The trouble with this art movie is that it's more a movie than it's art.

Those who do go with the fantasy are probably hopeless romantics.

The movie that Disney uses to explore this premise drips with so much corporate good-neighbor syrup, you might want to wear something waterproof. And Penn's performance is, at best, ripe for discussion.

The movie's ambitions (to pay tribute to the Czech pilots who fought for their country only to be interned later) are not matched by the actual story.

You're drawn in, like it or not. You can't get away from the immediacy. Or the feeling that you're getting sucked in, too.

It's a very funny movie in that sniffy Brit way.

The movie's stroke of sheer genius is its wondrous ending.

Awash in hackneyed old-time secrets and hydrophobic metaphor, never consumes us as it should.

Watching Ali, you can be sure of experiencing two opposing things: a sterling performance from Will Smith as Muhammad Ali and a bewilderingly punch-drunk movie from Michael Mann.

It can't fake sincerity. It tries ever so hard, but it doesn't have a single believable second. Every word in it is a lie.

Is Meg Ryan going to play the goofy romantic gal forever?

Instead of an originally conceived movie that reflects Nash's troubled but brilliant mind, we have one of those formulaically rendered Important Subject movies -- the kind that seem exclusively designed for Best Picture nominations.

August, who also made "Pelle the Conqueror" and "House of the Spirits," steers this story to its stirring conclusion with firm lack of sentimentality.

The drug-fueled romp turns ugly, sexist and misogynistic, as so many rap-star vehicles do.

Frenetic and uninvolving.

It's not great; it's also not idiotic.

With its spectacular scenery, stupefying effects and epic scope, is a dream come true.

That's the movie: It's taking us inside the burqa to the woman.

Perceptive, powerfully acted psychodrama.

This character was an abusive swine. Perhaps it would be best to let his art stand on its own.

Not just a fitting document of a life brilliantly lived but a vibrant, almost palpitating piece of cinema.

If there is a Hell, Not Another Teen Movie will be playing for all eternity on every screen there.

This is not a movie that wraps up its story in a tidy bow, but it's a lot more fun than most of the ones that do.

Overblown and idiotic, this new "erotic thriller" is neither erotic nor thrilling; it's long, boring and self-indulgent.

Unabashedly, un-graphically romantic.

Majidi has discovered a wonderful cast of players to bring this gentle allegory to life, especially Naji as the irascible but generous Memar, who displays nearly perfect comic timing.

The movie's pace is unhurried by Hollywood standards, but it's all the richer in character detail.

After an hour of brilliant, bitchy dialogue and deceit, it simply runs out of energy; or possibly the budget ran out.

A well-mounted, macabre seriocomedy with passing punchlines. And for about half the movie, it's compelling stuff.

Soderbergh won't hit the Oscar jackpot with Ocean's Eleven, but he has come up with a stylish winner.

Maybe it's me, but I find it difficult to dislike any movie that has horses, guns and big hats in it.

War is hellishly entertaining, especially in Behind Enemy Lines, a 21-gun salute to the commitment and preparedness of the U.S. military.

Short of good, better than awful, it opens brilliantly, then just goes on, toward self-negating absurdity.

This time-travel scenario is by now shopworn, and the normally riotous Lawrence, a manic and gifted clown, is hamstrung in his efforts to eke humor from the anemic script.

Dramatically and conceptually, the movie sits there, flat, naked and trying too hard with too little.

This film is much more atmospheric; it builds, not so much logically as viscerally, until you feel you can't escape. Lurid and overdone as it is, it's still a real disturber of the peace.

With its cast of back-stabbing functionaries and desk jockeys, Spy Game makes the sport and hard work of espionage seem chillingly real.

I can't imagine why anyone would pay money to see this sorry excuse for a film, which plays more like a home movie than something from cinema professionals.

More tasteful, sensitive and original than you might imagine.

A coarse, witless and stunningly violent black comedy.

Potter-philes are sure to get what they want -- if what they want is, in fact, an exacting version of J.K. Rowling's charming children's fantasy. If it's enchantment they are after, that's quite another matter.

There's precious little to listen to, laugh at or ogle in The Wash, a sudsy slog that gets sidetracked by, of all things, a plot.

