The mixture of action, drama and romance isn’t as potent, and Kaige’s reliance on subpar special effects hurts the movie. Wu xia fans will still find things to like, but the uninitiated will probably find this slow going.

Offers what her fans came to expect from the "Jezebel of Jazz": great music.

To say Wes Craven's rewrite of Kiyoshi Kurosawa's 2001 "Pulse" isn't as bad as it could have been sounds like faint praise, but Kurosawa's "Pulse" is one of the true masterpieces of recent Asian horror, and the track record for Hollywood horror redos isn't great.

Seriously flawed and not for every taste, the film was shot quickly and on the cheap, and is driven by Argento's slurred, scratchy voice and Bette Davis eyes.

B-movie stalwart Michael Madsen turns in a no-holds-barred, road-wreck performance in this nihilistic crime thriller, which plays out a variation on the old maxim that there's no honor among thieves -- even if they're cops.

There's something disheartening about seeing real-life stories and their inevitable complexities put through the Hollywood sausage machine and transformed into bland parables about a privileged, wayward young bucks redeemed by wise, infinitely patient mentors and the self-abnegating spirit of team sports.

It's all pretty rough going, but even with its microbudget there's enough blood, booty and bling to satisfy fans of the genre. It's also never dull, thanks to Silvera's restless pacing and a great reggae soundtrack.

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.

Lepage maintains a leisurely pace and lets the narrative wander, but ultimately lands on the right side of the line between contemplative noodling and aimless navel-gazing, ending with an image that's simultaneously melancholy and playful.

Little Acuna -- who looks even younger than 11 -- gives a sweetly unaffected performance as the beleaguered child.

Marshall delivers what he promises and Mitri makes for a cool, kick-arse heroine in the Ellen Ripley mold.

The result is a mixed bag of lozenges, some sweet, some tart and others that just melt away into nothing.

A thoroughly conventional exercise in pop paranoia with trendy appurtenances, The Net has little to offer outside of Bullock's moderately appealing presence.

Egoyan drains the life right out of the material, and the result is a chilly, complicated thriller that's neither thrilling nor a "Through the Looking Glass" head spinner.

It's none too deep and a tad cartoonish, but also fast-paced, filled with quotable one-liners and often very funny.

Rivette brings a refreshing realism to what could have been a stodgy costume drama, it's still pretty slow going.

There are nice touches, particularly in Venora's performance and Timothy Kendall's editing, but the film's maudlin edge illustrates the dangers of directing your own material: There's no one on hand to tell you when what you think is "just enough" is actually way too much.

Lee deserves a lot of credit for attempt the same kind of complex story structure Quentin Tarantino made look so easy in "Pulp Fiction": Like Tarantino's interlocking stories, Lee's four segments occur achronologically and come full circle in a neat twist at the very end.

True to its serial roots, this equally silly but undeniably entertaining sequel to "Underworld" (2003) picks up right where its high-grossing predecessor left off and offers more of the same.

First of all, it has no music. That aside, it doesn't have any wit, joy, or drive. Children who haven't had the pleasure of seeing The Wizard of Oz might enjoy this film, but it will also frighten them. There are some fine, Oscar-nominated special effects, but the excitement just isn't there.

While it doesn't miss a cliche, it also invests every one with vigorous conviction.

A film that's brimming with fascinating ideas and elevated by some memorable performances.

Poor Liv Tyler, the slight screen presence around which Bernardo Bertolucci's elaborately awful new romance revolves, comes prepackaged as Hollywood's next superstar, and she's hard-pressed to justify the hype.

Edward Zwick brings unimpeachable good intentions to his film about the bloody underbelly of the international diamond trade, but when social conscience jockeys for attention with movie-star glamour, glamour always wins. The result is a rip-snorting adventure set against the backdrop of African misery.

Malkovich pulls out all the gaudy stops.

A perverse mixed-martial arts film in which talk trumps action.

Johnny Depp's coruscating, rigorously uningratiating performance as debauched, self-destructive 17th-century aristocrat John Wilmot, the Earl of Rochester, is the glue that doesn't quite hold together first-time director Laurence Dunmore's adaptation of Stephen Jeffreys' 1994 play.

Actually a marked improvement over the plodding and confusing original.

Film does show why so many young people raised in such communities find it so difficult to ever leave.

The Man Without a Face marks a solidly crafted directorial debut for actor Mel Gibson, who approaches his melodramatic story with commendable restraint.

Polished but oddly lifeless heist thriller.

Perhaps with a few more drafts, the filmmakers could have found a means of maintaining the quiet momentum displayed early on, but as it stands, Changeling is little more than a frustrating missed opportunity that's dressed to the nines, but a day late for the party.

