Although it alludes to romantic conventions, with overt references to Hollywood history and an overemphatic jazz soundtrack, Wild Grass is neither poignant nor zany. It's an exercise in artifice, not unlike David Lynch's "Mulholland Drive" set in the City of Lights. I'm sure the French have a word for it, but je ne sais quoi it is.

The funniest movie of the year.

Between the carefully trained animals and their computer-animated mouths, the movie doesn't have much room for realism; but the 3-D effects are surprisingly effective, and this playful pic earns a pat on the head.

It's a little black dress of a movie, an elegant hint of something sensual that is ultimately denied to us.

Its mean-spiritedness, stupidity and squandering of talent is uniquely Hollywood.

It's more like a shelved episode of "Touched by An Angel." The sappy script is a disservice to the naturally effervescent Efron, whose character is so mopey he makes Robert Pattinson seem like a song-and-dance man.

Salt goes down easy, but it's lacking both nourishment and flavor.

So friction-free that it slips from memory before the credits fade.

The surprisingly rich documentary Best Worst Movie views the phenomenon from a unique perspective.

Christopher Nolan's "Memento" was a movie-lover's dream come true, a puzzle that was engaging both intellectually and emotionally. But his Inception is a wake-up call, a blaring reminder that cheap tricks can't compensate for personal investment.

Like black coffee that's flung in our face, The Killer Inside Me silences the question of whether it's good or bad. But for darn sure, it's strong.

A passable popcorn movie, but fans of the first film who expect lightning to strike twice are liable to get burned.

It's not exactly aiming for the moon, but in a marketplace where surpassed expectations are as rare as unicorns, Despicable Me is delightful.

The first half of the film dusts off some kitschy picket-fence footage and alarmist news reports to invoke an era when homosexual acts were illegal in 49 states, and gays were subjected to arrest, electroshock and sterilization.

I Am Love is easy to savor but tough to swallow.

Like the recent "Greenberg," Cyrus is not the jokey, polished production you would expect from its Hollywood cast and LA setting, but audiences who are comfortable with discomfort should find it "funny."

A toxic potion that will put children to sleep and kill his (M. Night Shyamalan) career.

The documentary ends on a hopeful note, as Indians themselves have taken control of their image.

Ondine is dipped in whimsy and might have drifted out to sea, but it's bounded on four sides by love stories -- between a father and a daughter, a man and a mermaid, an actor and his co-star, and a director and his country.

The most provocative thing in Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work is the moment during the opening credits when we glimpse the comedy legend without makeup.

With its seductive images and smart dialogue, The City of Your Final Destination has the setting and circumstances for a ripe family drama or a literary love story, yet it never awakens from its siesta.

Nobody escapes unscathed, except, of course, for Sandler, who co-wrote the infantile screenplay.

Winter's Bone is the best film of the year.

As a testament to traditions that are usually kept hidden from Hollywood, Holy Rollers is a mitzvah. But as a thriller, it's bubkes.

It's a well-earned curtain call for some of the most beloved characters in one of the best-sustained feats of recent cinema.

Maybe in his native language, Dujardin is no funnier than Steve Martin's "Pink Panther." But with subtitles, his deadpan delivery is hard to resist.

The film confirms it's hard to do brain surgery on a battlefield. But it doesn't take a brain surgeon to think it could go deeper.

The kids in the movie, from musicians to marital artists, are unusually skillful, and Smith seems assured of more starring roles. By the end of The Karate Kid, we can't help cheering, even when we know we've been sucker-punched.

The diabolical sadist of the team was director Joe Carnahan.

"Beverly Hills Chihuahua," we owe you an apology. Among talking-dog movies, Marmaduke is the runt of the litter.

It's not quite infectious, but some of the high notes manage to drown out some of the guttural lows.

The Safdies deserve respect for surviving their childhood, if not for making a film about it that refuses to amuse or indict.

Survival of the Dead never comes alive. It feels constrained by a low budget, short running time and the outdated conceit of slow zombies trudging toward fresh victims.

