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If I were rating this film on the usual criteria of script, acting, direction, editing and soundtrack, it would get a 5 or 6 tops. It suffers from many of the same faults as most '70s B movies. The cinematography had some good moments, but it was the originality of the plot line that piqued my interest. I've viewed many films over the years, and do not recall one with a storyline as unique as this one. Reincarnation themes usually deal with lives in the distant past. The novel concept of exploring a life reincarnated from a generation still living was interesting, to say the least, and allowed the screenwriter to weave in some intriguing detective work, as well as the hero's personal reinvolvement with the past life. Bravo, Mr Ehrlich... it kept my rapt attention throughout.

It's interesting that most of the reviews on this movie rate it according to whether the writer agrees with the politics of the film. Lefties tend to rate it high, righties low. There are many facets of a film that can influence its ultimate rating, but in my view, the quality of writing, acting and overall production should take precedence over the political agenda of the film. Although I disagree with its premise that the protagonists were unwitting victims of their fate, I'll rate it a 7 based on my positive assessment of the above referenced factors.

The script was thoughtful and realistic, the acting adequate (Blanchett was exceptionally watchable) but more importantly the story was informative and engrossing. When you learn intriguing facts about political history and the "news" process, it's usually worthwhile entertainment, despite the screenwriter's subjective treatment. The real Mapes and bitter. Partisan Rather received what they deserved in this revealing, notable media moment in history, but their interpretations were well stated and worth consideration. I guess I'll have to concede that part of this film's attraction for me was to witness the just desserts being served. Although it may not live up to the credibility that its title implies, in the end it was enjoyable fare.

If you could reduce this film to a graph, it would look like the Himalayas. Some great peaks, some lowly valleys. A potpouri of amatuerish Kabuki, brilliant lines and interpretation, sinister suspense, red neck satire and a really lousy conclusion. Meg Ryan reminded you of why her career took off like a rocket. Quaid went from subtle to serial wooden. Paltrow showed a new dimension, and Caan demonstrated why his best days were long past. At times, I would have given it a 7, but it's attempt at a pithy resolution tanked it to an unfortunate 5. Still, I'd recommend it as a worthwhile cinema safari, as long as consistency isn't a requisite.

It's a daunting and usually thankless task to take on the cinematic depiction of two iconic singers. One risk is the audience being disappointed with the quality of the vocals. The good news with this film is that the leads did so well, that any distinction between the performance and the real thing didn't distract from the enjoyment of the experience. It might not have been Patsy and Loretta right on, but the vocal renditions were so solid that is was close enough.

The voices and the acting deserve at least a 7, but some other quality issues made me rate it a 6. A 6 that we thoroughly enjoyed. It exceeded expectations by a "country" mile.

The 6 rating is because, overall, the quality was lacking the depth and polish generally required of filmdom's more respected cinematic efforts. However, this one had enough good moments to recommend it for an evening's entertainment

Case in point, in one of the more engrossing scenes Pullman's character is asked by JFK for a critical assessment that will determine the President's response to the Cuban missile crisis. In relating his answer, Pullman alludes to a familiar, basic logic problem which involves determining which of two people is telling the truth, when the only known fact about them is that one always lies and the other always tells the truth, but which one is which is unknown,

Pullman's character corrrectly says that the answer is that you ask either one of them what the other would say, and then believe the opposite of that answer. The reason that solution works in the logic problem is that when you ask a liar and a truth teller what the other will say, both answers will be the untruthful one, thus giving the problem solver a known... an incontrovertable factual basis from which to commence his analysis.

It is difficult to understand why that analogy was chosen by the screenwriter as a premise to Pullman's character's analyisis of the problem he was facing. His on-screen assessment was not based on the premise in the logic problem, but was rather based on logical deductions as to the respective motives and actions of the two opposing characters, the U S agent and the Russian officer, and the known content of the two competing microfilms. In other words, the logic problem was irrelevant to the ultimate decision that Pullman's character had to make.

