Adrien Brody

A well-meaning, half-hour Twilight Zone episode stretched to the outer limits of a two-hour feature.

That Maybury's film avoids easy categorization (and the increasingly cheap twistiness of today's psychological horror thrillers) is one of its finest points.

Peter Jackson's King Kong is all things cinema, in the hands of a clever but overindulged filmmaker.

In what may be the single most damaging performance in any film this year, Affleck puts on extra pounds, a fake honker, and a horrifyingly bad debonair act.

Playing God and playing house converge...about as gonzo as the multiplex gets.

Perhaps its best that Predators keeps its ambitions humble, but a dearth of inspiration makes this fifth Predator film dangerously close to a rehash of the first.

To revisit King of the Hill—or to discover it—is to realize how seldom American cinema deems it worthwhile to tell a child's story with anything approaching serious psychological intent.

The tasteful austerity of style and solid performances can't overcome a script that largely stands between emotional humanity and the viewer.

Bold, indulgent, polarizing, poetic, rapturous and artfully made but also an epic-length torment, like the secular The Passion Of The Christ.