Like other so-called "mumblecore" movies, including Bronstein's own "Frownland," this is an unnervingly intimate glimpse of dysfunction, with a shaky-cam aesthetic and seemingly improvised dialogue.

Prince of Persia is woven of recycled fibers, but by the slipping standards of summertime entertainment, it's a magic carpet ride.

A bland family-feud potboiler with no sign of the cook.

Although it has some memorably disquieting scenes, this story of long-delayed justice is sustained by its melancholy more than its thrills.

It's no classic, but Shrek Forever After is a pleasant reminder that every time a cash register rings, this ogre turns angelic.

Although it has some memorably disquieting scenes, this story of long-delayed justice is sustained by its melancholy more than its thrills.

It's no classic, but Shrek Forever After is a pleasant reminder that every time a cash register rings, this ogre turns angelic.

The macabre comedic undertones are reminiscent of a Coen brothers film like "Blood Simple." But a more apt comparison is to an obscure Canadian bank-heist flick called "The Silent Partner," in which teller Elliot Gould pockets some loot from thief Christopher Plummer. Both movies imitate an American idiom with a provincial accent.

For a public that's been bullied by the tastemakers, the mystery is a gift. Once we exit this fun house, the only giant left to obey is ourselves.

A lot of care went into crafting the handsome production but not enough into making the handsome hero come alive.

Letters to Juliet has about half as much Shakespearean content as "Shakes the Clown" and even less sincerity.

As the documentary morphs into a riddle about art in the marketplace, the eyes of the beholder get crossed, and the dizziness is part of the fun.

The Square is a solidly constructed thriller with some missing pieces at the center but vivid splashes of color outside the lines.

Acolytes may have glimpsed some of these treasures before, but for the post-Woodstock generations, this documentary of the Doors is vital in several senses of the term.

The Secret of Kells has elements of a quest adventure and a coming-of-age story, but it's more beautifully stylized and astutely abstracted than the average kiddie cartoon.

Although it's stuffed with subplots, gadgets and bad guys, this tinny contraption is half-hearted.

As a diversion, Babies is like a wind-up toy that will tickle anyone with a pulse. As a documentary, it's like a cache of home videos that will frustrate anyone with an inquiring mind.

The Secret of Kells has elements of a quest adventure and a coming-of-age story, but it's more beautifully stylized and astutely abstracted than the average kiddie cartoon.

The vitality of crazed angel Jim Morrison is its driving force.

Although this stylish and ominously paced vehicle starts with a full itinerary, it never makes a vital connection.

In my old New Jersey public school, the first thing we learned was the smell of baloney.

The message that needs to be posted at the theater door is "No trespassing."

Watching this film, you'd think that most public schools were Mafia-run slaughterhouses and most charter schools were urban academies with high success rates. Bowdon barely mentions the religiosity and profit motive behind some charter schools.

A charming throwback filled with authentic characters.

Ajami is neither a puzzle nor a polemic. It's an admirably even-handed portrait of life in an occupied ghetto that is bounded by checkpoints. Everyone we meet is a more or less honorably motivated victim of circumstance. That the circumstances were inscribed centuries ago makes Ajami a tragedy of biblical proportions.

An evolutionary leap forward, a visually exquisite film that doesn't ignore the truths of pollution and predatory survival.

Whether you're betting on action or laughs, this is a lose-lose scenario.

The slice-of-life comedy City Island is a charming throwback filled with authentic characters.

Exposing humans to the rich ecosystem that produced and sustains all life makes Oceans inherently valuable.

Vincere, which translates as the battle cry "Win!" is like invisible ink on the ledger of war, a secret record of love and loss.

This deadpan police story produces unexpected chills.

The spoof of consumerism scores some predictable points, but the tidy ending is a sell-out to the ultimate marketing machine: Hollywood.

It's deliberately difficult to untangle the crossed allegiances of the people that Kelly interviews, and it's melodramatic that he tries to smuggle Ming and a surrendered assassin onto a plane bound for the United States. But dramatizing such a complex situation is a necessary evil.

