McCormack and Cochrane can't transcend the clichéd, meandering dialogue, so Brad and Lexi's dilemma never feels like anything but a didactic contrivance.

For once in a kids' sports picture, the child actors don't grate or get sticky, and the adults aren't crotch-grabbing, swaggering, overgrown delinquents. More important, Little Big League makes some very nice emotional points along the way to a satisfying end, suggesting that America's rocky romance with baseball is alive and well.

An inventive, well-animated, appropriately cast film.

When it comes right down to it, there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who despised Comedy Central's notorious series Strangers with Candy as the rudest, crudest and most offensive show ever to appear on television, and those who loved it for those very reasons.

The film doesn't provide any narration or go out of its way to identify the participants, so it's left to the viewer to make connections and draw their own conclusions.

Despite desperate efforts to sell this umpteenth recycling of the Camelot legend as a Sean Connery vehicle, it's Richard Gere's film and he's not much of a Lancelot.

Nevertheless, The Santa Clause is a charming, if mild, fantasy, distinguished by a gentle directorial touch that strikes a deft balance between dramatic and fantastic elements.

Based on a short story by Joe R. Lansdale, this low-key oddity stresses character over broad laughs and shock effects, allowing Campbell and Davis to develop a quirky rapport that's a real pleasure to watch.

Lesser Peckinpah, but fascinating nonetheless.

Black Sunday benefits from its technical skill, drawn-out suspense and developed characterizations, though the film could have been even more effectively tight with a shorter running time.

Delivers its commendable message with affecting eloquence.

Greenebaum manages to portray old-age as a condition with its own peculiar beauty and considerable grace.

It's a well-produced yearbook that will one day bring back sweet memories for the cast and fans, but probably won't be of interest to anyone who wasn't part of the scene.

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

The People Under The Stairs doesn't play like a fairy tale; there's nothing fantastic about it, and the happy ending, in which money seems to equal happiness, rings terribly false.

From a sharp, jaundiced script by W.D. Richter ("Buckaroo Banzai"), Jodie Foster has directed a poisoned paean to the great American tradition of torturous family gatherings.

It's ripe for an American remake, given the popularity of reality TV shows like "My Super Sweet 16" and "Bridezillas," but it's hard to imagine a better cast than this ensemble.

The line separating "fan" from "fanatic" has never seemed as thin or as permeable as it does in this harrowing, and at times surprisingly humorous, case study from actress-turned-director Emmanuelle Bercot.

Low production values, an artless script, and an unconvincing view of history don't add up to much in the way of entertainment.

Paxton (who also produced) and Marguiles turn in fine, affecting performances, Wahlberg is better than you might expect, and the story is powered by a knock-out soundtrack.

Veterans Danner and Wilkinson effortlessly make Anna and Stephen more interesting than all the youngsters combined.

A lovely soundtrack by Irish balladeers the Saw Doctors can't make up for the rest of this belabored labor of love.

Best of all is Tsugumi's wild performance.

The surprise is how tame and passionless it all seems, particularly after director Philip Haas's fevered "Angels and Insects."

It's Jagger's bone-dry, mournfully brittle delivery that gives the film its bittersweet bite. Michael Des Barres and Anjelica Huston make the most of their supporting roles.

Gitai's film is an interesting, if not entirely successful, adaptation of an excellent book.

The atmosphere is once again black, creepy and unsettlingly elegant, lending this twisted tale of psychological dominance and submission a patina of anxiety and dread.

By enlisting jingoism and reducing an entire culture to caricature, Not Without My Daughter defeats any progressive point it may have intended to make.