It's an extremely violent and brutal film, featuring a fine performance by Newman. He's a blunt, practical man who favors action over words. Cilento is appealing as the worldly landlady, and Boone is chilling as the sadistic bad man who is ready to murder anyone standing in his way.

The film is simultaneously sweet natured and sharply observed, and if love eventually conquers all, it takes its own sweet time doing it.

There are echoes of Stephen Spielberg's "Duel," as well as "Roadgames," "The Hitcher" and "The Hills Have Eyes," but director/cowriter Mostow isn't interested in hommages: He's just looking to crank up the suspense (not the in your face action, thank heavens), bit by miserable bit, and does a very nice job of it.

Writer-director Sayles has fashioned a convincing account of the scandal, underlaid with an unconventional (by Hollywood standards) workers-vs.-owners critique.

Delivers its commendable message with affecting eloquence.

Though by no means a great animated feature, JETSONS does offer unqualified family entertainment, and it even includes a socially responsive message. While the film is neither brilliant nor hilariously funny, it is frequently quite enjoyable, and fans of the Jetsons will not be disappointed.

Cunningham tackles a complicated subject, rejecting the stridency favored by filmmakers of the Spike Lee persuasion in favor of a more even-handed tone.

The script is shapeless and it all goes on far too long.

Zanuck and Dexter employ an elliptical narrative style, stringing together vaguely connected scenes that nervously cut away before their full, depressing implications can sink in. The result is a lack of any meaningful character development or narrative drive.

Tony Scott's thriller is flashy, but it's not dead stupid and it's never dull.

Sleek, stylish and crammed with girl-power action.

They've taken material with the power to insinuate itself directly into the realm of the imagination, and made it strangely inert and lifeless.

Burns is always a joy to watch!

Clearly designed to be a family entertainment, THE CUTTING EDGE has a by-the-numbers quality that's only partly concealed by smooth production values and consistent--if uninspiring--performances.

Writers Jon Connelly and David Loucka have fashioned a script that works largely because of the efforts of the four capable and credible actors who comprise The Dream Team: Christopher LLoyd, Stephen Furst, Peter Boyle, and Michael Keaton.

A breezy romantic comedy in which opposites attract against all the reasonable odds, this slight but thoroughly charming film benefits immeasurably from the assured performances of leads Juliette Binoche and Jean Reno.

Director Alan Rudolph, whose reputation rests on ensemble pieces, lets Scott's performance -- as skilled as his pyrotechnical turn in "Roger Dodger" (2002), but composed entirely of subtle notes -- anchor the film.

Inlike many directors with music video backgrounds, Tim Story keeps the flashy cutting to a minimum and lets the story unfold at its own unhurried pace.

Ice Cube is so genial and laid back it's hard to believe he's the same snarling thug who ass-kicks his way through action pictures, let alone the seethingly angry rapper who emerged from NWA in the early 1990s.

There are some marvelous sight gags, but the film goes over the top into mindless farce at times, destroying much of the Chaplinesque believability that Sellers had earlier engendered.

Neophytes may be baffled by the film's weirdly sentimental streak -- the vendetta that drives antiterrorist Van Damme and his nemesis (Rourke) is all about babies -- but by the time Rourke has mined the Colosseum (yes, the Colosseum) and sicced a Bengal tiger on Van Damme, the wise viewer is just sitting back and enjoying the show.

Though the violence in this film never becomes physical, the psychic wounds these people inflict on one another cut so deeply you wish it would. It's a grueling experience.

No aliens. No firefights in space. No robots. Just an eerily attractive, sleekly costumed cast in a stylish, cooly intelligent throwback to the Twilight Zone era of deeply serious science fiction.

Although PUNCHLINE occasionally falters--in its contrived contest ending and saccharine tendencies--it is still an engaging and honest achievement.

The film ends on an ambiguous note that will infuriate some viewers and strike others as the only possible finale to Don's sad absurdist journey.

The filmmakers don't shy away from discussing their frustrations with censorship or the depiction of women, but their work raises interesting questions about the ways in which restrictions can sometimes facilitate artistry and lead to a deeper consideration of the film's subject.

The plot is suitably slight, allowing plenty of room for the barrage of jokes that roll off Dangerfield's tongue. The result is unsophisticated, unilluminating, unambitious, and hilarious.

Whether this measured exercise in romantic melancholy moves you to tears or bores you to them is probably a matter of personal susceptibility to the sting of bitter regret for love lost.