Maybe I enjoyed the similarly themed Kick-Ass because it took me back to that innocent time. Or maybe it's because this is the most brazenly funny bloodbath unleashed on the public since "Pulp Fiction."

The untold story of how fascist strongman Benito Mussolini rose to power by trampling on the woman who loved him is a bracingly cinematic lesson in how all politics is personal.

Because the movie captures the period so well and argues so convincingly that the Runaways' very existence was revolutionary, it doesn't have to exaggerate the highs and lows to create a more salable story.

This Swedish sensation is a magic trick that jolts the murder-mystery genre back to life.

This shrill caper is more like a blind date between fingernail and chalkboard.

It's the tender rapport that develops between Lisbeth and the older Blomqvist that sustains our interest in this violent, overlong film.

Because the movie captures the period so well and argues so convincingly that the Runaways' very existence was revolutionary, it doesn't have to exaggerate the highs and lows to create a more salable story.

For better or worse, this is a straightforward performance film.

Given the stormy milieu, The Yellow Handkerchief could have been a sordid slice of life or a maudlin metaphor. But the unhurried direction of Udayan Prasad and the unafraid choices of the sure-footed cast keep this character-driven drama afloat.

This gravely serious drama is as insular as a tomb with Muzak. It takes a particularly heavy hand to make us numb to the abduction of two children, but that's the effect of the wall-to-wall music and earnestly dour performances.

An exciting cloak-and-dagger thriller.

Sadly, The Last Song is badly out of tune with real filmmaking.

In the new Clash of the Titans, the effects are computerized, the hero is questionable and, instead of an owl, we get a turkey.

For better or worse, this is a straightforward performance film. I feel it's for the worse.

This gravely serious drama is as insular as a tomb with Muzak.

The unhurried direction of Udayan Prasad and the unafraid choices of the sure-footed cast keep this character-driven drama afloat.

It’s not surprising that in the hands of a first-time director and first-time screenwriter, nobody in this movie behaves like a recognizable human being, but it is surprising that Cyrus comes across as such an unlikable sourpuss.

Director Philipp Stolzl worked in the same dangerous conditions as the original climbers, and we can feel the chill and peril in our bones. It's a shame, then, that the screenwriter, unlike the camera crew and the characters, was afflicted with such timidity.

Like "The Squid and the Whale," this character study pushes the definition of comedy to the breaking point, and unlike the far less successful "Margot at the Wedding," it leaves us faintly smiling after the workout.

In steering a course between the rock of rude humor and the hard place of perilous drama, How to Train Your Dragon flies high.

Hot Tub Time Machine isn't a good movie, but like a bubbling bath it keeps pounding at us until our resistance wears down.

Greenberg may not win any popularity contests, but for fans of risk-taking cinema, it's most likely to succeed.

Philipp Stolzl worked in the same dangerous conditions as the original climbers, and we can feel the chill and peril in our bones. It's a shame, then, that the screenwriter, unlike the camera crew and the characters, was afflicted with such timidity.

The kiddie audience will laugh a few times, but it would take an electron microscope to find an original idea or joke in this entire cartoonish movie.

While the rich people who violated a dead antagonist's wishes seem sleazy (especially when they refuse to be interviewed), transporting world-class artwork five miles to a bigger facility where more people can enjoy it hardly seems like the end of civilization as we know it.

If Repo Men could have sustained its ghoulish humor, it might have been a guilty pleasure.

While outraged aesthetes tell us that the Barnes Foundation is a perfect jewel box of a museum, the filmmakers they hired to argue their case don't spend enough time exploring or explaining what makes this cloister so special.

a horrific misstep in the branding of Robert Pattinson. The erstwhile teen vampire, who daringly portrayed gay surrealist Salvador Dalí in last year's "Little Ashes," lurches backward into a pile of romantic rubbish.

Although clearly it was mapped by a team of consultants, Remember Me is a horrific misstep in the branding of Robert Pattinson.

