And maybe the biggest disappointment of all was the waste of Jet Li. He's one of my favorite martial arts stylists. Very little of that here. Really not worth seeing once, even if you enjoyed the first two.

So you can imagine my surprise when I finally bit the bullet to watch this and found myself pretty much blown away by DiCaprio's work.

Now unlike my turning point with, say, Tom Hanks in Da Vinci or Brad Pitt in Devil's Own, I'm not going to be able to say that I might try to re-evaluate my position on DiCaprio's past work. I'm sure my evaluation of his past work is correct: He's not (been) much of an actor. I will say this, however. I'm willing to watch with an unjaundiced eye what DiCaprio does from here on in, to see if he's finally matured into a good actor.

Kate Winslet does not disappoint, by the way. I believe she is easily the finest actress of her generation. Stunningly good, really. So good, yet again, that she really does deserve to be listed with the greatest actresses of all-time.

But to reiterate, especially for those of you who know how I've talked about DeCaprio in the past, this is a must-see for his work as well.

NB: Be in a good mood when you catch this one. I tell you true that this is a draining full-fledged tragedy with little to bring you up from the depths when the final credits roll.

Can there ever be a happy -- a fairy tale -- ending for someone who kills an innocent person? I don't think so. At least not in the literature with which I'm familiar.

Some very powerful performances in this hitman-buddy-road movie -- maybe the best thing Colin Farrell has ever done. Lots of funny scenes and lines in this one, and that helps a lot to offset the rather grim reality of the lives lived in this story.

If I were directing this one, I'd lose the flashback to the killings in the church. It would be more interesting, for me, to have the details of that blundered hit be revealed bit by bit through snatches of dialog at key moments.

While I was watching this Clint Eastwood directed biopic, I kept thinking that 100 years from now, on a TV station like TCM, they'll be able to do a tribute to Clint Eastwood that could go on for months. And in between each movie, they'll interview Eastwood about his ideas when he worked on that particular film. That's right, Clint Eastwood will still be alive, and he'll be in his hundred and seventies. Why? Because he's tough? No, because this is my dream vision, and I never ever want Clint Eastwood to die. I want him to keep on making movies for the next several hundred years. Yes, he misses from time to time, but he hits on a high percentage of his projects.

Angelina Jolie mentioned that after this one wrapped, she got in touch with her agent and said that she'd decided she'll only do films directed by Eastwood from now on. I assume she was joking, but I think I know what she means. This film, like most of Eastwood's biopics, is excellent. Eastwood has a nearly magic touch, especially when he is working with "true" material, that gives a tremendous life energy to the work. This one is right up there in the Eastwood tradition that includes movies like Byrd, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, and Flags of Our Fathers. Some critics call it self-indulgence -- that Eastwood sacrifices a disciplined straight structured shot to the end, opting for a kind of leisurely gander at all the other stories along the way to the final rolling of the credits. I've called that not an undisciplined leisureliness, but a powerful kind of jazz improvisation. If it is sefl-indulgence, hey, he's earned it.

Why spend so much time on the mass murderer's story here? Why? Because it's just as important as the story of his victims and their relatives. It's a beautiful weave -- one of Eastwood's fortes -- that becomes almost self-referentially obvious in the staccato cutback's between the hearing and the trial.

I think Woody Allen would agree: For his contributions past, present, and future, I want Clint Eastwood to live forever.

I guess I could just erase what I've written so far, wait for something better to fill the #1000 review slot, and then slip this one in at #1001. Nah, it's hardly worth the bother.

Okay, I smiled once -- when Coogan blew up, and I hee-hee'd once when the kid got chucked off the bridge -- although Stiller knew that one would work because of the dog-out-the-window scene in There's Something About Mary. Seriously, those are the only two moments that are even remotely funny.

Come on, Binky Boy, dig deep. One great insight for review #1000. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Okay, I give up already. Bor-at me. Oh, I know. Ben Stiller is not his mom or his dad -- not by any stretch of the imagination.

This is not a comedy; it's impossible given the total lack of humor evidenced in putting it together. If you're like me, however, you couldn't help but start laughing at the ridiculousness of this one at some point. I don't remember at what point I started laughing, but I felt badly about it, especially since I kept on laughing at things that I know were supposed to be deadly serious. I hate it when that happens, but what else are we to do with this movie, a total mess that takes itself way too seriously?

Yes, it's always nice to instruct viewers, but instruction should be a motivation that plays a lesser role. Entertainment is what we're always hoping for when we watch a movie, and if we actually learn something along the way, that's like icing on the cake.

This movie is not without some entertainment value -- no Eastwood project ever is -- but it is far too message-driven at far too great a cost to any other purpose.

Up front: Although I'd never read this particular story, I'm a big Le Guin fan from way back.

Count #1: With all due respect to PBS and their great mission, to Ms. Le Guin, and to all the gushing opinions from folks I respect, the original 1980 PBS adaptation of this story, starring Bruce Davison, is not very good at all. With full appreciation for their limited budget and their grand plan, the attempt falls way short of what I'd consider full entertainment value. The acting is, well, not good. And the story is about as chopped up as a south shore swell in the face of hurricane force winds from the north. Argh.

Count #2: This particular adaptation is brilliant; I don't get all the negative criticism. Haas, Caan, and Bonet are very well-suited to their roles, and they work extremely well together. Sheila McCarthy and David Strathairn also provide awesome support playing the embodiment of the dream changed one and the seemingly changed but always cognizantly unchanged one, respectively.

If you must, then watch the first one. Make sure, however, that you watch this one regardless.

There is no doubt in my mind that Gael Garcia is a good-looking young man, but after seeing this Almodóvar outing -- no pun intended -- I can definitely affirm that Gael Garcia is also absolutely one of the most frighteningly beautiful young women Almodovar has delivered to the screen.

Hey, if you're young and have all the time in the world to wade through this narrative morass, more power to you. Me, I'm way too old to care that much about something this ugly. I don't know if Almodovar's treatment of homosexuals is worse than his treatment of transvestites in this project, but I really don't care. It's beyond grotesque.

Miss this one if you don't have all the time in the world left to watch movies.

A dynamite idea -- Aronofsky is good at that. But between the idea and the execution, something happens, and it's not a really good something.

First off, I want to give high praise to Sean Gullette for one very intense, highly believable acting job. Playing someone this obsessed so precisely for any good length of time is most commendable. To sustain this kind of intensity for an hour and a half, he obviously has the right stuff. But what kills me, not just with this movie, but with actors who burn brightly in any insignificant project, is that they just might burn themselves out for nothing. There's a lot to be said for saving yourself for good scripts. For me, there's a big difference between what is "complex" and what is just plain "confused." I hope Gullette gets better chances.

I can't help but think what Ron Howard might have done with this idea. It's the problem of substituting flash for substance. Howard can manage that on the substantive end. Aronofsky has to work on that. Convolution. That's all I can think of. Not faith in chaos -- faith in convolution. That's not theory. That's truly pure faith.

The first star is for Gullette; the second star is for Aronofsky's potential.

Come to think of it, had I seen this one first, I probably would have skipped Machine Girl altogether, which would have been a bad mistake. If you see only one, make it Machine Girl.