This film is an intelligent examination of an easygoing doctor (Liam Neeson at his teddy bear best) and his discovery of Nell (Oscar nominee Jodie Foster), a woman who was raised in the woods with no human contact except her speech-impaired mother. The movie covers a familiar "fish out of water" story unlocking Nell's soul (by deciphering her incomprehensible language) and then taking her into the modern world. What makes Nell special is the earnest work by Neeson, Natasha Richardson (as an uptight psychologist), and a rich, small array of supporting members (journeyman Nick Searcy as the town sheriff is marvelous). At its center is another extraordinary job by Foster, who also produced. Director Michael Apted (Thunderheart) brings his regular load of realism into the picture, set aglow by luscious camerawork (by Dante Spinotti) in the hills of North Carolina. Through lyrical speech and gesture, Foster makes you believe she's in another woman's body, akin to Jeff Bridges's work in Starman, a marvelous sight to behold that powers the movie. Written by William Nicholson (Shadowlands) and Mark Handley, based on Handley's play Idioglossia. —Doug Thomas

The second part of Yves Robert's filming of Marcel Pagnol's childhood memoirs completes the narrative so casually begun in My Father's Glory—and fulfills a radiant journey we hadn't even realized we'd embarked on. Marcel is approaching his teens and acquiring a more coherent sense of the world. Accordingly, My Mother's Castle boasts a more concentrated style and unspools its story over (mostly) the space of one year, as opposed to a dozen. Whereas in the first film Robert had worked entirely with little-known players who simply became Marcel's family, here he calls upon screen veterans Jean Rochefort, Jean Carmet, and Georges Wilson to flesh out sharply ironical figures who loom challengingly on the young man's horizon. Consistent with Pagnol's emphasis on Provençal locations, the focal event of the film becomes the weekly walk the Marseilles-based family makes from the trolley station to their remote country cottage—a quintessentially mundane ritual that comes to be fraught with wonder, delight, and terror. It all leads to a payoff that opens the meaning of the title only as the film is reaching its transcendent conclusion. —Richard T. Jameson

Les jeunes lecteurs qui ont aimé, et ils sont nombreux, La Nouvelle Maîtresse et La Mystérieuse Bibliothécaire auront certainement un plaisir immense à voir La Mystérieuse Mademoiselle C., adaptation cinématographique qu’a tirée Richard Ciupka de ces deux romans de Dominique Demers.

Marie-Chantal Perron est un tourbillon de rires et d’émotions dans le rôle de Mademoiselle Charlotte. Délicieuse maîtresse suppléante dans une classe de sixième année à l’école Sainte-Cécile de Sainte-Cécile, elle porte baskets aux pieds, un abat-jour pour chapeau, et se console de ses angoisses en parlant à son caillou Gertrude ou en se laissant entraîner, littéralement, dans les livres. Dominique Pétin et Gildor Roy jouent avec justesse les rôles de l’institutrice bonne mais sévère et du directeur crapuleux. Quant aux jeunes, qui forment la majeure partie de la distribution, ils réussissent le difficile pari de laisser fleurir, sous leur carapace de cancres, les émotions, qualités, craintes et espoirs qui les habitent.

Telle une cousine de Mary Poppins ou de l’institutrice Miss Honey imaginée par Roald Dahl dans son célèbre roman Mathilda, Mademoiselle C. est de ces héroïnes qu’on ne se lasse pas d’entendre rappeler que chaque être humain est digne d’écoute, d’amour et de confiance, particulièrement lorsqu’elles le disent avec autant de vie et d’humour. —Julie Sergent

Just the name "Orient Express" conjures up images of a bygone era. Add an all-star cast (including Sean Connery, Ingrid Bergman, Jacqueline Bisset and Lauren Bacall, to name a few) and Agatha Christie's delicious plot and how can you go wrong? Particularly if you add in Albert Finney as Christie's delightfully pernickety sleuth, Hercule Poirot. Someone has knocked off nasty Richard Widmark on this train trip and, to Poirot's puzzlement, everyone seems to have a motive—just the set-up for a terrific whodunit. Though it seems like an ensemble film, director Sidney Lumet gives each of his stars their own solo and each makes the most of it. Bergman went so far as to win an Oscar for her role. But the real scene-stealer is the ever-reliable Finney as the eccentric detective who never misses a trick. —Marshall Fine

Billy Crystal co-wrote, directed, and starred in this ambitious 1992 comedy-drama about an aged comedian named Buddy Young Jr., whose foul attitude and poor judgment have a strongly negative effect on his career and the people who care for him most. A survivor of the Borscht Belt tradition of stand-up comedians, Buddy's quick with a one-liner but clueless about how to treat people—he's like a cross between George Burns, Milton Berle, and a rabid pit bull. Helen Hunt plays Buddy's tolerant new agent who's been hired to revive his lagging career, but the movie's saving grace is David Paymer's Oscar-nominated performance as Buddy's much-maligned brother, who's helpless to stop Buddy's downward spiral. Having invented the Buddy Young character for his own comedy routines, Crystal knows this comic curmudgeon inside and out, and his show-biz savvy adds much-needed authenticity under layers of phony-looking old-age makeup. The movie works best when it's offering insight into Buddy's lifetime of disappointment, and some of the dialogue is memorably sharp. Crystal can't resist a seemingly forced happy ending, however, and the closing scenes resort to sentimentality that clashes with the rest of the movie. —Jeff Shannon