As an exercise in craft, it's surprisingly successful, thanks to the strong cast and the vivid depiction of a modern leader's security apparatus. But as a political statement or personal drama, The Ghost Writer is nearly invisible.

Fortunately, Fish Tank feeds us more than crumbs and leaves us feeling like we've come up for air.

Here's a riddle: What's Alice in Wonderland without wonder? It's a beloved character landing in the rubble of wrong-headed revisionism.

As an exercise in craft, it's surprisingly successful, thanks to the strong cast and the vivid depiction of a modern leader's security apparatus.

What enriches the recipe is that no one is quite as cagey as they seem. Colin is officially thuggish, but he's a blinkered romantic. Archie is a mama's boy, Meredith is gay, Mal is impotent, and Peanut wears dentures.

While the plot is as flimsy as a hooker's halter top, it's buoyed by two actors with attitude and timing.

With violence on the menu, it's a guilty pleasure to watch these stage-trained hambones unleash a rapid-fire roundelay of righteous indignation.

As they build up steam, two powerful actors keep us wondering whether this train is bound for war or peace.

This quasi-horror film has the great director's usual craftsmanship and a stellar cast, but ultimately it's an infuriating trick that makes its most provocative ideas disappear.

It's rewarding for a film to render rarefied ideas so concretely, but The Last Station works best as a battle of wills between husband and wife.

It's smart, heartfelt, handsome and just mutated enough to sustain interest in a specialized subject.

What might have seemed like a lively idea -- an all-star roundelay about love in Los Angeles -- is as fossilized as the wooly mammoths in the La Brea Tar Pits.

The CGI effects are a familiar sort and so is the heroic-quest motif. The principal virtue in this modest entertainment is that the young characters act like real teenagers.

It's smart, heartfelt, handsome and just mutated enough to sustain interest in a specialized subject.

Here most of the punishment is inflicted on the audience, which gets nailed to a cross of boredom.

Ultimately, William Kunstler: Disturbing the Universe is a defense, not a prosecution, and the principal witness remains a shining star.

What makes this low-key movie memorable are the pitch-perfect performances.

There's nothing cinematic about this turgid tearjerker except the slumming presence of movie star Harrison Ford.

In a movie of murky surfaces and deep loneliness, the redemptive surprise of A Single Man is how it becomes a clear endorsement of the Buddy System.

Yet so much about The Lovely Bones is so skillfully orchestrated, from the chillingly methodical villainy to the thrillingly paced manhunt, we can accept that we're in the hands of a higher power.

Johnny Depp, Jude Law and Colin Farrell do yeoman work on behalf of their late friend and, as usual, Gilliam's film is a feast for the eyes. But all the king's men can't corral the horses running roughshod over basics like plot and character.

Broken Embraces is stylish and sly, an engaging exercise that gives us less than meets the eye.

Stylish and sly, an engaging exercise that gives us less than meets the eye.

As much Fosse as Fellini. It’s a shadow of a shadow, refracted through a fun-house mirror. For all the noise and color, it feels like an exercise and not a natural expression.

The result is only half as hip as hoped. Yes, this Holmes is leaner and meaner, and Watson (Jude Law) is nearly his equal. But there’s still something fussy about the result, as if bobbies had broken up the party at 11:59.

It's funny but (sorry, ladies) unrealistic that Jake continuously sneaks away from his young wife to canoodle with Jane. Baldwin is a blast, but the role requires him to indulge in indignities such as a naked webcam conversation.

The difference between McKay and Efron is like the difference between a Broadway spectacular and a high school musical.

Given the creator and the cast, "Morgans" is as drearily predictable as a plague of locusts.

Titanic technical achievement.

Up in the Air may not end up as the best picture -- that will be decided by the Academy -- but it has landed in the middle of the discussion because it's laser-focused and right on time.

We are reminded: War is hell. But at their best, war movies can be cool and beautiful.

More benevolent than Bill Maher's snarky flick "Religulous" and a heaven-sent affirmation of our common humanity.