One can only assume that the writer had a preoccupation with this particular logic problem and felt compelled to work it into the scene. Judging from the effective result, I can't say that I entirely disagree with his choice.

Moral: even a 6 can lead the viewer to while away his time ruminating about such minutiae...

It takes a while to get going, then has its best moments about episode 4, at which point I would have given it a 7, even briefly contemplated an 8... then gravity set in or took off whichever you prefer and it waxed into the ethereal nether... final twists had some intrigue, but all-in-all... a watchable 6...Bono's daughter, Eve Hewson, does some compelling work...

What begins well and improves through the first three quarters of the film is worth your time... interesting characters, competent actors, engaging plot development, sporadic inspired writing, all point to a 7 or better rating... until the creative nose dive ruins it... you go from intrigued to disappointed to frustrated, to who cares... endings can be difficult, especially if beginnings are over promising... in truth, the 6 was charitable...

I won't spend much time on this one. It's like two movies. The first half written by Dr. Jekyll, the last half by Mr. Hyde coming down from a Peyote trip. Weaver holds the first half together with a solid performance, while the script provides both intrigue and promise. Then, Sigourney's character dies and with her, all semblance of professional entertainment. Describing the mishmash that follows would be a waste of both your time and mine. The first half deserves a 7, the last, a shaky 1... unfortunately, that doesn't compute to an 8... don't waste your time...

Disappointing. Winner of Golden Globe, SAG and nominated for an Oscar? If this is the best HW can do, this year may set a record for dearth of quality in the film industry. If you've read the critics, you know that there are some positives, with sporadic moments involving entertaining lines and watchable acting. But they are the exception in this meandering, exploitative, manipulative mish mash. Some characters are such overblown stereotypes that, at times, the film resembles a bad night on SNL. I can't count the number of improbable, villainous strawmen the the writer self righteously and repeatedly mows down. He must have been going for the world record in virtue posing, to say nothing of the tired, old, excessive use of juvenile profanity that's been embarrassing the big screen since the 70's.

There are so many vices, that to recite them all would require more time than this movie is worth. Although the inexplicable fawning over this effort continues with several Oscar nominations, including screenplay and editing, at least the Academy had the sense to omit McDonagh from the direction category. At least they got something right.

Confession; I didn't finish it. That is an extreme rarity, as some bizarre force normally compels me to slog through some of the worst of Hollywood's offerings. But when it became apparent, about 2/3rds through, that some mysterious cloud of dark smoke was the evil culprit at the bottom of this twisted mix, I lost interest.

It begins with promise, with engrossing interplay between the two stars in some psychiatric evaluation scenes that had the potential of good story telling. A creative why-done-it combined with the question of whether the multiple personalities were genuine could have made for worthwhile theater. Alas, it was not to be. Enter the smoke, exit entertainment value.... and me. A waste of 2 capable actors.

Some good, some bad... bottom line... so so. This one is difficult to critique. Amy Adams is so watchable and talented that even when she's questionably cast, as here, her performance is enjoyable. One has the impression that she met her real life character, liked her, and was reluctant to portray her in any way that might be considered insulting.

Even considering the culture warp from the 50s to present, it is difficult to conjure much admiration or sympathy for a character who plays the timid doormat to a boorish and over-the-top Svengali. Even though based on verifiable history, the viewer remains incredulous that such pusillanimous gullibility could exist in the heroine as played by Ms Adams. I kept looking for some familiar character flaw to explain this odd and exasperating behavior, but the heroine's persona, as performed, simply did not match her actions throughout most of the film. End result... lack of plot credibility, and interminable audience frustration until she, FINALLY, came to her senses.

It's much the same with Walsh. Enjoyable, but not a believable performance. With him, caricature produces entertainment, but, again, plot credibility suffers. I think Big Eyes is worth your time, but only if you're prepared for a little kitsch along the way...

