The action in this superlative film is relentless and gripping from beginning to end.

An attempt to do for poker what The Hustler did for pool, The Cincinnati Kid succeeds on its own, but it might have been a classic with some more attention paid to the script and, perhaps, a little humor sandwiched in to relieve the suspense.

Clever, exciting, and fun, The Last Starfighter boasts good performances by Guest and Preston, and a literate, funny script that highlights the real story: not the space war that only Guest can win but the difficulty of leaving home, family, and security for a totally new life when the opportunity presents itself.

If watching devout churchgoers pray to Jesus before a static camera sounds like the dullest idea ever for a documentary, think again: This might be the most fun you've ever had in church.

With MINNIE AND MOSKOWITZ, Cassavetes took a break from the decidedly somber mood of FACES and HUSBANDS, and produced the most accessible, and endearing example of his very exceptional art.

Its high-definition video images -- are coated with a convincing sheen of disgust, and Huston's performance is riveting.

Marvelously entertaining.

Although Zach Braff's promising writing-directing debut is a bit affected, few actors with behind-the-camera aspirations succeed as well as the Scrubs star does with this melancholy romantic comedy.

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

Colorful and deceptively buoyant until it suddenly pulls the rug out from under you.

It offers some excellent performances, crisp direction, and overall professionalism of the entire cast and crew. What keeps it from being a great western (like FORT APACHE or HIGH NOON) is that the audience is seldom involved in the lives of the riders other than in a peripheral sense.

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

Throughout, Holstein makes no bones about the fact that Father Mychal was hardly perfect -- he was a recovering alcoholic who found salvation in Alcoholics Anonymous -- nor does he attempt to disguise Father Mychal's homosexuality, something he never made public but which no doubt grounded his gutsy work with gay Catholics and people with AIDS.

Hamburger's earnest effort offers interesting perspectives on Jewish life in South America's most populous city as well as the fate of political dissidents during a particularly dark period of Brazil's recent past.

Though the material is familiar, Sciamma has a light touch and avoids many teen-movie cliches.

An exciting film, and one that proves that even the most exploitative of films can make a relevant statement.

The gritty location shooting, the absence of a soundtrack and the casting of non-professionals in key roles help capture an all-important sense of place with almost documentary precision.

The performances in the film are excellent, and its look is entirely appropriate and mesmerizing--but only for a while. The film's basic flaw is that it's just too painful, too depressing, and too slow to watch.

Bette Midler turns in a magnificent performance as a dissipated, Janis Joplin-like rock singer.

This is a strikingly original story about human feelings.

Despite some excitingly shot concert footage, one scene begins to feel very much like the next, and it's all rather predictable.

Capably directed by Betty Thomas, this freewheeling pseudodocumentary tribute to Stern's juvenile antics paints the anarchic radio idol as Everyschmo made good.

While trying so hard to have such a good time, the movie simply forgets to be funny, and begins to grate before the body even cools.

A loving, dramatic comedy that resembles early Frank Capra in its patriotism and sentiment, this movie just misses on several levels but has enough humor to make you smile and enough corn to warm anyone's heart.

While You Were Sleeping is a mild romantic comedy rooted in class anxiety, but it's nice to see perennial loser-in-love Pullman ("Sleepless in Seattle", "The Last Seduction") get some. Respect, that is.

Katzir's documentary is as much a labor of love as Spaisman's theater, and it's often rough around the edges.

DEEP COVER has a shaky beginning and a hokey ending but, somewhere in between, it becomes a movie of considerable power--largely thanks to the contrasting styles of its two stars.

In fact, it's often genuinely funny--but it's still an establishment picture pretending it's not.

Foster finds the common ground on which his eclectic cast can meet (no small feat when they range from brassy Queen Latifah to "Arrested Development"'s deadpan Tony Hale) and keeps the story's sweetness from devolving into saccharine kitsch.

It may be a seamless tongue-in-cheek thriller, but it lacks the superbly developed psychological tension of its illustrious predecessors. Director Marshall's film is nothing more than a diversion, and if you personally have no fear of spiders, you might wonder what all the fuss is about.

