A sleek and sublimely deadpan comedy of Japanese corporate manners.

Seriously sexy stuff from -- surprise -- the former-Soviet Union.

After years of work-for-hire, writer-director Wong Kar-wai found his creative voice, discovered his themes and styles, and solidified his collaborative creative team with this brilliant examination of one-way love and crashed relationships. (Review of Original Release)

This simplistic animated feature falls firmly within the long tradition of bland, upbeat and earnest religious instructional films.

A caper comedy without chemistry is just a bunch of waiting around for something to get stolen.

In the end it's simply another Chucky movie -- whether that's a recommendation or a warning is entirely up to you.

The film rests on Depp's evocation of Barrie's gentle, playfulness and deeply buried sorrows; it's difficult to imagine another actor so gracefully evoking Barrie's childlike qualities without seeming creepy or emotionally malformed, and only the hard of heart will come away dry-eyed.

Labored and dispiriting.

By focusing on one period in his life, this film chronicles the bulk of Kinsey's experiences while barely scratching the surface of his personality.

More high - but strangely touching - weirdness from acclaimed Japanese auteur Kiyoshi Kurosawa.

The film is, in fact, an adaptation of Anton Chekov's "The Seagull." This provenance also explains why there's something slightly old-fashioned about the whole business.

The truly creepy thing is that there's no bizarre, COMA-like conspiracy behind the malfeasance, just an awful betrayal of trust -- the kind of thing that sends an icy, paranoid chill through the blood just as the anesthetic takes hold.

The individual stories are so truncated that they can't do much in the way of giving their characters real emotional depth.

The pacing is suspenseful and acting is actually pretty good, even if accents are no one's strong suit.

Yash Chopra's thinly veiled plea for reconciliation between India and Pakistan is cloaked in a decades-spanning Romeo-and-Juliet romance.

The film's characters, computer-animated over motion-caputure footage of flesh-and-blood performers, are as blank-eyed and rubbery-looking as moving mannequins -- the stuff of nightmares, not dreams.

The thin line between self-esteem and hubris is explored in this cautionary tale.

Rises above its low-budget limitations by pandering to the most outrageously paranoid fantasies of unhappy office drones.

Can't match the original's shock factor --abortion isn't the taboo subject it once was and the women of Sex and the City have helped make playing the field good, dirty fun.

Bearded, burly and even balding, these "bears" are a refreshing change from the depilated, youth-obsessed men of "Queer as Folk."

Poky, oddly uninvolving.

Funny, sexy and very cleverly done.

While billed as "an intimate look" at Jay-Z, the film reveals next to nothing about him beyond the fact that he possesses a formidable ability to spin and remember lengthy rhymes, however vulgar and reductive their content.

Moritsugu's film is really just a loose collection of encounters between characters that at times barely hangs together.

The result is truly a family film, not a kiddie time-waster that throws the occasional sop to adults; whether you like or love it is a function of how vividly the material reflects your own childhood fantasies.

Ali G Indahouse simply revels in mainstream inanity, doing its incremental bit to dumb down the popular movie going experience and encourage rampant stupidity. There's nothing funny about that.

Robles and Hidalgo ring enough changes on a stock situation that you're never sure where it's going.

As complex as the issue it tackles.

Foxx is the one standout in an otherwise overcrowded film.

Wan's debut feature is a twisted, squirm-inducingly nasty bit of work, which isn't a criticism because that's exactly what he and cowriter Leigh Whannell had in mind.

Terrific acting and fearless direction transform what might have been a silly exercise in the slightly spooky into a somber and deeply romantic mystery.

A cerebral thriller that dares to ask a fundamental question: What, exactly, is love?

An acid-dipped valentine to the sometimes seedy magic of movies.

A stew of silliness that's so ridiculous it's almost entertaining. Almost.

The very definition of sentimental overload. It's also impossible to resist.

