Maybe Affleck was drawn to this movie because it involves the loss of memory. Who wouldn't want to forget "Gigli," and now this?

Peter is as adequate as the Harry Potter movies are, though you never sense in either case that kids are being bitten with the permanent movie-loving bug.

Rather than being a fascinating exploration of a much more constrained time in our social history, the film simply feels anachronistic.

Though the movie may not change many minds about McNamara, it richly humanizes him, a valuable feat atop all the fascinating reflection.

The clash over the house quickly escalates into a modern-day tragedy. It is a fascinating film, handsomely adapted from the book and well directed.

What the movie can't quite get over, no matter how hard the filmmakers try, is the story's built-in limitations.

As good as each individual movie is, the third film vaults the work into the stratosphere of classic movies. Key characters are enhanced, new civilizations visited and battles fought more intensely, while feelings and motivations are plumbed more deeply and movingly.

A rich gem expertly told in a surprisingly scant 95 minutes.

For a story that centers on intrigue in high places, the few even halfway-grabbing scenes come from the mild if unexplored sexual tension between co-Caine sleuthers Tilda Swinton and Jeremy Northam.

But let's not mislead about acting gold: Without Nicholson and Keaton, the movie would be fair. With them, it's one of the few good romantic comedies this year. What we gotta give is thanks.

Has enough tasty bait to satisfy an array of moviegoers: Burton fans, Albert Finney fans, fans of tall tales well spun by experts and fans of movies that don't look like any other.

Hip-hoppish Honey is in the harmlessly junky "let's put on a show" tradition of "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo," minus electricity but with a budget for supporting-cast navel rings that 1984's break-dance sequel certainly didn't have.

Never recovers from its failure to grip or engage in the early going.

The movie has a couple of surprises, including a major plot turn at the end that leads to a memorable resolution somewhere between happy and wistful.

Touching, but not cloying, uplifting and hopeful but never sappy and also just plain funny. There is not a false note among the five core performances, nor a false word in Sheridan's script.

Both a nostalgic throwback to the silent-picture era and an ultra-modern animated tale, the slyly humorous Triplets of Belleville is artful, engrossing and oddly touching.

This is a filmmaker who instinctively knows that a shot of Santa sitting at a bar as Ricky Nelson sings Jingle Bells will be no-frills funny.

A Disney Thanksgiving movie that plays like a Halloween holdover is odd enough. Even so, it wouldn't be that bad if you stuck your hand into the trick-or-treat bag and found a hefty, succulently dressed and edible turkey instead of the other kind.

You'll be checking your watch a lot during Timeline. Though most of the cast is strong and the movie has moments of suspense, ultimately the mystery in this action thriller is so far-fetched it's ludicrous.

Grabber sub-plots further boost a story that is basically made by its three leads.

Unstintingly explores and exposes excruciating pain, raw grief, ruinous vengeance and life-affirming resilience, creating human portraits that are uncommonly exhilarating in their honesty. This is cinematic art in its highest form.

Long on visual dazzle but short on warmth, and the humor is excessively raunchy for a family film.

The movie gets a mild boost when her escape briefly takes it from just another crummy supernatural thriller into an OK escape melodrama, albeit one dependent on a whopper of an unlikely occurrence.

Despite a slight tendency to be overly pleased with itself, this is a smart piece of work that got Arcand's screenplay an award at Cannes.

This movie will remind a lot of people of John Ford's masterpiece, "The Searchers," without the rowdy humor and, yes, without the greatness. But it's an admirably solid effort that's as mean as it has to be, which is plenty.

And novel insights notwithstanding, this is a plain old good movie, too.

Even when the movie works, it's so much like having Daffy Duck assault your face that you want to buy a box set of elevator music for the calming drive home.

Though there must be a dozen U.S. presidents who have never had a documentary made about them, the late Tupac Shakur could rate his own section in video stores, placed between "music" and "action."