Nathanson's script has a disheartening let's get on with it air, and the film feels like marathon training...

The power of an otherwise carefully crafted film is undone by risky and not altogether successful casting.

Mega-budget action extravaganzas don't get much sillier than this.

With its attractive cast, beguiling score and relatively straightforward narrative, this dark fable of letters and lust is one of Greenaway's most accessible works.

Just a little shy of twisting the knife that extra twist.

If you're in a triumph of the human spirit frame of mind, this is your cup of dark, sweet tea.

It's all about as white and bourgeois as you can get, but the film does take a few risks, and some actually pay off.

You can't help but wish the set up were shorter and the dilemma longer.

It's all densely imagined and more than a little goofy -- perhaps too goofy for the average American viewer.

How much you enjoy the film will depend entirely on how much you enjoy the spectacle of Williams spewing forth streams of nonsensical gibberish in an attempt to impersonate a German record producer, and Crystal pitching snit fits.

Director and enfant terrible-wannabe Gregg Araki winds up his Teen Apocalypse trilogy with this loud, ridiculous mess, and not a moment too soon.

Amiable, brightly colored spoof of '60s pop culture.

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.

Though writer-director Peter Duncan can hardly help but touch on volatile political issues, he seems oddly without a political point of view.

Cheung, slinking around the corridors of her hotel in her sheath of shiny black latex to the dissonant chords of Sonic Youth, is an instant icon of everything.

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

The fun is in the mayhem, and there's plenty of it.

An excruciatingly unfunny comedy.

It desperately wants to be a paranoid political thriller, but this cobbled-together collection of corruption-on-Capitol Hill and cop movie cliches is so implausible that it's hard to care about any of the conspiratorial cover-ups and counter cover-ups.

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.

This shotgun marriage of coarse laughs and low-rent action cliches is, of course, utterly predictable: Cutting-edge comedy isn't lurking under the corpses of old TV shows.

A slick, mannered and frequently clever comedy.

Voight's performance -- one of the film's pure, trashy delights -- is all leer, sneer and macho swagger, while the rest of the actors feel like the disposable snake-fodder they are.

It addresses issues of stultifying routine and the small crises of middle-aged life, and deserves credit for not obscuring the simple story with a flurry of smoke and mirrors.

It's strange to imagine the subject of World War II a now no-brainer in the same league as sequels and old TV show-spinoffs, something safe and familiar in light of its new, "inspiring" spin. But that's the only way to explain the existence of this otherwise pointless picture.

A painfully self-conscious comedy that mistakes relentless self-referentiality for cleverness, this half-witted misfire is filled with accelerated motion, repeated and overlapping scenes, direct address to the camera and other cliches of defamiliarization.

A romantic comedy distinguished by the particular roadblocks writer/director Kevin Smith throws up in front of his characters.

A pastel-pretty and oh-so-dull coming of age tale.