But the film soars when the stunning Jennifer Lopez beams and struts her stuff in a series of exhilarating performance sequences; she's a glitzy, thrilling icon a la the made-over Olivia Newton-John of Grease.

Though not without problems, Desert Hearts is a triumph for director Donna Deitch and an inspiration for any independent filmmaker.

The film's Buck Rogers-style graphics are cool, but the shrilly squabbling brothers -- realistic though they may be -- are insufferable, the story's your-turn/my-turn structure is tedious, and its relentlessly reiterated message about brotherly love and cooperation is really grating.

The trouble with this precious fable isn't that the Whitmans are self-absorbed ninnies: It's that they aren't characters at all.

Frankenheimer pretty much ignores everything that's happened in the action and thriller genres since 1975, and mostly that's a good thing.

A beautifully shot, wonderfully moving film.

It's very funny, and the little woodland critters that make up the cast are a kiddie-pleasing bunch.

A classic among lovers of truly bad movies.

It exudes a slightly stale air that does nothing to dispel gay stereotypes.

Clever and offbeat.

It's tremendously clever, but ultimately pointless.

Anchored by Friel and Williams's exceptional performances, the film's power lies in its complexity. Nothing is black and white, starting with the girls' complicated relationships with their parents, which are simultaneously nurturing and fraught with psychological peril.

Their mania might be funny if it weren't so creepy.

In its own quiet way, it's among the most important films you're likely to see this year.

The cast is similarly impressive; they're American through and through, and thankfully refrain from affecting anything remotely resembling a British stage accent.

A finely crafted and beautifully acted adaptation of John Le Carre's glasnost-era spy thriller that never quite gets as gripping as it should.

The real irony is that for all its integrity, the film isn't nearly as thought-provoking as Steven Spielberg's recent "A.I. Artificial Intelligence" or "Minority Report", and nowhere as entertaining.

An overstatement. The movie's too long, and the direction is sometimes slack -- but the script is crammed with withering ripostes, ably delivered by Nicholson and Hunt.

Would be funny if it weren't so horrifying.

Trust is stylishly photographed and crammed with quirky, offbeat incidents and dialogue.

A brilliantly realized series of sucker punches, a philosophical howl disguised as a muscular guy movie.

Singaporean writer-director Eric Khoo's third feature is a beautiful, contemplative study of love -- unrequited, unfulfilled and reborn.

What do you get when you cross a serial-killer movie with a sappy father/son drama and give it a time-travel twist?

Diop Gaï's performance is equally beguiling: She's both bold and mysterious, a femme fatale bursting with life.

A grim and deliciously twisted Gothic chiller from the dark side of sunny Down Under.

Slight and whimsical.

The sight of Dracula climbing down a wall headfirst is the highlight of the entire movie; the rest of the film is just another plodding remake. The familiar story is given no new twists, save for an updated Edwardian setting and a few automobiles.

The Wind And The Lion is certainly jingoistic to a fault, and its portrayal of the various factions is little above the cartoon level, but thanks to marvelous performances by Keith and Connery, the film works as a maker of myths.

The film flows like a sinister and unsettling piece of music, from gripping overture to the tightly orchestrated movements to the unforgettable coda.

With very little dialogue and lingering shots of the landscape -- always a very important visual trope in Dumont's deep-psyche explorations -- the film is nevertheless tighter and, clocking in at under 90 minutes, relatively brief.

The Unbelievable Truth captivates with its committedly off-center vision of suburban angst.

Crowder and Dower's film is a refreshing reminder that without Ross and the Erteguns, pundits would have had to coin an entirely different term to describe "soccer moms," since without the Cosmos' brief and shining moment in the sun, suburban soccer leagues would be as rare as collegiate boccie tournaments.

And while Ivy League-educated psychologist Green considers himself a natural teacher, his teaching technique involves pitting students against each other and haranguing them with rants that run from gentle, good-natured ribbing to flat-out verbal abuse, delivered at an ego-crushing volume.

