Don't waste this one on your children: buy it for yourself. A spectacular adaptation of the Anna Sewell novel, this is faithful to the source material but creates a life of its own on the screen. Told from the point of view of the horse, it recalls a time and a place that could be both beautiful and cruel. Black Beauty faced both hardship and kindness as he passed through the hands of many owners throughout his life. Some are generous, but the agonies endured by the title character may be too harsh for small children. Unfortunately, director Caroline Thompson did not resurrect her magical touch a few years later with another animal tale, Buddy. -Rochelle O'Gorman.

An oddball love story about a fey loner named Sam (Johnny Depp), who falls in love with the mentally unbalanced Joon (Mary Stuart Masterson), who lives in the care of her protective brother Benny (Aidan Quinn). This 1993 story is hard to swallow, with its message that love can conquer a brand of mental illness that manifests itself in pyromania: Joon has a bad habit of going a bit around the bend and setting fires, but Sam's tender care apparently has the cure for what ails her. Still, if you want proof that Depp has significant chops as a physical comedian, give this film a try: He does note-perfect renditions of slapstick routines made famous by Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. -Marshall Fine.

The final film by the legendary director Howard Hawks, released in 1970, found him paired with longtime leading man John Wayne in a story slightly similar to their more familiar Rio Bravo and El Dorado. Set at the end of the Civil War, the story finds Wayne playing a Union army colonel who recovers some stolen gold and roots out a traitor. Though a little creaky (Hawks had been making films since 1926), Rio Lobo nevertheless has his trademark, crackling dialogue, appealing characters, and ensemble spirit among the cast. This was a worthy finish to a fantastic career by a first-rank filmmaker. -Tom Keogh.

This film and Hello Dolly were the knockout blows to the studio movie musical, but Paint doesn't deserve its tarnished name. Ben Rumson (Lee Marvin) takes the model of a rakish derelict to an unequaled high as a prospector who teams up with a greenhorn named Pardner (Clint Eastwood), and they both end up marrying the same scorned woman (Jean Seberg). No-Name City, the prospecting town they found, is Sodom and Gomorrah without the camels, and a vision of humanity left to its own devices. The songs are mostly wonderful melodies from Lerner and Loewe, with definite high points, notably "They Call the Wind Maria" and "Wand'rin' Star. " Clint Eastwood always gets flack for his versions of "I Still See Elisa" and "I Talk to the Trees," but that scorn is equally undeserved. Perhaps Paint's biggest sin, in retrospect, was trying to combine the aesthetics of the musical with the aesthetics of the male protagonists' world-weary machismo. Not the easiest task, but Paint pulls it off. -Keith Simanton.

Canadian writer-director Thom Fitzgerald won awards for this unusual memory piece about a gay man (Chris Leavins) who returns home to his sister's wedding and the garden where he may or may not have made a tragic decision as an unhappy teen. Fitzgerald alters reality and indulges in quirks without any comment: past and present mingle, the eyes of statues move, and the whole thing drips with rain, portent, and an unpredictable sense of humor. His film will frustrate anyone wanting easy answers (or, in some cases, any answers at all) and it is, perhaps, aggressively unconventional. But its raw edges have a freshness to them, and Fitzgerald's people and events feel unusually alive (Kerry Fox is particularly fine as the brassy sibling). He doesn't view his characters in one dimension, seeing them instead as ever-blooming creatures of history, dreams, superstition, and regret. -Steve Wiecking.

A romantic drama in the Masterpiece Theater vein, this John Madden film looks at the relationship between Queen Victoria and John Brown, a commoner who, though a servant, becomes her closest friend and confidant. As such, he proves the catalyst to bring her back into public life and out of her private mourning for the late Prince Albert. But the closeness of their friendship sets tongues wagging about the impropriety of what appears to be an affair between queen and commoner (an issue the film never directly addresses). The film's charm lies in the flinty give-and-take between the wonderfully starchy Judi Dench as Victoria and the robust Scottish comedian Billy Connolly, here playing it straight as a strong-willed Scotsman who comes to enjoy the power he wields by virtue of having the queen's ear. Antony Sher is also striking as Prime Minister Disraeli, in a performance that all but shimmers with unspoken malice. -Marshall Fine.

This compelling 1992 drama is often cited as the third film in writer-director Paul Schrader's trilogy of "nocturnal alienation" that includes Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver (which Schrader wrote) and American Gigolo. Like those other films, this one deals with a solitary man who works almost exclusively at night, and the film immerses us in the rhythms and psychology of his lifestyle. In this case, Willem Dafoe plays a cocaine addict who has kicked the habit that almost killed him, but still delivers drugs to clients for a dealer (Susan Sarandon) who dreams of opening a legitimate cosmetics business. He meets an old lover (Dana Delany) who fears he will draw her into their old life of drug abuse, but that proves to be the least of their worries. Simultaneously sad, funny, and fascinating, the film inevitably leads to the outburst of violence that has become a kind of signature in Schrader's work. It lacks the visceral impact of Taxi Driver, but few directors can match Schrader's gift for creating fully realized characters on the fringes of a society to which they don't quite belong. Insomnia, in Schrader's world, is a condition suffered by those whose dreams remain elusive, just beyond their grasp. -Jeff Shannon.