Mamet doesn't just give us an enthralling heist flick, he makes the language something to savor. You're biting your nails with your ears peeled.

Nothing could save this movie. These guys make a fortune off the comedy of cruelty. How dare they climb on a soapbox?

Utterly delightful fable of romantic destiny.

A typical student film with its arty angles, bad lighting and pretentious observations.

The most surprising thing about the movie is that somebody bothered to make it in the first place.

Marvels of animation abound in Monsters, Inc. -- when it comes to irreverent humor and real heart, Monsters doesn't quite measure up.

Amelie is joie de vivre in a nougat.

Whatever the title of the next installment, this movie is certainly One best forgotten.

It's the latest and one of the best entries in a genre whose highest philosophical expression is the whiplash realization that the universe doesn't play fair.

Harmless romantic and musical high jinks abound, and sentimentality prevails.

Entertaining for so long it's a downer to sit through the dumbed-down finale.

Built with fine materials and boasts a gorgeous ocean view. Unfortunately the family dramedy's design is overblown and the construction is pretty flimsy.

Tries to combine humor with ghostly horror but excels at neither.

Appealingly, the movie has a certain lightness -- like the aforementioned butterfly -- which makes its foreboding qualities surprisingly user-friendly.

Too much of Bones feels transplanted from genre staples like "Hellraiser," "Nightmare on Elm Street" and "Evil Dead."

Short but emotionally effective movie.

The topic certainly suits the times, but the director's approach is as alienating as it is old-fashioned.

Hardly out of the driveway before director Penny Marshall loses control.

Robert Redford does everything but wear a crown of thorns as the selfless war hero of The Last Castle, a heavy-handed military prison melodrama.

Feels razor thin. None of the characters is particularly noteworthy. And the revelations of deep-seated conspiracy in the usual privileged, closed circles are hackneyed and tired.

It's a cult movie in search of a cult. It'll probably find one. It certainly looks and feels like no other movie ever made.

You probably never dreamed a charming romantic movie could be staged against a backdrop of Scud attacks from Saddam Hussein.

The movie is fussy and organized rather than moving. It follows a pattern so precisely, it's as if Lahti thought points would be taken off if she colored outside the lines.

Showcases its cast's athleticism and Ping's kinetic high-wire artistry. But unlike similar Western-made fare, it doesn't take itself seriously.

It's depressing enough to sit through an unfunny comedy, but it's worse to watch Falk, Penn and Berg having to earn a living like this.

As for Billy Bob, they all steal the money, but he steals the show.

Mulholland Drive is an extended mood opera, if you want to put an arty label on incoherence.

The kind of stunning and contentious work of art that will leave a lot of folks speechless.

Think of this movie as a glorified home video rather than a bitingly insightful documentary. But for Garcia and Grisman, this soft-shoe approach couldn't be more appropriate.

In noir, everybody's guilty, and that's one of the pleasures of Joy Ride. The three youngsters aren't exactly innocent.

It is also, despite the all-too-rare focus on the Filipino American community, a creakily familiar take on an age-old family dynamic.

Insipid, by-the-numbers romance.

A taut, high-velocity film that departs from the action flick template by having actual ideas.

It's a clever plot with a minimum of the already tired standard kids-on-computers sequence and a maximum of silly face-to-face deflation.

It yields surprisingly unspectacular results.

Yes, it's corny and reemerging cynics need not apply. But it is blissfully heartwarming.

A sometimes inspired but sputtering parody of the fashion industry. It's desperate to please, yet never unzips the fancy pants of haute couture.

The movie isn't exactly providing entertaining escape. In fact, the only escape on your mind is going to be the exit door.

Genuine, amusing and, best of all, humanly scaled and humanely oriented.

It is through the genius of Frears, screenwriter Jimmy McGovern and this talented cast that Liam lets no one off the hook, least of all the audience.

If you appreciate fine animation and edgy material, this blood's for you.

An engrossing chronicle.

We don't have much space to tell you about Glitter, so we'll be blunt. This star vehicle for singer Mariah Carey is primarily a showcase for her breasts.

Let's not waste any time: This movie is just awful. Prime problem: Josh Kornbluth, the chubby, wild-haired, bug-eyed star.

It is surprising that no matter how much we know what will happen, we never stop watching.