But the movie is long and didactic, undermined by the faintly pious air of an educational slide show.

Too long and its tone is disconcertingly uneven, but Perry never betrays or condescends to his characters.

The cast, however, is great -- Crudup and Duchovny in particular share a fun chemistry that's just toilet-obsessed enough to be absolutely believable.

In the final analysis, the film doesn't amount to much, except to provide a good opportunity for the fine ensemble cast to show off their talents.

Title notwithstanding, there's nothing particularly funny about this political drama from the tireless Claude Chabrol.

While Kudlacek lets some of the elder statesmen ramble, their recollections are a vivid, firsthand window into a bygone era of American art.

An ambitious drama about gang warfare and the culture of violence, American Me is nothing if not earnest. Unfortunately, this doesn't mean it's a particularly successful film; for every bluntly powerful moment, there's another that's crude and obvious, sometimes excruciatingly so.

The payoff fizzles, but the buildup is intriguing until it topples under its own weight.

If only the wit weren't overwhelmed by lame jokes about body parts, functions and fluids.

Affleck's gloomy, one-note performance exacerbates the problem, but the stellar supporting cast helps compensate.

But for all the sound, fury and spectacle, the film feels vaguely hollow and unsatisfying.

Who knew the rock 'n' roll life could be so mild?

Fergus' thriller benefits from Pearce's high-strung performance and the stark New Mexico landscapes, but the story is familiar and the pacing much too measured for a slight tale of ineluctable fate.

It's earnest, well-intentioned and scrupulously even-handed, in the style of made-for-TV problem movies.

Were there more meat on the bones of this fable about hypocrisy and spiritual hollowness, Marsh's pacing might seem deliberate rather then merely slow.

Matheson's bitterly ironic ending -- which pivots on the nature of Neville's legend -- is gutted and turned into formulaic pap.

Of course, most of the male-female situations Terry finds herself in are played for laughs, and the film eventually sinks into an all too typical conclusion, but the observations regarding the nature of sexuality are interesting and well handled.

What more could a horror fan ask for than a spook-fest that feels pure in its intentions while taking full advantage of every opportunity to scare us silly?

Linney's character is written as a one-dimensional monster whose selfish cruelty is beyond redemption and, ultimately, belief.

Often rings painfully true, but would have benefited from judicious editing.

This thin premise is better suited to a half-hour sitcom than a feature film (in fact, there's an episode of Frasier with a very similar setup).

This candy-colored animated fable is an awkward mix of corny bee puns, clever sight gags, kid-friendly action, adult-centric workplace angst and Seinfeld's distinctive navel-gazing wit. And what's up with those four-legged bees?

Embry and first-time actress Sparks have charming chemistry, but Christopher's slight screenplay wears out its welcome long before the film - which runs a scant 80 minutes - is over.

Clearly a labor of love and a call to action, but it's undermined by the sheer volume of topics it tackles in addition to the main subject.

Not one to overstay its welcome, this suspenseful tale is an economic exercise in delivering the goods for those who are interested in a two-fisted Liam Neeson vehicle to soak up, bask in, and then leave behind as soon as it's over.

This unashamedly old-fashioned coming-of-age story is nothing new, but remains highly watchable nevertheless.

Cheerfully gross, deliberately retro horror picture pays tongue-in-cheek homage to the kind of genre movies Charles Band and Roger Corman's companies turned out in the 1980s.

Lars Von Trier's silly script about a group of pistol packing misfits gets better treatment than it deserves, thanks to a fine young cast and the game direction of Thomas Vinterberg.

Viewers hoping for a brutal, pitch-black war comedy along the lines of M*A*S*H are in for a major disappointment.

The narrative is cluttered with backstory, and the endless digressions overwhelm the efforts of a generally strong cast.

Perhaps too clever for its own good.

All things considered, Grumpy Old Men might have fared better re-worked as a domestic drama that took full advantage of its talented cast, with the lame funnybone attempts left, like the ubiquitous dead fish, buried in the backseat.

Holland fills this film with so many throwaway gags that it is impossible to communicate the outright zaniness. Every scene contains dozens of jokes, some that work and some that don't, but they keep coming so fast and furious that the duds are easily forgotten. Strung together on the flimsiest of plots, Holland's film works as well as it does because he stocks it with several likably eccentric characters. While certainly not for all tastes, it's refreshing teenage fare, and underlying its cartoony insouciance is a welcome touch of innocence.

Anime enthusiasts will want to take a look, but the film is too uneven to serve as a good introduction to the form.

While none of this is meant to be taken seriously, the premise demeans Moliere's great achievement.

Despite the edifying square-up -- moral lessons about family, the legacy of violence and the tenacious power of love -- the appeal is freak-show all the way.

