This is a waking dream of truly operatic dimensions.

It always surprises, never bores. It's also just damn good, on every possible level -- so go see it. Now.

Sweet and hilarious, a classic crowd-pleaser which elevates rather than eviscerates the homespun eccentrics who make up its cast of characters.

Subtle, strange, off-putting, fascinating.

The kind of thing Franz Kafka might have dreamed up, had he only had access to a daily dose of MTV.

Though issues of politics and philosophy are touched upon, this is a film about the people inside the uniforms -- a story of human beings under pressure, forced by circumstance to make choices both impulsive and, on occasion, heroic. It's also the new year's single most satisfying movie experience thus far.

Man, I just can't recommend this enough.

Horror presented without restraint or apology, as a full-bore, blood-soaked load of nomad nastiness caught in constant forward motion.

Mehta's latest release, combines a similarly intoxicating visual immediacy and delight with a sobering outsider's long view.

It's adult and humane, genuinely sexy, laugh-out-loud funny.

This is independent acting (and movie-making) at its best -- true, tight, anything but trite.

Chan's glorious madness.

A gorgeous and enduring piece of work.

An incredible star turn from Hilary Swank.

A true achievement -- no matter who eventually wants to take, or deny, credit for its creation.

Opinionated magic and mayhem

What ensues is never exactly unpredictable, but always witty, fresh and fun.

A startling debut full of emotional depth and political punch.

A tiny slice of bleak, black near-perfection.

Ferociously inventive.

Surreal to the point of poeticism, amusing and tragic by turns.

Confirming the moral of a thousand "Twilight Zone" episodes: Don't play with time.

Starting small and building steadily, the movie reaps some fall-down funny laughs.

Expertly done, and a real joy to watch.

Retains enough of Soderbergh's usual indie sensibility to make some sly but contentious points.

Nothing less than stunning: a slapstick ballet of choreographed buffoonery.

A fascinating combination of dare, stunt and genuine artistic risk -- often disorganized, but never less than entertaining.

Here in the rotting depths of pulp horror/adventure territory, that's the entire point of the exercise.

Well worth the price of admission.

Quills -- like the Marquis himself--is a posey, pungent, ultra-theatrical yet weirdly seductive mess which wants to have its cake, eat it too and discuss the whole concept and context of its meal (constantly, contradictorily) while it does so.

Silly in some parts, but sheer fun in most, Bootmen will get you wiggling in your seat with a big grin pasted on your face.

A two-hour slice --of comedy pie.

Breaks virtually no new narrative ground, yet treads the familiar territory it does cover with grace, style, wit and fun.

One of the most consistently amusing ways in which it frustrates audience expectations has to do with how amazingly little of this very violent cast of characters' violence actually ends up being expressed onscreen.

But it IS enjoyable.

It's sumptuous, archaic, and longer than a firehouse ladder.

No classic, but two hours well-spent nonetheless.

Has a soundtrack crammed with infectious music gleaned from fairly surprising sources.

Actually funnier than the first movie, but getting to those parts requires a little bit of patient mental fast-forwarding.

A magic-realistic fable whose lows soon prove as infuriating as its highs are intoxicating.

An unexpectedly adult emotional rollercoaster with some very cold and unsettling things to say about men, women, marriage, and the lies we so often tell each other.

Like memories of your latest high, it's all briefly amusing, mildly embarrassing, and - ultimately -- completely forgettable.

Kusama understands her subject intimately, and it shows.

An exercise in outrageous style over substance.

One way or the other, there really is something to be said for a movie which seems to revel in its own inherent comic-book silliness.

If the current flood of pre-millennial tension movies teaches us nothing else, it demonstrates how desperate we've all become to see whether we could make our peace in the time provided, if forced to by circumstances beyond our control.

The lack of chemistry between he (Yun-Fat) and Foster is truly striking: so much so, in fact, that the strain of trying to manufacture some keeps her looking on the verge of outright illness throughout.

Sunshine's historical reference-heavy narrative walks a fine line between novelistic tragedy and comically overstated melodrama, falling down on the job more than once.

It doesn't really hang together. And waaay too much style. Pity.

Renders the net result fairly squarely unenjoyable, on almost any level.

Flirts with the idea of insight.

Not quite good enough to leave more than a vaguely pleasant, vaguely disappointing aftertaste.

Mandy Nelson's sugar-high bright-'n'-cheerful script takes a series of easy ways out, avoiding completely the prospective pitfalls of having to see any of these characters as complicated, contradictory, not entirely nice or identifiable-with -- actual human beings, in other words.

Not even Goldberg's near-flawless central performance can polish Kingdom Come beyond mere soap opera pap.

She's not a real person, in any way, shape or form -- which makes watching Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, the first in a projected series of live-action films based around her exploits, a visually spectacular yet oddly cheerless experience.

This is half a good movie held hostage to the other, trashier half, and unfortunately for all of us, no rescue seems forthcoming.

Appalling, repetitive, utterly predictable.

It's all quite precious, just not in a good way: "Postmodern" to a fault, deeply shallow, infuriatingly trite.

Langorous and oddly detached... a mess.

Visually stunning but emotionally shallow.

About an hour after you've seen it, you'll already be fuzzy on just who was screwing who, and why

Ends up suffering from the classic diseases of book-to-film adaptation: triteness, overreliance of narration, and a general "need" to impose classic dramatic structure on what is not a particularly dramatic narrative.

A nonsensical mishmash.

You'll definitely feel cheated -- especially when you keep on finding yourself thinking how Mulder and Scully would have handled it all.

Sarandon prostitutes her blazing talent and sharp political sensibility to the service of a pile of misogynistic bullflop.

Tired, overcomplicated mix of macho bullshit.

Has its - very - occasionally funny moments, so does a car crash.

Borderline incoherent.

Ephron is still a director whose movies veer uncomfortably between the good -- make that adequate -- "You've Got Mail", the bad "This Is My Life" and the ugly Lucky Numbers. Pity.

Basically a dressed-up piece of drivel, a self-referential pseudo-thriller with pretensions to pretensions of classic Hollywood suspense.

Good intentions, bad writing.

Lyonne, as usual, does her best...but she's running uphill.

An endlessly contrived exercise in self-referential "black comedy", can't help but strike me as no kind of triumph of anything over anything.

Mr Kumble: Keep your hands off the classics! You don't deserve to read them, let alone paraphrase them.

Some things just don't translate . . . not with Lipnicki attached, at any rate. Stick with the books.

If you're looking for something child-appropriate that'll actually keep the little darlings awake for two hours straight, you'd do better...and cheaper...to just stay at home with the Discovery Channel.

An almost total waste of time.

Valentine simply mines the same tired, predictable slasher-movie vein as everything else he's (Blanks) done thus far. Send this one back unopened.