The Sisyphean ordeal at the heart of the film strongly recalls Roman Polanksi's 1958 short "Two Men and a Wardrobe," while Lachow's loose, improvisatory approach -- as well as the occasional self-indulgence -- feels more like Henry Jaglom.

Shyer's direction was on the money most of the time but was just a little flabby occasionally--perhaps because he cowrote the script with Meyers and hated to lose a precious word.

The movie is at its best when it's most straightforward. Flights of fancy like the child angel perched on Melvin's ceiling or his conversations with the black-clad Sweetback, who appears to undermine his confidence at crucial junctures, seem forced and pointless.

Palcy, in what amounts to the casting coup of the year, enlisted the reclusive Brando to make his brief but memorable cameo appearance--his first film role since 1980--for union scale. His performance alone is worth the price of admission to this earnest, somewhat predictable, but moving and significant film.

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.

Screenwriter Matthew Tabak's directing debut is carefully plotted, well acted and surprisingly free of cheap thrills.

People who actually recall 1942 will more greatly appreciate the waves of nostalgia that bathe this affectionate coming-of-age drama, set on a tiny island off New England.

Making such a tragedy the backdrop to a love story risks trivializing it, though Chouraqui no doubt intended the film to affirm love's power to help people endure almost unimaginable horror.

Begun over seven years ago and described by the filmmaker as a work-in-progress, the documentary still feels a bit incomplete.

The film is ridiculously overplotted, and very little of the plot serves any purpose other than to motivate what you can pretty well guess is going to happen from the outset.

The film's real strength lies in two excellent performances, from veteran Morse and up-and-comer Gosling.

An engaging French comedy about three bachelors who find an abandoned baby at their door.

The unspoken question that underlies their struggles is whether a facility run by sheer force of personality can survive when that personality is gone; the film ends on a cautiously hopeful note.

A candy-colored, superficially fizzy revenge fantasy with a startlingly corrosive undercurrent of bitterness and frustration.

Even when the script takes a turn for the chatty, there's always something pretty to look at.

Though the script is best described as mechanical and it takes a while to get into gear, this computer-generated "reach for the stars" story is a well-calibrated piece of entertainment.

Everett remains a perfect Wildean actor, and a relaxed Firth displays impeccable comic skill.

If the banter lacks the often brilliant and erudite -- if showy -- sparkle of its predecessor, the acting is still first-rate, and the film will be best enjoyed by fans eager to spend another 90 minutes with a group of old friends.

This lightweight road picture about a group of inept thieves has an uneven beginning but ends up charming and satisfying.

Director Amy Heckerling is gentler than Harold Ramis was, and the result is a slightly more cohesive picture that is far less mean-spirited. Lighthearted fun, pretty scenery, lots of chuckles, a few guffaws, and a lilting score by Charles Fox all contribute to making this movie a pleasant surprise.

As you'd expect from Disney, the film's a technical tour de force, with flawless stop-motion animation and some imaginatively realized live-action sequences. What's surprising here is how much of Dahl's misogyny is allowed to surface. James's elderly aunts are unconscionably grotesque.

A disturbing examination of what appears to be the definition of a "bad" police shooting.

Fawcett is given little to do other than get a suntan and try to look captivating, leaving the comic chores up to seasoned professionals Grodin and Carney, who are just great.

The success of this effect, which helps elevate the movie above a classy disease-of-the-week saga, rests firmly on Russell Crowe's performance, and it's a strikingly good and moving one.

Sleeping With The Enemy teeters constantly on the verge of silliness but director Joseph Ruben keeps the cornball melodrama scaled down to a pleasant lull.

The final scene, when Kaffee locks horns with Jessep, more than makes up for the predictability of what's come before.

It's a sly, subtle portrait of systematic hypocrisy.

Fascinating, if slightly unfocused, film.