An enjoyable female buddy caper -- more "Outrageous Fortune" than "Thelma and Louise."

The only reason to sit through On the Line is for some entertaining, if fleeting, musical moments.

There's really nothing more to this by-the-numbers, ailment-of-the-week fodder dressed up with a classy cast.

This predictable romantic comedy outing has occasional flickers of ingenuity.

This might be as perfect a new-millennium Halloween creepshow as we can expect.

The nerviest, oddest, most outlandish and idiosyncratic American indie debut since "Buffalo 66," Richard Kelly's Donnie Darko defies description.

The rapper-ever-increasingly-turned actor -- is having the time of his life, big pimp styling in a flashy wardrobe as he guts and struts.

A new version of the greatest psychological mystery of all: love.

Relevant message aside, there's no good reason to sit through photographer Neal Slavin's directorial debut.

This bed-swapping crime story is ultimately too protracted, but Piñeyro's direction is richly atmospheric, full of noir shadows and strong period detail.

The movie's most glaring flaw is that the brothers and their screenwriters, Terry Hayes and Rafael Yglesias, don't manage to preserve the secret of the Ripper's identity for nearly as long as they intend to.

It's good enough, smart enough, and people will like it. It's also a high-concept cop-out, a convention-strangled genre movie that never zigs when your every instinct is screaming that it's about to zag.

It's Zahn's heartbreaking performance that drives Riding in Cars with Boys.

Like being jacked directly into Linklater's alpha waves, and the experience is bracingly new to movies.

Exhausting and fruitless: Having seen it, you know nothing more about strippers or the stripper mentality than you did going in. What's the point?

This self-consciously kooky road movie about an unusual trio of bank robbers aims for Hal Ashby misanthropy, but hasn't a single emotionally grounded or plausible moment to justify its purely cinematic eccentricities.

Frankly, there wouldn't have been enough shtick here to warrant an SNL skit. And if the material isn't even up to those standards, then who the hell green-lit it as a feature?

High drama this ain't. And yet, anyone looking for a hearty banquet of gymnastic, kung-fu tomfoolery won't walk away hungry.

Amid the chaos of this marvelous, uncategorizable film squirms one of the year's best performances.

It's all well-acted and eerily compelling, but the shocker ending is patently implausible.

I'd write it all off as something that is, after all, intended for young viewers -- but then I'd be insulting their intelligence as cruelly as the movie does.

Ultimately, Grateful Dawg will only be of real interest to musicology students and diehard Deadheads.

Pure, irrational, claustrophobic, gritty, unpretentious.

Mesmerizing entertainment, but it's also a cop-out.

The casting is sublime.

The wrap-up's pretty charming, as are the performances, but the film's too heavy for its soufflé-ready ingredients.

Born Romantic feels less like it was born than assembled, in a kooky Britcom factory. It's no "Four Weddings and a Funeral," but it's certainly a happier conception than last month's "Maybe Baby."

This is nothing more than one more run-of-the-mill, surprise-free, suspense programmer.