer Paul Ryan.

Coming at a time when the settlements on the Gaza Strip are being dismantled, Cedar's film offers a sly critique of their origins, and refreshingly different point of view.

But it's all done with such high style and whizzes along at such an exhausting pace that you probably won't have enough time to notice how little you care.

With friends like these, the poor guy took what he probably thought was the easy way out.

Alex Shuper's solid, if hyperactive, documentary uses every trick in the film editor's book to celebrate this too-often underappreciated aspect of moviemaking.

Innovative sounds and striking visuals combine to form an exquisite cinematic work.

If not precisely charismatic, Statham brings authentic athleticism and a certain cheeky presence to his lightly written role.

The profoundly unconvincing CGI work only makes the sorry screenplay and lackluster performances look worse.

Yes, it's really silly, and no, you won't remember a thing about it the second it's over, but adults looking for fast moving, non-violent fun that kids might actually enjoy could do a lot worse.

From the proposed constitutional amendment banning gay marriage and the president's opposition to the morning-after pill to his pandering to fundamentalist family groups, Cho has all things Bush-related in her crosshairs, and she's taking no prisoners.

No matter that the setting is one of the most picturesque on the planet: cinematographer Jean-Max Bernard's camera would much rather linger all the skin and muscle Morel contrives to put on display.

A virtuoso experiment in animation that combines traditional anime aesthetics style with a variety of Western animation styles.

Rather than trading le Carré's downbeat but agonizingly true-to-life ending for something more palatable, Meirelles has crafted a rare sort of thriller that refuses to resolve real-life issues for the sake of feel-good entertainment.

Kechiche's film is bursting with life: Shot entirely on location using surprisingly long takes, all of it feels surprising authentic, even as these young kids attempt to spout dialogue that's nearly 300 years old.

Without slavishly imitating the photographer's distinctive style, Almereyda also manages to connect his own images to all that's "Egglestonian" in the photographer's world.

Damon, an underrated comic actor, is particularly good as an ultra-rationalist who'll scream like a girl and run from anything he can't immediately explain.

"Alien" redux.

The music is surprisingly good and there's a skateboarding bulldog that you've just gotta see to believe.

This wry, low-key comedy, crafted by members of the sketch-comedy group The State, swims defiantly against the stream of contemporary comedy, eschewing bodily-function jokes and obvious gags in favor of laughs so sly and self-effacing you could almost overlook them.

The ending doesn't really work, and Pla tends to overplay what's already a larger-than-life character, but Neron is perfect as the striking and cucumber-cool countess.

Both De Bouw and Decleir are superb.

Its opponents, Arab and Israeli alike, the "wall" is a dispiriting symbol of apartheid and defeat.

Irwin's film comes as a bracing reminder of what punk was once all about, and will hopefully serve as an inspiration for better bands to come.

Fun without ever being particularly funny, this one-joke comedy-of-bad-manners features a hero who will either tickle your funny bone or make you vaguely uncomfortable.

After nearly a decade of duds, Wes Craven reasserts his claim to being a master of suspense with this solid little airborne thriller.

While the target audience won't be as familiar with the voice of Gervais as with, say, Eddie Murphy, they'll no doubt love his dirty bird humor.

Combining an interracial friendship with an age-old love story is certainly a worthy idea, but this poorly executed film is riddled with every cliché in the book and then some.

The only constant in Park's brilliantly cruel world is this: No matter how badly things seem to be going, there's a twist of fate lurking around the next curve that will make them worse.

It's a fascinating, infuriating story, and despite the fact that Greenstreet occasionally wanders off subject it's a brave and highly commendable effort that's chock-full of chilling moments.

Filled with tremendous stunts and well-shot racing sequences, director Steve Boyum's loud, down-and-dirty ride through the world of Supercross motorcycle racing comes to a screeching halt for its many pit stops for Hollywood clichés.

The film's woozy, digital-video gorgeousness is undeniable, and the glittering shots from atop the Brooklyn Bridge could make a tough guy weep.

"Survivor" meets "Cinema Paradiso"in this wonderfully entertaining documentary about a film fanatic's quest to bring Hollywood movies to a remote South Sea island.

Beauchamp reconstructs the actual crime with disturbing immediacy, and his treatment of how Till's death galvanized a country makes this short film a good way to commemorate the 50th anniversary of a crime that still has the power to outrage.

Hokey, slow-moving thriller.

This bare-bones plot is merely an excuse to string together a series of gross-out jokes involving bodily fluids, private parts, food and genetic deformities.

Wahlberg, whose Bobby is the kind of guy who enters a room gun first, swinging a can of a gasoline, is the glue that holds everything together; he's perfectly cast and has never given a more persuasive performance.

This is a creditable but disappointingly draggy war epic. It should sizzle like a fuse, but instead plods along with methodical deliberation.

The strong cast keeps the material from descending into sheer smutty tripe, but it's an uphill battle and in the end, not really worth their considerable efforts.

Would be funny if it weren't so horrifying.

A rapt fascination with transcendent lunacy runs through Herzog's work, both fiction and documentary; while disdaining Treadwell's rhapsodically anthropomorphized vision of nature.