It is only when Reeves meets up with his incredibly cute baseball team that this movie comes to life.

Doesn't anyone get sick of this same old routine?

Rollicks and rolls, thanks mainly to Roth's over-the-top depravity and Xiong's swingin', "Crouching Tiger"-style choreography.

In a role that challenges our very notion of morality, Cox comes across as both predatory and fatherly, sometimes at once, in an acting turn as astonishing as it is stomach-turning.

The grimness of the movie becomes not only too unbearable, its point is clear about halfway through. After that, everything comes across as redundant retreading of the same perspective. But for atmosphere, great cinematography and eye-opening directness, this movie can't be beat.

The most unlikely of undertakings: an energetic feel-good movie about sex, drugs and other rock-related depravities.

Feels like a song you may have heard before, but one whose aching beauty makes it endlessly listenable.

Everything has been modernized except for the characters, and that's this movie's tragic flaw.

After introducing a provocative opening, the movie settles in for some pretty cheap scare effects, as well as by-the-numbers computer graphic imagery for the actual marauder.

Overwhelmingly predictable despite its cute surprise ending, Tortilla Soup is a filling but unoriginal dish.

A trite, bantamweight "Bull Durham," hasn't a single line, gibe, gesture or twist that hasn't already been chewed up and spat out in many a movie baseball dugout.

Moodysson's cornball sentimentality about the many shapes of the human family is tempered by his honesty about personal frailty and the silliness of utopian living experiments.

Schlocky, sluggish shoot-'em-up.

Despite an appealing, even ingenious premise, "Scorpion" is another quippy but uninspired comedy.

The actors make a good team in this film, and they're playing well-defined characters, but the script is so repetitive that we get mighty impatient for the mystery to be resolved.

A raunchy parody that's hip-deep in the mainstream it aims to rip, and sometimes does despite a glut of smug inside jokes.

What a bummer! Certainly the meanest-spirited film ever associated with the Disney hallmark.

A sweet but labored love story.

There's no escaping the hackneyed plot or Mayfield's conventional hand. So don't go.

A bungled screen version of Louis de Bernieres' cult novel, Captain Corelli's Mandolin was doomed from the moment Nicolas Cage was cast as the "life-devouring," Puccini-loving hero.

And even though the jokes keep on coming, not all are side-splitters. But before it's all over, they will have viewers howling at one or more pants-wettingly silly moments.

It's clean and transparent, with no movie director tricks. The characters, not the montages, speak the loudest.

The movie is a little crude for the subtlety of the emotions it plays with.

The movie's entertaining for some wickedly funny situations and witticisms.

This film isn't so much a sequel to the original "American Pie" as a reduction of it.

A tantalizing spine-tingler.

Should never have been released, not even on video. It should have been placed in a hazardous waste container, encased in concrete and dumped into the Farrelly brothers' septic tank.

The real story lies beneath the surface of this superbly acted, strangely moving film.

About half a notch above disaster.

Makes a virtue of its own simplicity. But don't be fooled. That simplicity is mere cover. You're kept wondering about the outcome until the very end.

The movie updates Disney's blueprint without altering it in any meaningful way.

It's about half as much fun as the original.

The movie offers one of the great lost pleasures, one we so seldom encounter at the bijou anymore. You watch this monster unreeling in its splendid vitality, its absurd ambition, its wobbly tone, its beauty, its stupidity, its immaturity, its tragedy, its grandeur, and before you know it, close to four hours has blasted by. And when you leave, you seize whoever is up close to you -- friend or foe, stranger or lover -- and begin to talk. You have opinions. You must express yourself. You must be heard. [5 Aug 2001, p.G1]

Ought to have been called "The Sap Also Rises."

Great picture? No. Cool picture? Oui. Not as good, I must say, as the sort of thing we moron yanks were doing on our own over here – "D.O.A." is much better.

The longer I take to review this movie, the more the absurdities loom. So let me finish before I think about the story's stupidly plotted structure or recall how tiring it was to watch apes perpetually pushing humans to the ground or sending them pirouetting into the air.

A little too shopworn and pokey to be more than a respectable European diversion.

This is supposed to be funny? It was so depressing I almost started to cry.

