Stinker doesn't begin to describe this movie's character -- both frenzied and dispiriting.

All three performances are excellent, in their different ways.

So the awful truth about The Truth About Charlie is that it needed two movie stars and got one.

Skips from episode to episode without illuminating the essence of the woman or her art.

This feelbad movie makes you glad when it's over.

Challenging and fascinating -- everything you didn't know you didn't know about Derrida's life and work.

With all its flaws, though, The Grey Zone deserves to be respected, and to be seen.

Ms. Ferrera is an engaging performer; you find yourself rooting for Ana from the start, even though you know, from the predictable script by George LaVoo and Josefina Lopez, that rooting isn't required for a happy outcome.

Won't kill you, but it could bore you half to death.

It grows repetitious, both in its account of Crane's ritual behavior and in clumsily written -- and stolidly directed -- scenes between Crane and Carpenter, two men acting out their own unacknowledged sexual drama.

This isn't great filmmaking, but, under Rick Famuyiwa's direction, it's more than good enough.

Considering the star power -- and talent -- of the cast around her, it would have been impressive if Alison Lohman had simply held her own as Astrid, the young heroine of White Oleander. Instead, she owns the movie.

Difficult too, and certainly problematic, but it's sometimes quite wonderful. Do see it if you're curious about one-of-a-kind films, and if you care about the ever-evolving career of one of our most gifted filmmakers.

Mr. Tykwer's hands the movie changes almost magically from drama to chase to romance. As it does so its moral weight lessens; by the end there is less than what first engaged the mind. What meets the eye, though, is unforgettable.

A harrowing lesson in unintended -- and intended -- consequences.

I say don't bite unless your taste runs to thin gruel, and grueling gruel at that.

In a truly terrible action adventure called The Tuxedo, a high-tech monkey suit turns Jackie Chan into an all-powerful cyborg, and will turn you into a boredborg.

The whole dumb movie is a baloney cake, but the enticing icing on it is Reese Witherspoon, who manages to have a few moments of spontaneous fun in this half-baked store-bought comedy.

Eloquent acting -- in fits and starts -- can't make up for the movie's glib, off-putting calculations.

Terrific performers doing what they're often forced to do, overcoming sorely flawed material.

Lee's journey of the body and soul is something else. Maggie Gyllenhaal makes it strangely touching, a revelation.

The cast is the main attraction in Francois Ozon's witty, even touching 8 Women.

It is plainly, though not simply, a masterpiece from an acknowledged master of contemporary animation, and a wonderfully welcoming work of art that's as funny and entertaining as it is brilliant, beautiful and deep.

Mr. Miller tells several interlocking stories with such daring and intensity that you sense he could go on indefinitely, spinning one terrific yarn off another.

Igby has his own prickly charisma and bleak humor; he's a character you'd like very much to embrace. But he's surrounded by insufferable fools in the airless Manhattan universe of a film that's as offputtingly precocious as its preppy hero.

Why, in our drum-thumping, ritually trumpeting time, did so little fanfare precede the opening of a movie with so much to recommend it? This is grand entertainment.

Especially well-rendered is the divide that occurred between the downtown and uptown worlds -- something that many who don't live in New York will grasp here for the first time.

Notwithstanding a thin script and a color-by-numbers ending, the movie is redeemed by its solid performances.