It's a worthy cause and an honorable film, the first full-length Disney cartoon with an African-American heroine. But without a strong story, it's a case of one step forward and two steps back.

What makes it special is Eastwood's ability to artfully and concisely tell a story, and Morgan Freeman's wonderfully understated turn as South African President Nelson Mandela.

It's a worthy cause and an honorable film, the first full-length Disney cartoon with an African-American heroine. But without a strong story, it's a case of one step forward and two steps back.

It's a pleasure to watch Ryan resurrect her trademark persona, a mix of perkiness and pique, as she flounces around the room. But it's shaded with a middle-age desperation that's half real and half chick-flick shtick.

What's finest about Everybody's Fine is to watch a good fella groping hopefully toward old age.

The kind of working-class, character-driven drama that few American directors would dare to make. It's tough and unsentimental, with a documentary aesthetic that belies the craft of the calibrated tension.

The Messenger is the debut film of writer and director Oren Moverman, but it's worldly wise, with two well-rounded characters.

Raises more questions than it can answer in its travelogue format. It's because the premise is so intriguing and the drama is so compelling that the result is so confounding.

Two things that the British know that most Americans don't: Michael Sheen is the best actor in the English-speaking world; and soccer is the only football that matters.

The Road has the signposts of an important film, but it lacks the diversions of an inviting trip.

Old Dogs is so oafish, when it tosses us a biscuit, it feels like we've been smacked with a newspaper.

This amateurish action flick is so lacking in personality or punch, it ought to be titled "V for Video Store Discount Bin."

Although Precious is based on a novel, it's an act of truth-telling on behalf of a character in hellish enslavement.

This movie, which was made by an animation studio in Spain, isn't trying to make a social statement; it speaks in the international language of lightweight comedy.

Michael as a character is defined almost solely by his helplessness and gratitude. He's as lovable as a lost puppy, but a more perceptive movie than The Blind Side would have let us see him from another angle.

The combination of a literate script, an adroit cast and an economical style is simple addition that achieves an alchemical feat: the best film of the year.

It's a calculated crowd-pleaser that skims over the surface of the era like a cruise-ship production of "American Graffiti."

This long, ludicrous soap opera is also a mighty spectacle, a new standard in disengaged destruction.

The combination of a literate script, an adroit cast and an economical style is simple addition that achieves an alchemical feat: the best film of the year.

A director whose breakthrough was the story of a madman's last stand has exceeded that feat with the story of an angry man's next step.

The thread connecting the ambitious girl to the acclaimed woman is enough to make us wish for a sequel titled "Chanel No. 2."

This jam-packed picture is too zippily scripted and edited to get stuck in message mode, yet the stellar cast achieves a rare harmonic convergence.

Technically proficient enough to keep us intrigued; but we shouldn't have to Google a movie to know if we were scared.

It's eerie rather than wondrous.

Neither a comprehensive guide nor consistently good, but because the theme is romance, most of these small bites of the Big Apple are easy to digest.

There's little that's new in the retelling, except mellowed musings on Environmentalism 2.0.

Even as Bard, filmmaker Milos Forman and Ferrara himself bemoan the changes, the lobby is filled with fine art -- and guests who aren't likely to harm you.

While Walt and El Grupo is less than a penetrating analysis, it's more than a Mickey Mouse advertisement.

The actress and the aviatrix are a match made in heaven, but surrounding the soaring performance is a movie that's mostly earthbound.

Reilly is very funny as the sarcastic mentor, and director Paul Weitz strikes a loopy tone in the scenes at the freak encampment.

It's zippy, and the movie version has both a computerized sheen and handcrafted detailing. Because the details are cribbed from classics, parents can enjoy this 'toon as much as their kids.

While skimming over the troubled waters of impending war and ongoing labor unrest, it’s both a vicarious vacation and a crash course in animation.

A miniaturist's masterpiece, the ebb and flow of familial love distilled to its essence.

Unfortunately, producers (including James) went for the easy layup, showing so much on-court action instead of trying to hustle for insights about sports and society.

