A disappointment that mines the same vein of gross-out romantic comedy as"There's Something About Mary," without that film's oddball charm.

If this is even a reasonably accurate account of someone's real life, then we as a culture may be in worse shape than we imagine.

Who'd have thought you'd find yourself caring so much about the fate of a flock of fryers? This chicken has legs -- lots of them.

Not only one of the most spectacular cartoons ever made, but also a reasonably adult piece of sci-fi.

It's a bad sign when audience enthusiasm peaks during the credits sequence.

But for all the divine touches, FH is no Jesus, or even his son: He's just another wide-eyed American Adam on the road again, a dazed and confused Huck Finn of the highways.

Resembles an Impressionist masterpiece come to life, and ends with a tremendously moving acceptance of art and mortality.

Gorgeous but seriously unsatisfying.

This curiously empty film was awarded the Jury Prize at the 1997 Cannes film festival.

Though beautifully photographed, acted and written (the three source stories are skillfully blended into a single narrative), this leisurely, bittersweet look at a child's loss of innocence ends rather abruptly and inconclusively.

So shallow and brainless it's in perpetual danger of drying up and blowing away.

A sweet-natured ode to rave culture saddled with a ridiculously clichéd plot line.

A funny, perceptive and seductively engaging movie.

That this handsome, three-hour extravaganza coheres at all is a small miracle; that it actually leaves you wanting more is a major one.

As if to prove that light romantic comedy can be just as difficult to stage as Shakespeare, Kenneth Branagh fails at both, simultaneously.

Rosette's film takes on a seriously Orwellian cast when the sellers mobilize to wage a civil war of words against the Big Brotherly NYC bureaucrats and academics trying to sweep them off the street.

It's funny stuff, though most of the pimps seem like such buffoons it's hard to imagine how they actually make a living.

The car stunts are ridiculous, all lightning-fast editing and computer enhancement -- by the time action is this far removed from reality, who cares?

Bodrov's staging and cutting does a perfectly good job conveying their anthropomorphized feelings and motives; the spoken drivel is just a distraction. The film's human characters are largely inconsequential.

A lightweight parody of the porn industry and daytime talk shows that has the look and feel of a middling direct-to-video feature.

This quietly gripping film is both universal and particular.

He's (Mann) a solid historian and this film is full of fascinating facts, but he's a cultural critic at heart, and a good one at that.

Lawrence -- with the help of Oscar-winning makeup effects artist Greg Cannom ("Mrs. Doubtfire") -- has created yet another prosthetic screen wonder.

It's too bad screenwriters Gough and Millar didn't have enough faith in their premise to play it straight; if they had, they might have produced a classic rather than a "Blazing Saddles" without the courage of its convictions.

Intelligent and engaging, this documentary about rave culture overcomes the challenge inherent in its subject; rave's appeal is by nature nonanalytical and experiential, while documentary films play to the intellectual observer.

What may have looked good on paper across the Atlantic gets lost in the translation to our shores.

Appears to be a complete about-face for Kitano, and yet it's unmistakably his, both stylistically (the film is gorgeous to look at) and thematically.

Though his film is breathtakingly art-directed, Greenaway wallows in epater le bourgeois nastiness -- his inner naughty child could use a good paddling.