Gabriel Byrne plays Father Kiernan, a young Jesuit priest whose degree in chemistry makes him a sort of priest/detective as he investigates weeping Marys and the like around the world. Meanwhile, Frankie (Patricia Arquette), a rave-generation Pittsburgher, is afflicted with the stigmata—holes that appear in her wrists, resembling the wounds of Christ. The young woman's symptoms filter back to the Vatican and Father Kiernan is assigned to the case. The priest is puzzled by Frankie's atheism; usually the stigmata only appear on the devout (hence the age-old controversy of miracles vs. hysteria). Other manifestations appear on Frankie, and the priest's cardinal (Jonathan Pryce) is brought in, leading to political maneuvering within the Church hierarchy. The film owes a large and obvious debt to The Exorcist (at one point, Frankie's bed scoots across the room and she levitates into a crucifix position), but to term it an Exorcist rip-off would be to shortchange Stigmata. The premise and screenplay are more cerebral than in the l973 film, and the source of the phenomenon is coming from a completely different place.

Unfortunately, amid Stigmata's high-octane editing and slick technique, the chills of The Exorcist aren't there, giving the movie a sort of identity crisis: horror movie or intellectual thriller? Several elements of the film challenge basic tenets of the Catholic faith, hence the brief furor that erupted at the time of the film's release; if nothing else, the internal workings of the Church are shown in a very unflattering light indeed. Byrne excels as the skeptical priest, as does Arquette as the tortured young woman. All told, Stigmata is a rather uneven effort, but one with a thought-provoking combination of theology and thrills served up in a thoroughly modern, stylish package. Fans of TV's Ally McBeal will recognize Portia DeRossi in a supporting role. —Jerry Renshaw

Le "Glaude" et le "Bombé", deux paysans retraités du Bourbonnais, chamailleurs, bons vivants et adeptes de concours de flatulences nocturnes, voient leur petite vie bucolique troublée par l'atterrissage inopiné d'une soucoupe volante. Certes, on est loin de Rencontre du troisième type mais cette gauloiserie interstellaire a au moins le mérite de réunir Jean Carmet, Jacques Villeret et Louis de Funès, un trio d'Ovné (Objets Virevoltants Non égalés) du cinéma comique français. Cette adaptation du roman de René Fallet – signée par Jean Halain et Louis de Funès – reste une attendrissante fable cosmique sur fond d'exode rural et d'expropriation terrienne, bref, un X-Files bien d'cheu nous qui fleure bon le terroir. —Arnaud Caire

It's silly, it's superficial, it's so desperately earnest about its tale of time-spanning love that you almost wish for a cheap flatulence gag just to break the solemn mood. But there's something so unabashedly gushy and entertaining about Somewhere in Time that you can't begrudge its enduring popularity. The film has become a staple of romantic-movie lovers since its release in 1980, and endless showings on cable TV have turned it into a dubious classic of sorts—a three-hanky weeper that anyone can enjoy as a guilty pleasure or a beloved favorite, with no apologies necessary.

In his first film after the star-making success of Superman, Christopher Reeve stars as a contemporary playwright who visits a posh hotel and sees the portrait of an actress (Jane Seymour) who had performed there in 1912. He becomes obsessed with this beautiful woman and learns all he can about her, and then discovers a method of hypnotically transporting himself backward in time to meet her. "Is it ... you?" she says upon seeing the lovestruck playwright, and it's clearly a mutual attraction. But even the slightest reminder of the playwright's modern time can jar him from his seemingly real existence in the past, so his wonderful love affair is constantly just a step from being stolen away.

Based on Richard Matheson's novel Bid Time Return, this flaky film may strain one's tolerance for plot holes and corny romance, but it's hard to deny its lasting appeal—and let's face it, guys, it'll make wives and girlfriends swoon if they're in a tearjerker mood. —Jeff Shannon

Whoopi Goldberg returns in a gratuitous, poorly written sequel that contrives a reason to get her character back into Maggie Smith's convent. The "socially conscious" plot finds Goldberg being asked to relate to a bunch of street kids and pull them together into a choir. Since a bad guy is needed, the script grabs that old chestnut about a rich guy (James Coburn) preparing to close down the convent's school, and runs with it. The film is slow and unconvincing from start to finish, although costars Mary Wickes and Kathy Najimy get some good laughs, and the music is pretty spirited. —Tom Keogh

Whoopi Goldberg plays a Reno lounge singer who hides out as a nun when her villainous boyfriend (Harvey Keitel) goes gunning for her. Maggie Smith is the mother superior who has to cope with Whoopi's unorthodox behavior, but the cute script turns the tables and shows how the latter energizes the stodgy convent with song and attitude. A real crowd-pleaser and a perfect vehicle for Goldberg, this is a happy experience all around. —Tom Keogh

Having delved repeatedly into the world of teenage joys and sorrows, from Sixteen Candles to Ferris Bueller's Day Off, writer-director John Hughes took a step into adulthood (or some facsimile of it) with She's Having a Baby. Peppered with whimsical asides and busy voice-over observations, the movie is shamelessly fun to watch, even if it doesn't add up to anything especially profound. Kevin Bacon and Elizabeth McGovern are newlyweds struggling through the tribulations of a youthful marriage. Along with the usual uncertainties, Bacon is sacrificing his dreams of becoming a writer to work in an ad agency, and his best supposed pal (Alec Baldwin, just before stardom) tries to seduce his wife. Hughes may have been reflecting on his own past job in advertising, and maybe that explains why the movie plays like a superficial, if entertaining, TV commercial. —Robert Horton

Saturday Night Fever is one of those movies that comes along and seems to change the cultural temperature in a flash. After the movie's release in 1977, disco ruled the dance floors, and a blow-dried member of a TV-sitcom ensemble became the hottest star in the U.S. For all that, the story is conventional: a 19-year-old Italian American from Brooklyn, Tony Manero (John Travolta), works in a humble paint store and lives with his family. After dark, he becomes the polyester-clad stallion of the local nightclub; Tony's brother, a priest, observes that when Tony hits the dance floor, the crowd parts like the Red Sea before Moses. Director John Badham captures the electric connection between music and dance, and also the desperation that lies beneath Tony's ambitions to break out of his limited world. The soundtrack, which spawned a massively successful album, is dominated by the disco classics of the Bee Gees, including "Staying Alive" (Travolta's theme during the strutting opening) and "Night Fever." The Oscar®-nominated Travolta, plucked from the cast of Welcome Back, Kotter, for his first starring role, is incandescent and unbelievably confident, and his dancing is terrific. Oh, and the white suit rules. —Robert Horton

This "special edition" contains the 25-minute featurette Into the Breach. Besides interviews with the film's actors, there are interviews with D-day veterans and World War II historian Stephen Ambrose. Real D-day footage is edited together with scenes from the film that have been changed to black and white. The highlight is a glimpse of Steven Spielberg's early films. Using his dad's camera and his friends, the teenage Spielberg made two relatively impressive short war films, Escape to Nowhere and Fighter Squad. There are also home movies his dad made while stationed in the Pacific and a short visit with the Nilands, a family that lost four brothers during the war. —Doug Thomas