Jodie Foster's fiercely intelligent performance drives this disappointing thriller, whose taut, carefully constructed first half is sadly negated by its implausible and -- worst of all -- unengaging conclusion.

Depp's considerable personal charm is the movie's greatest asset. The story is painfully insubstantial, and Dunaway is sadly wasted in the shallow, predictable role of a woman whose barren life blossoms under her husband's renewed attention.

A misshapen allegory wrapped around a truly awe-inspiring set piece, Ridley Scott's latest is another waste of his prodigious talent.

Ti West's affectionate homage to no-frills fright flicks keeps it simple and succeeds on its own stripped-down terms.

Despite solid performances from the leads, it comes shrouded in a heavy cloud of ethics-class complications that makes it feel like a "dilemma of the week" TV movie.

At its best, the film is moving and thought-provoking, but at other moments it is unintentionally silly. It is not the story but the telling of it that is the problem; at 140 minutes, Maurice simply goes on too long.

This charming musical based on the comic strip character Little Orphan Annie features many memorable songs and pleasant dance numbers.

Though the mystery is a little thin and sometimes muddled, there are some nice moments here, and the cast is not bad despite troubles with the script. Vidor's direction is okay, though his fans will surely be disappointed, knowing full well that he had done much better earlier work.

Frankly, it's dumb, but no dumber than "Transformers."

Too dumb to take seriously, but just silly enough to be sort of fun.

Though the film verges on hagiography, Angio unearthed a treasure trove of fascinating clips, from the bored-looking writer-director leafing through his program at the 1971 Tony Awards.

Grabsky's meticulous and frequently monotonous documentary about the life and music of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart comes to vivid life whenever one of the many world-class musicians who sat for interviews simultaneously describes and demonstrates exactly what's so special about particular compositions.

It's an entertaining diversion whose clever structure gives pulp-crime cliches a welcome twist.

Light and sweet, comfort food dressed up with a dash of exotic spice.

Thanks to the smart casting of Jon Voight as the school’s principal and Lainie Kazan as Yasmin’s beloved Bubbie, the two-hour run time won't be a complete bore for adults.

Sydney Pollack's film is a solid, absorbing drama that, in profiling the damage that can result from investigative reporting, presents a counterpoint to All The President's Men.

It's a light, silly instantly forgettable comedy peppered with action set-pieces and affectionate nods to its fondly remembered predecessor, including a gracious end-credits dedication to the late Don Adams and Edward Platt.

The goofy use of animated, Flubber-like blobs aping Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" video (by way of illustrating the irresistibility of desire itself) makes it hard to take the science seriously, which is the BLEEP problem in a nutshell.

Kids might find the sight of monkeys -- sorry, apes -- wrestling in outer-space funny, but unless they're unusually sophisticated, much will probably just confuse them.

Directed by Muppet manipulator-actor-director Oz, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is an amusing comedy whose strengths and weaknesses both stem from the broad treatment of the material. In going for easy, lowest-common-denominator laughs, Oz loses much of the subtlety and occasionally dark humor of the orginal.

This dumbed-down spin on Jules Verne's classic adventure tale was devised as a kid-friendly roller-coaster ride, and it delivers the goods. Whether anyone over the age of eight wants the goods is another matter altogether.

The bad news is that Seitz's protagonists are almost all insufferable: Smug, self-important, opinionated and relentlessly convinced that they're far more sensitive, intelligent and interesting than they are.

When Cox is performing, the movie is firing on all cylinders.

Funnier than you might imagine.

The soundtrack includes great songs by Andre Williams and Shirley Ellis, and music by local R'n'B legend Ernie K-Doe and electronic organ freakazoid Quintron, who both appear in the film.

The movie winds up becoming "The Annette Bening Show," and she's quite good: Bening makes the most of a string of mad scenes for which any actress would kill, and the real pain she brings to the part grounds the film in something real.

While Canadian writer-director Eric Nicholas has no fresh thoughts about the voyeuristic nature of movie going, he knows enough to make sure when high-tech peeper Doug (Colin Hanks, son of Tom) conceals his camera in a bag, its lens pokes out of the zipper like the big, fat metaphor it is.

It's hard to watch two fine actors working themselves into a lather for so little reward.

Hugely ambitious and driven by Julianne Moore, Samuel L. Jackson and Edie Falco's fine, intense performances, Richard Price's adaptation of his own sprawling novel about a racially charged kidnapping that turns a volatile New Jersey town into a powder keg tries to tell too many stories in too little time.

The film's main attractions are the Charlottes, but the price of watching their eerie psychological pas de deux is to endure muddled metaphors and goofy gadgetry.