To their credit, the creative team has retained the handmade look and unruly spirit of Maurice Sendak's bedtime fable; to their discredit, they haven't added enough narrative or emotional dimension to make it an effective movie.

A vigilante/torture-porn potpourri, is particularly toxic because it's scented with phony importance.

This is a kaleidoscopic valentine to a great city from a director who knows and loves his subject.

Weaving between freshness and formula, The Boys Are Back earns a gentle pat on the head.

In Couples Retreat, it's Favreau, not Vaughn, who is wound up, and this vacation comedy goes nowhere.

Succeeds as both advocacy and entertainment by focusing on the family.

The secret in this case is the jokes, which are ferocious. Marrying a monster flick with an adolescent romance has produced a merry mutant.

What Barrymore brings is good-natured, girl-powered subversion, a sense of when to flaunt clichés and when to flip them over the rails.

This topsy-turvy flick is fitfully funny, but more often it's just odd, like the first draft of a "Twilight Zone" episode that's missing its moral.

Moore's voice is weak and fuzzy, directed at a choir that should already know the words by heart.

Offers about as much flava as a Dr. Pepper commercial and about as much drama as a “Sesame Street� rerun.

Initially, the puzzle structure and a pair of Oscar-winning actresses distract us from the dark vacuum at the center of this enterprise, but when it implodes, it doesn't reverberate.

What animates this dramatically constrained film are the lively words and the vitality of nature. An image of butterflies blooming in a bedroom is Keats' worldview in miniature.

Near the two-minute warning, Big Fan becomes chillingly unpredictable.

By turning a whistle-blower into a tragicomic figure, Soderbergh sustains our interest in a complicated financial scheme and rewards it with a kickback of ghastly laughs.

Of all the films to come out the conflict, Afghan Star is the most provocative, because its message that people are essentially the same is a dubious, double-edge sword.

You ought to have a movie that's both smart and sexy. But Jennifer's Body is neither. Most damning of all, it's not scary.

What's most conspicuously missing from this ensemble is some input from the advertisers who subsidize Wintour's tyranny, and the readers who are seduced into buying her beautiful four-pound paperweights.

The edginess here isn't merely facile. Goldthwait's movies, including the under-appreciated "Shakes the Clown," are about reclaiming dignity from the dung heap. And he's found a fitting collaborator.

Despite the title, My One and Only is irritatingly repetitive.

Extract has some flavor, but the comedic kick is diluted by flat characters and a thin story.

There are good movies to be made about romantic obsession, but the premise doesn't work if the crazy stalker isn't juxtaposed with a sympathetic victim.

We're left with an impression of a vivacious pioneer; but warm shouldn't have to mean fuzzy.

Taiwanese director Ang Lee sees the '60s through a rose-color telephoto lens, but his sympathetic spirit extends the generous message of the hippie era like a passed joint.

The sight of the once-great Griffith cruising at a singles bar in a backward baseball cap isn't the worst of it.

With exquisitely simple images and minimal dialogue, Seraphine is both haunting and humane.

It may not be original, but Adam could leave a lump in your throat.

With its exploded notions of heroism, torture-rack dramatics and kamikaze gusto, it's a fiendishly entertaining flick.

Unexpectedly poignant.

This broadside against sharia law lacks the finesse of an import, but it's effectively melodramatic.

Soul Power is both a funk-tastic time capsule and a timeless celebration of the human spirit.

It sustains a palpable fatalism in such recurring details as a whirring buzz saw and the cry of a loon, while the static camera and lack of musical cues enable some unforeseeable plot twists.

This movie may be sickly sweet, but it's harmless; and as a handcrafted antidote to a toxic toy story like "G.I.Joe," Paper Heart has healing properties.

Of course, there's a kind of reverse snobbery in touting cheap movies over polished ones. But if Not Quite Hollywood is not quite convincing, it is quite entertaining.

It's often obscenely funny, but it tickles more than it stings.

Sometimes macabre and sometimes manipulative, but the way it speaks to the spirit is miraculous.

Mired in phoniness up to its neck. And above that, there's nothing.