This smashing science-fiction adaptation of H.G. Wells's famous novel has more creativity in every frame than most latter-day rip-offs have in their entirety.

The harder you try to follow the narrative the more frustrating the film becomes, but its sleekly menacing images work their way into your brain like slivers of dry ice.

What could have been a brilliant film experience, expanding on the stage version as only film can, ends up instead as a series of wonderful bits and pieces.

The film rests entirely on Poupaud's shoulders, and he rises to the demands of a complex, deeply unsympathetic role.

The irony is that Shakur's speaking voice is the film's greatest asset: His transformation from eager-to-please teenager to gangsta icon is vividly apparent in the sound bites.

This deliberately provocative story of deception and sexuality packs a punch that's undermined by the director's indulgence.

The film's measured pace may put off impatient viewers, but the brilliantly underplayed ending is worth the wait.

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.

Excellent cinematography on the road and particularly good camerawork for the dismal gray 1930s Chicago settings. Salenger is wonderful, and so is the wolf.

This compelling and horrifying study of random violence seldom lives up to its promise, but it still packs a powerful wallop.

Stone, the master of the epic conspiracy and the operatic spectacle of diametrically opposed forces at war for men's souls, is so entangled in the trees that he's lost sight of the forest -- who could have imagined?

Hughes, though he gives the material a sense of fun and achieves several moments of genuine warmth, too often resorts to obvious cliches, stereotypes, and easy answers, and throws in the near-obligatory rock video as well.

The film's heart is Magdiel and the modest dreams that get him through the day but may also be the death of him.

Formulaic fun, helped by two winning leads.

Slick and surprisingly emotional documentary is really a rare, optimistic critique of globalization.

More than any previous film on the subject, Braun's documentary offers an answer to a common question, perfectly phrased and answered by Cheadle himself: "What can I do? More than nothing. A lot more than nothing."

Handlers, spin-doctors, and the good man they lead astray. Jeremy Larner's Academy Award-winning screenplay provides a voyage into the sea of politics; the result is a fascinating film that sometimes feels like a documentary. Despite minor glitches, this is a prophetic glimpse of politics in the age of TV.

The fact that it's based on a true story doesn't make it feel any less trite.

In this slight film about two boys about to be drafted into WWII, everyone tries hard, but the movie is essentially superficial and has difficulty sustaining audience interest.

Perhaps too clever for its own good.

A quirky charmer.

If the movie overall had the bitter brio of Malcolm McDowell's brief turn as Globecom guru Teddy K, a Franken-mogul stitched together from bits of Richard Branson, Barry Diller and Rupert Murdoch, it would be a pointed black comedy.

The competition between man and machine is fogged by distrust and obfuscation. And for now, the result is a draw.

Camille's desperate, destructive antics just don't seem especially cute or funny.

What's amazing is how much first-time director Ganatra and cowriter Susan Carnival get right.

It's good fun, and the whole debate raises some interesting questions about larger questions of authorship and whether or not it ultimately matters who "Shakespeare" actually was.

An illuminating glimpse into what goes on in the dance studio.

Picking up some 10 years after the previous film left off, this stripped-down, intelligently conceived follow-up is a respectable conclusion to the Terminator trilogy.

This seemingly placid community is slowly revealed to be tangle of interpersonal relationships defined by that essential rift that divides those who summer at the beach and those who remain behind at season's end.

Unfortunately, Hu and her army of co-writers saddle the story with a tired romantic subplot and fail to develop meaningful characters.

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

The movie is a genteel, witty soap opera designed to make everyone feel the better for having not only seen it, but having had a bit of fun.

While most anthology films have one standout and one weak link, all three tales are short, sharp shockers -- there should be at least one for every taste.

An unnerving film that chips away at the sensibilities, effectively shot in a semidocumentary style, but a movie that refuses to pander to the perverse.

A whiz at crafting conventional Hollywood screenplays, Meyers's direction is overreliant on close-ups and medium shots; there's no life to any of the images. Still, the film coasts along smoothly on the charisma of its stars.