Mena's characters rarely do the sort of spectacularly stupid things that provoke derisive laughter from seasoned horror-moviegoers.

The story the film has to tell is an outrage, but it never devolves into a sputtering tirade.

This is easily Payne's funniest film to date, yet the comedy never undercuts the difficult emotions with which the characters are dealing.

One of the flat-out creepiest films ever released by a major American studio.

Just like many real-life holiday get-togethers with the family, this comedy starts out pleasantly enough but degenerates into awkwardness and furtive watch-checking to see how much longer you have to suffer before you can leave.

It's as hard not to ask what former New York Doll David Johansen is doing in their company, prancing his way through an irrelevant version of Howlin' Wolf's "Killing Floor," as it is not to wonder why the audience is so overwhelmingly white.

Anderson is a master of detail, from the film's ubiquitous fish motif to the elaborate carnival set piece that unfolds inside the claustrophobic confines of a spook-house ride called "Route 666."

Surprisingly humor-free. Worse, with the exception of Cornwell's brilliant Bowie, the impersonations aren't particularly good, and can be found in any two-bit comedian's repertoire.

This southern-fried mess of poetic crime-movie cliches is redeemed by standout performances.

Van Bebber is out to capture the mood of a generation-long bad trip and succeeds with unnerving accuracy by telling the story within the family circle.

As provocative as Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11," but nowhere near as engaging.

A powerful piece of documentary filmmaking.

Shot on location in Manhattan, the film is steeped in understated New York City ambiance and discreetly tinted by Jeffrey M. Taylor's subtle score.

Breillat also offers sharp insights into the love-hate relationship between directors and actors.

The result is undeniably offensive and occasionally very funny, but the gags fall flat as often as they hit their mark.

Only Lopez, the film's ostensible star, seems to be struggling; she's a lovely dancer, but the only reason Lopez's expressionless performance isn't this sweet picture's downfall is that the script makes so few demands on her.

A tour de force and an utter delight, studded with priceless supporting bits by Miriam Margolyes, Maury Chaykin, Rosemary Harris and Rita Tushingham, each of whom steals at least one richly deserved moment in the spotlight.

The occasional amusing one-liner can't compensate for the broad caricatures and awkwardly structured story.

All the conditioner in the world couldn't make it shine.

Grace fares better than Linney, and both escape with more dignity than Harden, whose blowsy, wanton Missy is a coarse, soap-opera caricature of a suburban hoyden.

A marvelously entertaining, deeply moving treatment of a highly controversial practice: female genital mutilation.

The "Bullet" is an amusement-park roller coaster, and the title is a ham-fisted metaphor for facing your fears.

That the film seems willing to erect a simple religious parable on such a moral morass is bewildering. That it should do so without accurately depicting the nightmare of Hitler's Europe is unconscionable.

Were the film's tone not so hysterical it might be provocative; as it is, insights and insults are inextricably intertwined.

Naim's potential is evident, but his debut is a frustrating exercise in missed opportunities.

The result is a beguiling mix of the familiar and the exotic, vivid proof that a good story can withstand endless variations without losing its fundamental vitality.

Staunton is phenomenal - she barely speaks throughout the entire last third of the film, but the power of her posture and distraught expressions are enough to break your heart.

Stands out by virtue of its impressive visual style and the filmmakers' decision not to massage the facts into cliched conflicts with neat, feel-good resolutions that produce the proper sense of uplift.

The poorly executed scenes in which Duff's singing voice was clearly post-dubbed and her own lack of emotional range keep the film from rising to whatever potential it may have had.

In the end, the film is both a fitting elegy for Arna and the children she tried to help and a deeply disturbing warning about what will continue to breed within the occupied territories until peace is brought to Palestine.

An awkward amalgam of road movie, buddy comedy and melodramatic conventions, first-time writer-director Jordan Roberts' male weepie ricochets between affecting scenes and insufferably maudlin ones.

A fascinatingly obtuse puzzle box that manages to be gripping even after it stops making sense.

