Clive Owen

Liman adds to his knack for controlling audience tension a moody visual sense that exploits the mournful, sleeping-giant, old-world architecture of Prague as a place where action may break out at any moment, and frequently does.

Strangers becoming lovers, lovers becoming estranged: the paradox of oh-so-modern coupling keeps the home fires burning in Patrick Marber's astringent Closer.

Retrograde, sexist, and gleefully sadistic... pitiable and fearful in the language we go to the movies to learn. The old cop line 'There's nothing to see here' hardly applies.

Lee is a bona fide cinematic genius, and his lively and inventive take on tired material proves that thriller corn needn't be mindless in its machinations.

In Cuarón's highly-skilled hands, Children of Men continuously threatens to develop into something more fascinating than it is.

With its investigation (and a few expertly conceived action set pieces), The International builds a compelling case.

The film's greatest pleasure is in the snappy dialogue Gilroy crafts for the capable duo of Roberts and Owen...

Mawkish...Owen is forced to go the sackcloth-and-ashes route with multiple crying scenes, conversations with a dead spouse, and overcooked scenes of despair, anger, and unfettered joy spent with troubled offspring.

What Killer Elite never manages is to convince us of its sociopolitical import...or its emotional resonance.