I confess that I cannot represent the following as an entirely objective, nor representative assessment of the quality of "The Big Year". How often does one of the early scenes in a film almost identically replicate an incident in the viewer's life? My introduction to the peculiar world of birding was in the late 1990s at Patagonia State Park in Southern Arizona. We had unsuspectingly selected a camping location that was noted for hosting an enormous variety of birds, and were awakened one morning by a small army of odd looking characters hell-bent on confirming the first reported sighting of the Nutting flycatcher in the United States in several decades. Out of curiosity we joined the chase, and the rest is family history, eerily duplicated by the makers of this film. What followed were many years of exercise, pleasure and reward for one of life's most interesting avocations.

So... how could I not enjoy this fine effort at mixing the allure of this strange "sport" with a thoughtful exploration of human motivation and conflicted choices. I can understand why the faithful fans of Black, Martin and Wilson might be disappointed with this production. But I, for one, have grown infinitely weary of too many superficial, sophomoric attempts at humor through these three capable actors. I was encouraged to see the restraint and depth that they could bring to these characters which provided the necessary credibility for this otherwise improbable tale. The film maintains a near perfect balance of humor, drama, and suspense in a well paced, engaging and uplifting plot. The spectacular photography of an abundance of aesthetically appealing locations is an added bonus.

I count it a big plus when I can walk out of the movie with that "feel good" elation that comes from a pleasant and interesting evening's entertainment. My heart said give it an eight or nine, but my never-ending quest for realistic objectivity resulted in the understated seven. Unless you are of the set that requires demolition derbies and frat humor for your entertainment, go see it. You'll have a good time.

Wonder of wonders. I was prepared to beware The Ides Of March, George Clooney's most recent effort. I am not a fan of the fairy tale, utopian political views that ooze from too many of his films, and was resigned to wasting yet another pittance for the privilege of being annoyed, insulted and riled once again. We otherwise self reliant right wingers seem to be so starved for meritorious entertainment that we repeatedly fork over our hard-earned bucks for the privilege of being serially humiliated by Hollywood's limousine lefties. So it was with resolute heart and jutting chin that I cringed and endured the initial, ritual swipes at the mean old Republicans.

It began so badly that my usually sedate and restrained spouse was heard to yell "hope and change" during Clooney's delivery of an Obama-clone campaign speech, replete with many of the signature, expertly deceptive, liberal bromides. Then came a few unsuccessful and amateurish contrivances to explain implausible character motivations and I was seriously considering the lure of the exit sign and a righteously indignant demand for the return of my admission fee. But patience prevailed and the plot and script began to improve.

The end result is a taut and entertaining adventure into political intrigue, backstabbing and gamesmanship topped off with the perfect maraschino cherry, if not entirely satisfying, ending. But the big surprise to me was not the quality of the product. Clooney, despite his dyslexic politics, is a talented and versatile actor, capable of selecting commendable scripts. No, the big and most welcome surprise of Ides is the fact that Clooney appears in and co-writes a movie in which the despicably irredeemable scalawags are actually the Democrats! Go figure. I can now recommend without hesitation, reservation, nor purpose of evasion, that Ides be nominated for the Oscar for best, and most accurate, documentary of the year.

There are some movies that end "badly" for good reasons. Realism, logic and storyline symmetry are a few justifications for "unhappy" endings. There are many more, which can cause even the most dedicated devotee of positive endings to concede the necessity of the screenwriter's choice. For me, there are few things more frustrating than a film which ends on a tragic note unnecessarily and in apparent contravention of the entire theme of the movie. Duigan wrote a heroin who was assertive, headstrong and outspoken. She was sufficiently strong, principled, smart and courageous to exact physical revenge on a man who abused her friend, and to perform competently as an espionage agent through the German occupation of Paris. Yet when a few brief words informing the French patriots of her position as a British spy and providing them with the sources necessary to confirm that information would have saved her life, the screenwriter would have us believe she sat mute and accepted the coup de gras silently. Give me a break. I can think of no good reason why this film ended poorly, other than the author was a literary masochist or a Shakespeare tragedy wannawriter. If it had ended the way it should have, I would rate it a 7.5. In its present form, it barely deserves a six.