Nobody hits the jackpot here, certainly not filmmakers Michael and Mark Polish, whose audacious, empathic first film, "Twin Falls Idaho," showed such promise.

The sparks don't fly -- they fall down and they can't get up.

Bewildering, tediously violent.

The film's not only funny and weird, it's oddly poignant. I miss Hedwig already.

A character so real and poignant (yet hysterically funny), she'll linger for months or years.

A serious been-there-done-that number.

There are laughs -- lots of them, too -- but at some point the source of the laughs -- Vaughan's Ricky, a yammering loose cannon -- goes from entertaining to obnoxious.

Really nothing more than "Clueless" redux but without the edgy, knowing wit.

The best heist flick since "The Usual Suspects," a perfect 10 of a movie.

As monotonous as Muzak, and when it comes to the plot, both bewildering and trite.

The more you lower your expectations, the more you'll learn to laugh.

Too bad the filmmakers -- and here's where the American part comes in -- decided the movie had to have some heart, too.

There are scenes that simply ask the audience to drink in the details, to enjoy the repast, just as much as follow the plot.

Equally earnest and unconvincing.

The premise is tragically flawed and politically incorrect. In fact, it is blatantly cat-ist.

A pocket of infection on the skin of the American body cultural.

The French originals are always much breezier, the characters more genuine and the actors subtler even if the situations are just as silly.

The French now proudly prove they can make a big stupid violent cop movie, just like our gifted Hollywood professionals.

A wretch-a-sketch, a two-minute character-based skit (an occasional feature on HBO's "The Chris Rock Show") stretched to a mind-boggling 82 minutes.

Surprisingly mawkish teen film.

Intriguing, inspired, flawed, misbegotten and fascinating -- all of these qualities apply to the movie, at one point or another.

The movie is visually stirring. And the locations, in Zimbabwe and Mozambique, imbue the story with eerie authenticity.

The movie makes an over-long deal about Jody's immaturity and never seems to get beyond it.

You don't have any idea what's going to happen next. You're not caught in a movie, so much as a narrative stratagem.

Best news: over in 87 minutes.

The Fast and the Furious is "Rebel Without a Cause" without a cause. The young and the restless with gas fumes. The quick and the dead with skid marks.

After viewing documentarian Stephanie Black's dour exegesis of the wrecked Jamaican economy -- only the most insensitive vacationer will want to set foot anywhere near the resorts and beaches of Montego Bay.

This French film has a breezy, documentary air that belies the important issues is raises.

The haunting beauty of the music, and the people who produce it – that's the chapter and verse of this story.

It is the perfect modern product: loud, banal, empty, frenzied, plasticized, flavorless, drab, violent in a bloodless way and sexy in a sexless way.

In the end, I'm wondering what's so special about a film that has but one guilty pleasure and that's Ben Kingsley spraying saliva-lubricated variants of the F-word into the atmosphere like anti-aircraft fire for 10 solid minutes.

The result is cutesy but harsh, a hybrid of saucer-eyed anime and square-jawed angularity that brings to mind an edgier "Pokemon."

Evolution is bad. How bad? Who cares? Do you ask how hot the fire is before running out of a burning building? No, you just run for safety.

A fascinating premise. And yet, the movie, directed by Bruce Beresford, never quite blooms.

A celebration of the actor's art – but not the dramatist's.

Nobody really cares about the plot, least of all the filmmakers.

Based on a true story, the movie takes us through some harrowing times.

The film is nowhere near the level of Pontecorvo's masterpiece, or even his subsequent flawed allegory on Vietnam, "Burn!," but is clearly the work of a natural coming into the full range of his powers.

It's like a PBS version of a movie of the week about child abduction, complete with histrionic, spit-flecked speechifying in quaint Irish brogues.

The key to success: The audience must really like both characters and believe that they deserve a fairy-tale ending. That's definitely the case in this nicely acted love story.

Let's face it, some people find butt and bathroom comedy funny. And some don't.

Now and then sputters to comic life but more usually wheezes along.

The dance between authenticity and storymaking works beautifully.

The driving drama of such a desperate situation is lost in the movie's casting silliness.

A nostalgic paean to China's fading pastoral ways, might easily be taken for an audition tape for Zhang Ziyi.