Gregory Weinkauf

It's a feel-good movie for people tired of paying to feel bad. Bring it on.

This roaring crowd-pleaser also boasts hilarious bits of business, insightful observations into the human condition, and geysers of kitschy computer-generated blood.

Argento knows how to work her stuff, and the result is by turns saucy and grody, a fat lasagna of yesterday's "extreme" behavior dripping with Euro cheesiness.

Amazingly, almost every note of every performance in Bloody Sunday rings true.

James Bond wants us to believe he's an Everyman. The lovely thing is, it works.

As it stands, it's cute, occasionally poignant and outrageously implausible.

It's basically your above-average nice drug movie.

Manages to be both astoundingly derivative and reasonably entertaining at the same time.

Despite moments of gritty greatness that rival Scorsese's best, the movie is severely hampered by please-everyone syndrome, especially in the editing and choice of music.

Mostly this happy train wreck feels like a longer, better movie that was chopped up and reassembled by retarded monkeys; what should have been a rush instead feels rushed.

The story's a trifle, but it's consistently edgy as the team stride straight into the middle of grisly violence so they can capture it on film.

If Hallström has a problem with tone, it lies in his almost supernatural niceness. Thus, what arrives on-screen is purely a man's feminism, simple and trite and beautiful and vital.

All in all, the only lesson here is how to irritate. This is a stupid movie for stupid people. If you're a stupid person, knock yourself out. Please

As a thriller, The Butterfly Effect is iffy and uneven, but as a portrait of a people, it's effective and intriguing.

The soul of Gladiator is made sluggish by a maddening lack of suspense.

Guaranteed to jolt viewers of a Norman Rockwell mentality well into the 21st century.

All in all, this is every inch a TV movie.

Once the terror ends and the credits roll, we finally get to the best part: a merciful escape.

Director Oliver Parker (An Ideal Husband) -- who also adapted the screenplay to include aspects from Wilde's unrevised four-act version of the play -- embraces the material with great gusto, delivering as charming and irresistible a film as one could demand.

Those seeking a spiritual counterpart to the yin of Lynne Ramsay's masterfully moody "Morvern Callar" will find their yang in David Mackenzie's exquisitely sorrowful Young Adam.

A grand, old-fashioned epic, this project is every bit as important as "Gladiator" or a new "Star Wars" episode.

Delivers a thoughtful what-if for the heart as well as the mind.

As a document of rockin, youth rebellion, the film lodges perfectly between "American Graffiti" and "Trainspotting."

If you're after some family-friendly classic lit at the multiplex, here 'tis.

This infusion of warrior philosophy is the gas in Ghost Dog's tank, and Jarmusch pumps it up for maximum octane throughout.

When it's all over, one is less compelled to applaud than to give each "character" a sympathetic hug.

This is the breakout role for Sigourney (née Susan) Weaver, whose iconic presence still propels this ride beyond the scores of substandard imitations that followed. Why see it on the big screen? Because it's bloody brilliant.

Less a spiritual quest than a very self-indulgent gimmick movie that could use a strong shot of inspiration.