This must be the second in that inspiring trilogy of paranoia, The Constant Conspiracies. Following the never-to-be remembered Constant Gardener, this one, which I will rename The Constant Gusher, is an improvement, barely… but then, what wouldn't be? The color is better, the camera work less jerky, the acting adequate, and this one actually involves a little suspense. Unfortunately, it also mimics the faults of its predecessor while adding a few new ones of its own. Back by popular demand are the schizophrenic suspicions regarding big business, this time substituting noxious, evil oil for poisonous drugs, but retaining that lovable quality of total ignorance of how real world markets function. There was a rumor that Clooney added a 30 pound "pawnch" as a metaphor for the way his character was manipulated like an innocent servile chess pawn, but I think he just likes to eat a lot. This movie is also a primer on the pitfalls of a contrived murky plot line, one of which is that those few in the audience who can follow it cannot hear the dialogue over the rest of the audience's repeated whispers of "whose side is he on?" and "is he a good guy or a bad guy?" If the storyboard lacked clarity, the moral was less than subtle; bad brother likes Americans, good brother doesn't, bad Americans blow up good brother, getting rotund George as an unexpected twofer bonus. Fortunately, the screenwriter never gave us a chance to invest in any of these characters sufficiently to care about any of this, so this film gets a five as a bungled attempt at both entertainment and persuasive propaganda. I can hardly wait for the next one. Will it be The Constant Shopper, exposing Wal-Mart's wicked scheme to promote capitalism and take over the world? Or The Constant Guzzler, revealing the malicious SUV conspiracy of the automakers to end the world through global warming? When Hollywood delves into politics, it is nothing if not predictable. Don't you just love it?

There may have been a time when watching a man stare at a wall or a television was considered entertainment. Although it may be preferable to the crashes and carnage so predominant in too many Hollywood productions these days, it cannot carry a motion picture. I understand that Jarmusch wanted to convey to his audience a sense of the numbness that had become the life of the lead character, but in my opinion he went overboard by what seemed an insufferably long time. It was the wrong prelude to Murray's famous deadpans, which tended to look more like discarded outtakes from TRANSLATION as the film progressed. Despite the sporadically molasses pace, the plot was intriguing, the cast excellent and Murray was, notwithstanding the aforementioned problems, as watchable as ever. The production had considerable potential to which, in my opinion, it failed to fully rise. Still, if one were to give it a second try on some rainy afternoon with nothing else to do, it might do better than the six I gave it.

Aptly named, The Constant Gardener specializes in that staple of all ardent horticulturists, prime steer manure. Oliver Stoned would be proud. Gardener makes JFK looked like a legitimate documentary by comparison. With a plot so preposterous and convoluted that only the most obsessed devotee of limousine liberal preachiness could abide it, it depicts drug companies and their evil triplet cohorts, drug testing firms and African politicians, as premeditated murderers of innocents for profit. Nevermind that deliberately marketing a product that kills the user would be an instant recipe for bankruptcy, the writer feels compelled to manipulate the disenchantment and suspicions of his audience with this most obvious stereotypical absurdity. This film is a perfect example of why movie theater attendance is down 12% this summer. The cinematography is abhorrent; grainy, with color tones hybridized from Salvador Dali and leftovers from a food fight, and the now familiar tedious, trendy jerky camera movements of a palsy victim. The lead characters, played well by Weisz and Fiennes, take the Oscars for irritating repugnance and insipidity, respectively. Her early martyrdom comes as a welcome relief, while his futile finale is much too long in coming. When will screenwriters learn not to use entertainment as a megaphone for their pet political philosophies? The only thing that will save this one is a rototiller.

