Terrifically off, which is what we all love about it. The whole thing has a stylized appeal that piggybacks on the stage-sounding dialogue to all but completely upend a perfectly servicable romantic comedy on the Tom Hanks conveyor belt of same genre. The dude in the luggage store is still the clear highlight.

For being so methodical, its also BRUTAL the way Kubrick puts us in league with these fuckers and then forces us to slam on the brakes as we steel ourselves for disappointment and desparity.

My favorite Gladiator quote: "On paper, his big second-act speech -- basically a florid variation on the standard "I'm comin' to get you, motherfucker" threat that Stallone growled at least once in every Rambo flick -- is just unbelievably hokey; hearing the words spoken in Crowe's measured, steely cadence, it was all I could do to restrain myself from standing up and cheering." (Mike D'Angelo)

Guinness is so winning as the unwitting vacuum cleaner salesman-turned-British spy in 1950s Cuba. Flatter and more straightforward - though both films are generally satisfyiing - than The Third Man, the film in Reed's canon this one most closely resembles. Graham Green's script is sharply written, retain in full his talent for wit. Oswald Morris, the great cinematographer of Lolita, gives the film a look not unlike that film, but in a wider aspect ratio.

Mournfully, devastatingly profound and, with that, self critical to the point of self consciousness. I wish I'd seen it in the theater: Once you get lost in the ever bending Kaufmenthink, its such a pleasure to flit and fidget in. I can't imagine why Philip Seymour Hoffman wasn't more lauded: He's the quintessential kaufman protag.

Stitching a genuinely frightening tale into an uncommonly grotesque skewer of comfy Suburbanites, Dante restricts all the action to the block they live on. Because we never venture past the curve preceding their cul-de-sac, we're never outside of the grasp of this wacky microcosm. Its a big studio movie, too, which allows the obnoxious crane shots, obvious backdrops and brief stuntwork to stamp its time clearly late 1980s/early 1990s. Its as if the whole thing evokes that time between Family Values of the 1980s and the Individualism of the 1990s while simultaneously being a true replica.

That hammy Pacino performance mixed with the creepy Robin Williams (who would do this act better in One Hour Photo) laid over that flawlessly epic-feeling Nolan execution makes for exactly the mainstream reflection you expect from the largely unsubstantial film of origin.

I hope whatever David Wain is bankrolling is worth it: It's intermittently amusing but really simplistic, occasionally finding itself in Big Studio Gross Out Mode. It is not at all reminiscent of his last two films.

Given the bump on account of its such a dose of positivity and so consistently easy to watch. Mike Leigh films, so terrific pretty much every time, are easy to look forward to.

The emphasis on dialogue - while largely improvised or not - makes Superbad so wonderful to listen to. So constant in its one-liners and so devastatingly Last Night of High School in its vibe, this film culminates in my opinon that there's no reason I can think of that Michael Cera isn't the biggest movie star in the world.

World has a slightly fantastical flush to it, with the colors falling square out of the lines in effort to seem more like the background of a novel's cover than a Disney setting. As The Great Ones go, this one is decidedly slight, with the whole thing seeming too abrupt and too outrageous all at once. I enjoy its world immensely, though, and there's a general movie-ness to it that lends the lose-yourself-in-it weight to cancel out my prior concerns. No dog is better than dad.

I feel more or less the same as I did when I saw it the first time - Hoffman just owning the part, almost exhaustively stunning visual theorum, front-loaded almost to a fault - but wasn't nearly as moved. Something about examining the specks and the tiny things, I suppose.

What if someone made another period piece that didn't suck? What if that happened?

Unrelenting, if not incredibly polished for a movie-of-the-week topic. Sheridan wears his emotions on his sleeve, but it rarely feels wrongheaded or tiresome. His real assset is Day-Lewis, whose onscreen charisma is pretty much RAW here. Nostalgia points negate objectivity, but still.