For all the blood spilt -- and there are gallons of it -- this is a surprisingly understated thriller.

A sassy romantic battle of the sexes with a refreshing African-American slant.

The novelty value of seeing 17th-century French swordsmen fight like Chinese martial artists doesn't compensate for the film's generally wooden performances and clichéd dialogue.

Rough, breathless adaptation of Fernando Vallejo's ferociously sardonic novel.

It's a frequently funny diversion that doesn't have a mean-spirited bone in its body.

This psychological thriller takes its time and never delivers the big shocks genre fans raised on its American cousins have come to expect. But it works up a chilly atmosphere of creeping dread, and the tension.

The breakout star is retired English bouncer Lenny McLean, 49, who memorably declares, "I f***ing hate violence."

Despite the handsome production values and best efforts of the attractive young cast, it's hard to get deeply involved with the frantic "what's going on?" sturm und drang.

Herek does capture the rush and crush of a stadium concert, and the music (more Leppard than Priest) isn't half bad -- in a disposable, arena-rock sort of way.

The non-professional actors do their schmaltzy best with Gatlif and co-writer David Trueba's sparse dialogue and what appears to have been Gatlif's very limited direction.

The subject matter is certainly controversial -- it's not every day that we see a sympathetic portrayal of a pedophile -- but Cuesta avoids the taint of salaciousness, thanks in large part to a brilliant performance from Cox.

This gentle and somewhat slow moving romantic fable has a quiet sweetness all its own, and is thankfully free of the inscrutable ponderousness that often infuses the films of Yektapanah's mentors.

The characters may be one-dimensional ciphers with nothing much to say, but boy, do they not say it with style.

Every character fated to die in Othello meets his or her maker by the time the curtain falls on Blake's adaptation, which means the manicured campus of Palmetto Grove is left littered with slain coeds.

Good, ghoulish fun.

This exciting, ultimately bittersweet, film was shot cheaply on video, but is nevertheless filled with moments of artistry and invention.

While this cheerful film has nothing particularly new to say about the ties that hold family members together even when they're driving each other crazy, it's a pleasure to watch such a talented ensemble at work.

Moodysson puts it across with a sincerity that's genuinely heartwarming, and he sets it all to a surprisingly good soundtrack culled from the Swedish rock (who knew?) of the era.

Bad enough that the plot is shopworn, but the tough-gal talk is unintentionally hilarious, and the complicated narrative structure is annoying and pointless.

Atkinson's painfully unfunny turn as an insensitive gynecologist is eclipsed by Hollander's scathingly funny portrayal of belligerent auteur Proclaimer, whose wears his pretenses with such scabby aplomb that they achieve high style.

This sweet, lovingly passionate story is nonetheless a charmer. Anderson's technique -- jaggy, product-testimonial close-ups; eerie still-image insertions -- is arresting, but this is an actors' showcase.

Smith's unrepentantly juvenile sense of humor leans heavily on elementary pop-culture parody, a particularly tiresome and parasitic form of humor that depends on an audience of smirking know-it-alls who can be trusted to snicker whenever they get the reference.

Scenes are woefully under-rehearsed, and much of the obviously improvised dialogue would seem entirely random if it weren't so repetitive.

A lifelong baseball enthusiast, director and co-producer Mike Tollin -- persuaded many real-life baseball figures to make cameo appearances.

Hard though this antic farce tries to be outrageous, its satirical jabs at American culture are obvious and juvenile, as is the use of Jimmy's plastic bubble as a goofy metaphor for fear of life.

This charming and funny film may be one of the last of a rare genre deservedly named after a person -- the Woody Allen movie.

The result is often quite funny, without ever managing to say anything especially new or perceptive about fame and the culture of celebrity.

A beautifully acted, intensely felt story.