Streep is astonishing, conveying Child's gusto, her quavering voice, even her height.

The sharpest parts of the movie hack through the Hollywood jungle with an insider's certitude. But Apatow is so grounded in the comedy circuit that he can't quite capture the emotional wavelength of the life-and-death drama.

The reason District 9 reverberates so loudly is because its moral indignation is cranked to 11.

Two incompatible movies duke it out in Bandslam. Although it's the wimpy teen musical that prevails, it's the misfit coming-of-age story that leaves an impression.

A movie that will be discovered, embraced and shared with friends like a favorite record album.

If Not Quite Hollywood is not quite convincing, it is quite entertaining.

This movie may be sickly sweet, but it's harmless; and as a handcrafted antidote to a toxic toy story like G.I.Joe, Paper Heart has healing properties.

It's impossible not to be moved.

Bandslam had potential, but it succumbed to peer pressure.

The reason District 9 reverberates so loudly is because its moral indignation is cranked to 11.

Humpday is something surprising: a sharply observed slice of life, an entertaining example of the microbudget genre called mumblecore.

It's often obscenely funny, but it tickles more than it stings.

Julie & Julia was directed by Nora Ephron with a light touch that will satisfy an eager audience of female foodies.

The collaborative effort is overlong and wrongheaded in some of its sympathies, but it's one of the shrewdest show-business comedies in years.

The swooningly romantic comedy (500) Days of Summer is a movie that will be discovered, embraced and shared with friends like a favorite record album.

Slow and odorous, The Ugly Truth is mired in phoniness up to its neck. And above that, there's nothing.

Departures is sometimes macabre and sometimes manipulative, but the way it speaks to the spirit is miraculous.

This broadside against sharia law lacks the finesse of an import, but it's effectively melodramatic, particularly because of the strong performance of Iranian-born actress Shoreh Aghdashloo

While the romantic sweetness that it's peddling is a guilty pleasure, it's also a distraction from the gathering storm that the series had been charting so well.

Although Brüno is sometimes a wickedly funny flick, the dubious techniques and repellent protagonist produce fewer real laughs than its predecessor.

Suffering through I Love You, Beth Cooper is like being locked in detention with five idiots misquoting The Breakfast Club.

30 years after he wrote and shelved this script, the conceptual creakiness of Whatever Works might have been redeemed only by the director in the starring role.

With its three-dimensional action and two-dimensional feelings, Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs is warmed-over nonsense.

In exposing the unsavory practices of agribusiness, the muckraking documentary Food, Inc. cuts to the bone.

The trademark hitch in Aniston's line delivery is an effective shorthand for taking a leap of faith. In the case of both her character and her career, Management represents an admirable choice.

This yarn about a train conductor whose life goes off track is Nordic to its bones: efficient, humane and droll in small measures.

Although the compelling courtroom drama gets forgotten for much of the movie, My Sister's Keeper also is relatively realistic about the physical and emotional toll of disease.

The spectacular Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is a triumph of the producers' creed: Pound the senses, simulate emotion and milk the golden calf of the familiar like a mechanical farmhand.

On the surface, it resembles Monty Python's Life of Brian. Yet underneath, there's cheap material. Sometimes, it briefly gleams; but in the final reckoning, it's dull.

That this gloomy movie partly succeeds is a credit to the sharp dialogue, the fine cast and the directing debut of a reluctant star.

Some documentaries grow in the shadows; others demand to be made. The story of boxer Mike Tyson, powerfully recounted in a new film, is as rich as a Dickens novel.

The pungence of Lemon Tree is in the surreal moments that capture the pervasive unease in Gaza, and in the quiet strength of Abbass' performance.

The payoff to the mysteries isn't nearly as interesting as the setup, and the ending of the movie is disappointingly squishy. But while it's riding a hot streak, The Hangover is a rush.

Audiences of a certain sort will be dumbstruck by how high the silliness gets piled; but whether or not you're puffin' stuff, you'll likely get lost in laughter.