Readers of John Berendt's bestselling novel, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, were bound to be at least somewhat disappointed by this big-screen adaptation, but despite mixed reaction from critics and audiences, there's still plenty to admire about director Clint Eastwood's take on the material. Readers will surely miss the rich atmosphere and societal detail that Berendt brought to his "Savannah story," and the movie can only scratch the surface of Georgian history, tradition and wealthy decadence underlying Berendt's fact-based murder mystery. Still, Eastwood maintains an assured focus on the wonderful eccentrics of Savannah, most notably a gay Savannah antiques dealer (superbly played by Kevin Spacey), who may or may not have killed his friend and alleged lover (Jude Law). John Cusack plays the Town & Country journalist who arrives in Savannah to find much more than he bargained for—including the city's legendary drag queen Lady Chablis (playing "herself")—and John Lee Hancock's smoothly adapted screenplay succeeds in bringing Berendt's characters vividly to life with plenty of flavourful dialogue. —Jeff Shannon

Meet Dr Michael Hfuhruhurr (Steve Martin), the famous brain surgeon. Perhaps the name is not unfamiliar, though it is unpronounceable; the good doctor is the inventor of the celebrated "screw-top" method of brain surgery, in which the top of the skull twists off as easily as the lid of a pickle jar. The man may be a medical genius, but his talent for love leaves something to be desired, which explains his marriage to a gold-digging vixen (Kathleen Turner). Ah, but Dr. Hfuhruhurr may yet find true love, in the form of the disembodied brain he discovers in the lab of a mad scientist—David Warner, gone the Frankenstein route. (Lovely image: Hfuhruhurr in a rowboat, taking the brain out for a romantic ride on the lake.) Thus, in its own utterly goofy way, does The Man with Two Brains delve into the eternal dilemma of male indecision: does a man fall in love with a woman's body, or with her mind? Along the way, of course, there are gags both highbrow and very, very lowbrow, a mind-body split that might be why critics have tended to prefer the more sophisticated slapstick of All of Me (directed, like this film, by Carl Reiner) and Roxanne among the early Steve Martin outings. Still, this is one of Martin's funniest pictures, and a game Kathleen Turner, fresh off her Body Heat success, ably spoofs her own sultry image. The cerebral love object is voiced by Sissy Spacek. —Robert Horton

Sometimes it's hard to tell if The Mask (or Jim Carrey's in-your-face mugging in general) is actually funny, or just bizarre and grotesque. And sometimes it just doesn't matter. Carrey plays a shy, Jerry Lewis-like nerd who discovers an ancient mask that magically transforms him into a green-faced, zoot-suited Tex Avery cartoon character with no inhibitions. As Roger Ebert said of Carrey in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, the actor performs "as if he's being clocked on an Energy-O-Meter, and paid by the calorie expended." If that's your kind of humor, you'll love The Mask; if not, you may need a valium or two to sit through this one. Digital video disc extras include two deleted scenes and a commentary track from director Charles Russell. —Jim Emerson

"There is no real you," jokes Lynn Margulies (Courtney Love) to her boyfriend, Andy Kaufman (Jim Carrey), as he grows more contemplative during a battle with cancer. "I forgot," he says, playing along, though the question of Kaufman's reality is always at issue in Milos Forman's underappreciated Man on the Moon.

The story of Kaufman's quick rise to fame through early appearances on Saturday Night Live and the conceptual stunts that made his club and concert appearances an instant legend in the irony-fueled 1970s and early '80s, Man on the Moon never makes the mistake of artificially delineating Comic Andy from Private Andy. True, we get to see something of his private interest in meditation and some of the flakier extremes of alternative medicine, but even these interludes suggest the presence of an ultimate con behind apparent miracles of transformation.

Screenwriters Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski (The People vs. Larry Flynt) allege that transformation was Kaufman's purpose—more than a shtick but less than a destiny. As we see him constantly up the ante on the credibility of his performance personae (the obnoxious nightclub comic Tony Clifton; the insulting, misogynistic professional wrestler), Forman makes it harder and harder to detect Kaufman's sleight of hand. But it's there, always there, always the transcendent Andy watching the havoc he creates and the emotions he stirs.

Carrey is magnificent as Kaufman, re-creating uncannily detailed comedy pieces etched in the memory of anyone who remembers the real Andy. But while Carrey's mimicry of Kaufman is flawless and funny, the actor probes much deeper into an enigmatic character who, in life, was often a moving target even for those closest to him. —Tom Keogh