Most of Halim's script is a laundry list of offensive remarks that he no doubt means to serve as titillating spoof, but none of it's funny or even the least bit provocative, just offensive.

If one masterpiece were to emerge from the recent glut of generally good quality Japanese horror movie, this chilling apocalyptic ghost story from Kyroshi Kurosawa is it.

Cheung gives a revelatory performance.

Most mystifying, however, is the bizarre hero-worship surrounding the fingure of Kim Jong Il, a nationwide personality cult that makes Joe Stalin and Chairman Mao look like D-list celebrities.

So outrageously, unregenerately stupid that you might be tempted to think it's smart. But it's not: It's as dumb as Georgia dirt.

The film ends on an ambiguous note that will infuriate some viewers and strike others as the only possible finale to Don's sad absurdist journey.

An intoxicatingly beautiful, maddeningly elliptical and utterly enthralling meditation on the fleeting pleasures and haunting aftermath of doomed romance.

Walks such a fine line between what separates dreamer from stalker, that the film he made about it ellicits a variety of responses.

Far from the sentimental drivel you might expect given the subject matter, this amiable and heartfelt drama about an adolescent boy's attempt to rouse his comatose mother explores the meaning of faith by tapping into the original, rebellious spirit of Christianity.

This is pulp with smarts and a social conscience.

Flashing by like images in a flip book, these protean forms appear to dance a cosmic quadrille set to the music of the spheres.

Morrison brings an amazingly sure hand to MacLachlan's prickly screenplay.

Far more than mere fish tale, Sauper's dark, devastating documentary profiles a socio-ecological nightmare with unimaginable consequences, and it's one of the best films about the ugly reality of the global marketplace.

The film makes no real impression; it's amiable, occasionally funny and indistinguishable from dozens of other romantic comedies just like it.

This limp, forgettable fluff is as preachy and heavy-handed as the "Goofus and Gallant" cartoons that a generation of children far less media-savvy than today's recognized as ham-fisted lessons in good behavior masquerading as funny strips.

Even by the degraded standards of dim-witted summer blockbusters, this is sorry stuff.

But if you stick around for those final credits, you'll also have the opportunity to hear Robin Williams deliver a clean but nonetheless hilarious joke, a reminder of how funny Williams can be when he's not trying so hard.

A terrific showcase for a troupe of fine actors who rarely find work outside the Australian film industry.

This minimalist meditation on loneliness and loss is so spare and drained of color that it seems always on the verge of fading into invisibility.

Demonstrating just how different literature and filmmaking can be, filmmaker-turned-writer-turned filmmaker Dai Sijie botches an adaptation of his own best-selling short novel.

Craig Brewer's sweaty, feel-good story about a small-time pimp and dope dealer making one last, desperate grab at his long-deferred dream is driven by longtime supporting player Terrence Howard's subtle, go-for-broke performance as Memphis mack Djay.

For a slick pop entertainment, more than the usual quotient of timely ideas rattle around between the relentless product placements and futuristic geegaws.

For all the updated riffs and personal noodling, it's best when it doesn't stray too far from the original material.

Rob Zombie's pitch-perfect evocation of '70s horror films about monstrous families and the unfortunates who cross their path is one of a handful of sequels that both improve on their sources and play perfectly as stand-alones.

Members of what used to be referred to euphemistically as the "raincoat crowd," will probably enjoy Winterbottom's experiment more than most.

Unpredictable and hugely entertaining.

Using long takes, largely improvised dialogue and an increasingly out-of-joint time frame, Van Sant chronicles the final hours of fictional but Cobain-like rock star Blake.

Mediocre documentary squanders a terrific subject.

There's less than meets the eye in this tricky psychological thriller, one of a long line of mess-with-your-head brain ticklers in which all is not as it seems.

The film is as beautiful as it is unpredictable.

Neo-Gothic fantasist Tim Burton and writer John August (Big Fish) play it strictly by the book for this darker but far more faithful adaptation of Roald Dahl's cautionary 1964 young-adult novel.

Delivers 90 minutes of riotously funny raunch; unfortunately, its running time is closer to two hours.

Roos' sly, throwaway insights into the ways people deceive and undermine themselves are both ruefully funny and painfully on the mark.

Their subtle, complex performances could put far more experienced and better-known actors to shame.

The film's epic look is undermined by his narrow focus; in the end it feels rather thin and less than the sum of its handsome parts.

Powerful, documentary-style drama draws on the real-life experiences of "at risk" teenage girls.

White's take on southern life is no more "real" than the stereotypes he's trying to disrupt, just cooler.

True to form, Salles' version is an intelligent, brooding ghost story brimming with atmosphere, emotions and, above all else, water, but it's disappointingly short on scares.

Favors light action over character dynamics.

Versatile, highly skilled Norwegian director Hans Petter Moland's poignant drama examines the lingering effects of U.S. intervention in Southeast Asia.

The film is filled with humor, compassion and cajones, and never once glosses over the fact that these guys are prickly personalities who can sometimes act like jerks. There are also a few tears, but remarkably, not a single one is shed in pity.

A rare, unexpected treat.

What distinguishes Cordero's film is his use of location.