My Life in Ruins comes close to being a Greek tragedy, but the actors never let the film die.

Although it's got a strong cast and visual panache, Johnson willfully dispenses with the caper complications that might have made it more fun.

Little Ashes is stylish enough to beguile and bold enough to provoke, but it's not bright enough to illuminate.

Like an X-ray, the focused power of sex, lies and hi-def video cuts to the bone.

The cheeky attitude and charming effects make it more entertaining than the original, notwithstanding some clumsy humans who almost break the spell.

Terminator Salvation is a tale told idiotically, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Because Jeremiah lacks the investigatory zeal to pursue the subplots, which also include his father's madness and his older brother's drug addiction, this lovely film is more evocative than illuminating.

This quintessentially French bonbon is both sweet and dry, with just enough complexity to confound the fast-food appetite.

The problem here, as in The Da Vinci Code, is that the puzzles don't invite the viewers' involvement.

The offbeat Lymelife is so clearly leeching off other suburban-dysfunction films that it could have been titled The Lice Storm.

From the violent opening to the nihilistic ending, Next Day Air is so cynical that its few laughs are a release of tension.

The wit and youthful energy that's been infused into the new Star Trek should enable this venerable franchise to live longer and prosper more handsomely.

The premise ends up muddling a movie that might have been enlightening.

A middling movie, an admirable effort that looks much better than Star Wars: The Clone Wars but won't incite similar battles, pro or con.

Despite inducing some guilty grins, McConaughey's character is unforgivably shallow. The likable Garner has little to do except wait for his inevitable breakthrough.

The clichéd script doesn't develop the secondary characters or the critical theme of the mutants' alienation. (Several of them don't even have any dialogue.)

The many filmmakers spent five years on this impressive project. They’ve given us glorious images of an Earth that most of us have never seen. Let’s hope that the means to understand it will be included on the DVD.

An outbreak of '80s nostalgia is the best explanation for The Informers, a worse movie based on a worse Bret Easton Ellis book.

Thanks to this trippy flick, his revolutionary ideas live on, like a ghost in the machine.

The Edge of Love is literate and often lovely to look at, but unless you're requesting an off-key bohemian rhapsody, do not go gentle into that good theater.

It gives a caravan of migrants human faces, compelling motivations and dramatic challenges that transcend borders.

The movie manages a few good jokes about inappropriate flirtations, but it never addresses the bigger questions of why the marriage went wrong or what Mike is supposed to be doing about it.

Although each portion of Tokyo! has a distinct flavor, this sampler of undercooked fish stories has a cumulative effect, one that is trippy if not toxic.

Cyrus has maintained an honorably wholesome image, and this feature-length spinoff of the sitcom does nothing to hurt it. But it also does nothing to help Cyrus or the audience evolve.

Observe and Report is the evil twin of Paul Blart, which had a soft heart but no nerve. This flick is almost criminally cynical, but delinquents will think there's something arresting about a movie whose mission is disturbing the peace.

Cyrus has maintained an honorably wholesome image, and this feature-length spinoff of the sitcom does nothing to hurt it. But it also does nothing to help Cyrus or the audience evolve.

The three principal actors are powerfully effective, particularly Heiskanen.

Although this '80s flashback has an appealing sheen of sweetness, it sticks so closely to the rhythms of remembrance that it lacks dramatic impact. We've heard this story too many times before.

Alien Trespass earns some style points, but the substance is Dullsville.

The combination of emotional impact and brutal imagery is initially potent, but the second half of the movie wallows in occult cheese that’s hard to swallow.

Ultimately the one who gets burned is Cage, a 1996 Oscar winner whose once-promising career is boarding the mother ship for oblivion.

The Great Buck Howard is cheekily observant about celebrity self-importance while still conveying Buck's commitment to entertaining regular folks.

The key to the success of I Love You, Man is that both actors deliver recognizably human performances within the formulaic structure.

You'd have to have X-ray vision to find a semblance of a plot here, yet you'd have to be blind to overlook the cheapness of the special effects and the ineptitude of the direction.