The film is an intriguing and hugely theatrical experience whose effectiveness is greatly enhanced by gorgeous period costumes and set design.

By the film's end we feel neither sympathy nor, oddly, total disgust for this most loathsome of killers. We simply begin to understand, and perhaps that's achievement enough.

It highlights a still shadowy moment in the creation of Pakistan that saw the abduction of nearly 100,000 Sikh and Muslim women in both India and Pakistan.

Be warned: the silly songs are damnably catchy, from Gerrit's ode to the seventeen pigeons he keeps on the roof, which he sings while sporting a very tight set of white undergarments, to the rousing "Ja Zuster, Nee Zuster."

Character actress Lin Shaye, usually relegated to grotesque supporting roles in mainstream comedies, is a revelation as Buono's embittered, cancer-ridden mother.

The situation in these former republics may indeed be dire, but it's a breeding ground for exciting cinema.

Queen Latifah is a natural-born charmer, but there's only so much she can do when paired with a costar so irritating it's hard not to squirm when he's on the screen, which is most of the time.

A bold, painful memoir that finds an innovative middle-ground between conventional documentary and a homemade, home-movie collage.

This oddly flat serial-killer picture shows none of the baroque flair that characterizes the best of Italian horror filmmaker Dario Argento's work.

Swings wildly between heartstring-tugging melodrama, testosterone-fueled action and buddy comedy.

One soggy, charmless heap of chum.

When the average comedy is aimed at juvenile 12-year-olds of all ages, the fact that Russell's target audience is precocious 12-year-olds of all ages is a significant improvement without actually being a triumph of mature wit over boorish puerility.

It's a fascinating film that manages to touch on subjects as diverse as mental illness and what's wrong with the record industry, set to brilliant music by the one of the best bands you've probably never heard.

While the film is unabashedly pro-Kerry --Butler and Kerry are longtime friends -- it isn't simple hagiography; it's also a portrait of Vietnam War-era America.

You may not care for the message, but there's nothing insidious about it.

The devout will no doubt enjoy this picturesque dramatization of an inspirational story many have known since childhood; others may understandably expect something more.

The sad fact is that this comprehensive and compassionate documentary about the hottest of the "hot-button" topics - gay marriage - probably won't change one's mind

A delicate watercolor dream of a ghost story, as insubstantial and tremulously haunting as an unquiet spirit.

It should come as no surprise that there's an American remake in the works, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon and directed by Martin Scorsese.

Both genuinely funny and authentically horrifying, it puts the average horror comedy to shame.

Keaton and Holmes have some sweet father-daughter moments and the supporting cast gives its all.

Director Joseph Ruben's best efforts can't keep Gerald Di Pego's puzzle-picture script from toppling into absurdity as it lurches from melodrama to psychological thriller with supernatural overtones to full-blown exercise in X-Files-style nuttiness.

The film works best when it doesn't try so hard, when Salles simply allows his excellent actors and his beautiful images to work their magic.

Nathanson processes this pungent stew of greed, ambition and self-delusion into pablum so sweet and bland it wouldn't shock a convent-raised idealist.

The main problem is Marcore, who is almost too gawky to be believed.

Formulaic but surprisingly affecting drama.

This short documentary might teach you a thing or two about the electronic instrument that revolutionized the sound of modern music.

If you're feeling open-minded and a little adventurous, this chilling exploration of the gender gap from Gallic bad-girl Catherine Breillat is worth a look.

If Jean-Luc Godard at his most Maoist had felt compelled to make adult movies, he might have cooked up something like pop-art punk-porn auteur Bruce LaBruce's slab of revolutionary raunch.

It can hardly help but outrage at least some of the people some of the time.

In light of the recent plight of real New York City-based filmmaker Micah Garen, who was kidnapped and nearly executed while attempting to make a genuine documentary in Iraq, the whole endeavor seems simply foolish.