"Kill Bill Vol. 1" was a pure action movie, in love with collisions of violent movement. “Vol. 2” relaxes the pace, allowing for extended monologues. Those who lamented the first film's lack of wicked word exchanges should delight in Carradine's final soliloquy.

Although this ain't Hogwarts, there's full-scale witchery being practiced behind Magdalene's locked doors.

School of Rock kicks ass. It's one movie that definitely goes to eleven.

Meticulous in its descriptions of well-intended individuals caught up in these ferocious waves of street crime.

As he did with “The English Patient,” director Minghella performs a miraculous juggling act, balancing his epic, sweeping story with the subtleties of character and detail that make Cold Mountain breathe.

Check out The Life of Reilly, for a real-life example of carpe diem energy too pure and unrefined to be silenced by discrimination or negative family vibes.

In Mrs. Henderson Presents, Bob Hoskins lets it all hang out.

It joins “Rush,” “The Onion Field,” “Serpico,” “Seven,” “The French Connection,” Traffic, and “Prince of the City” as a grimy, hyper-real exploration of the emotional and psychological prices paid by cops.

A frozen pile of reindeer droppings. The cinematic equivalent to passing a kidney stone, Zwigoff’s unholy foray into “dark comedy” gives us a suicidal, sociopathic drunk slinging swear words with a ferocity that would make Tony Montana wince.

White and The Edge appear guarded, and perhaps a bit intimidated, by Page’s Yoda-like status.

A mesmerizing documentary that shows the vulnerability -– and brutality -– that emerge when one is showered in recognition, only to have such fame pulled out from under him.

Rodriguez knows kids. No doubt kids will be clamoring to get acquainted with Spy Kids 2, the best sequel to emerge from a children’s franchise in the past several years.

Some might perceive City of Men as a slow film, while others could reasonably argue that Morelli is taking more time to develop characters.

Leave the Visine and wrapping papers at home for A/K/A Tommy Chong, a surprisingly clear-eyed, sober account of what it’s liked to be embraced by a culture, while loathed by the Powers That Be.

Traveling faster than a fat line of blow snorted from mirror to nose, Cocaine Cowboys is all rush and no crash.

Despite its handsome cinematography, slathered in thick, neo-noir shades of red and blue, the film has no one to root for. Place your bets on Hoffman’s terrific portrayal of a weasely, wisecracking pervert, however, and you’re sure to get your money’s worth.

There are no boring, expository sequences; no depressing, grown-up politics. Instead, Rodriguez gifts us with a kaleidoscope of energy and invention.

I found myself in a tug-of-war between enjoying Bottle Shock as entertaining fluff, and thinking that there might be a more serious, gritty, complicated story lurking behind the grab-ass soap opera.

The astonishingly gonzoid fight scenes from Ong Bak 2 might be the best ever filmed.

Longtime fans of John Woo, who have come to accept operatic, lead-slinging death dances as an integral part of the director’s powerful aesthetic, will probably be unsatisfied with this neutered variation on his earlier, superior works.