The tag line says it all. "There are places man was never meant to go." and this movie is one of them. This is the latest in what must be the new refuge of the talentless director and cinematographer. When they don't have the knowhow or the skills for graphic depiction, ... they simply shake the camera. This brilliant advancement covers a number of sins, not the least of which are amateurish action sequences, and unimaginative monsters that look like leftovers from Godzilla Ate Hollywood. Enough already, at least hire a camera person who isn't going through withdrawals. The actors are presentable and do reasonably well with the insipid material. Some of the cave shots are worth a look, but not worth the price of sitting through this formulaic sci monster version of Ishtar Got Wet.

One of two alleged motion pictures that I have voluntarily failed to view to completion in my half century plus of movie attendance. Except for a paltry few humorous moments, one of the most worthless efforts ever put to celluloid. But what else can you expect when you allow a shallow thinking, self congratulatory, egocentric like Beatty to run amok with a typewriter. WB, long a Hollywood darling, exposed himself as the personification of the Emperor's new clothes, and the real life equivalent of Being There's Chauncey. Senseless, gratuitously profane, extravagantly offensive and worst of all, gut wrenchingly boring, to the extent that only the most avid devotees of Beatty's crabbed philosophical views could appreciate it. As it sludged painfully on, getting worse with each scene, I found myself wondering what could possess any homo sapien writer with an IQ above 50 to continue to disgorge this bile with absolutely no smattering of socially redeeming value. Fortunately my psychological defensive mechanisms have succeeded in blurring this grotesque memory over the past seven years to the point where I can now bear to write about it without initiating gross reflux. Can you tell I didn't like it? Want a succinct review? Bullworthless.

Did I miss something or did the writers? The last scene at the jail between Mike and his lawyer accentuates the need for a tangible, independent piece of evidence supporting Mike's version of the events. Mike indicates that he has thought of such evidence but the scene cuts before he reveals what it is. The last scene in the limo shows the villain destroying what appears to be that evidence; a nameplate used in her subterfuge. But was it the evidence Mike had in mind? What about the letter that she wrote to Mike ostensibly from his "wife" threatening to move to town to be near him, which motivated him to join the murder scheme? That would have supplied the needed piece of evidence and I did not notice any scene which showed her destroying it. Isn't this a significant writer's oversight? Or did the writer intentionally put it in and leave it hanging out there to cause viewers like myself to wonder if it would be the source of her undoing? Overall, an engrossing flick, featuring one of those classic characters you love to hate.

One of the most difficult tasks in movie production is to achieve the "credible" fantasy. It is so rarely done that when the movie goer is fortunate enough to stumble across one, the euphoric appreciation becomes the stuff of which cult films are made. The writer must begin with a plot that is intriguing, engaging and mesmerizing to the point that his audience is willing to enthusiastically embrace it despite the fact that they know it could never happen. It must take them to a place where they would love to be, and a place that, outside that theater, they know they will never go. It must walk the narrow path, avoiding manipulation, predictability and silliness, with sufficient logic and serious thought to maintain internal credibility . The basic premise can be outrageously unbelievable as long as the events seem realistic to the viewer within that framework. When the audience can rationalize that despite the unlikelihood of the plot's premise, the events would have occurred and the characters would have reacted as depicted under those circumstances, the writer has done his job. When romance is part of the credible fantasy, the mission is doubly demanding. Here the actors must cast a spell that enthralls their audience to the point that they actually yearn for a fulfillment of the mutual attraction that exists between the characters. To do this requires exceptionally talented directors and actors. Somewhere In Time is one of those extraordinary films that reaches this seldom obtained goal. Not that it is the perfect motion picture, I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of viewing that one yet. But its flaws are so innocent and charming that they actually add to its appeal. In that respect, I guess it is the quintessential day dream. Watch it and enrich your life with a thoroughly enjoyable 103 minutes.