Marlon Wayans plays a struggling college student working several jobs to make ends meet and support his mother and family at the same time he's trying to win an entry-level job at a prestigious Wall Street firm. To make a little extra money, he agrees to be a medical test subject and takes a drug that amplifies all of his senses. The comedy supposedly emanates from his drastic reactions to outrageous stimuli and, to be sure, Wayans is a rubber-faced comic. But the writing is never on a par with his flexibility; even the presence of David Spade as Wayans's nemesis-a smug frat boy who looks down his pointy little nose at Wayans-the movie is never more than sporadically funny. -Marshall Fine.

"This is a diary of hate," pounds out novelist Maurice Bendrix (Ralph Fiennes) on his typewriter as he recounts the lost love of his life in this spiritual memoir (based on Graham Greene's novel) with a startling twist. It's London 1946, and Maurice runs into his achingly dull school friend Henry (Stephen Rea with a perpetually gloomy hangdog expression). Their meeting is brittle, all small talk and chilly, mannered civility beautifully captured by director-screenwriter Neil Jordan (The Crying Game), and it only barely thaws when Henry suggests that his wife Sarah (the luminous Julianne Moore) may be having an affair. Maurice's mind reels back to his passionate affair with Sarah during the war years, which she abruptly broke off two years ago, and gripped with a jealousy that hasn't abated he hires a private detective (a mousy, marvelous Ian Hart) to shadow her movements. He prepares himself for the revelation of a rival, but instead finds a deeper, more profound secret: "I tempted fate," she writes in her diary, "and fate accepted. " Jordan's cool remove captures the unease beneath formal manners but never warms into intimacy during the scenes between the lovers, even while Fiennes and Moore almost explode in repressed emotions, their faces cracking under their masks of civility and their resolve shaking through jittery body language. There's more thought than feeling behind this collision of passion and spirituality, but it's a sincere, richly realized portrait of ennui and rage against God energized by brief moments of shattering drama. -Sean Axmaker.

Richard Lester's 1975 sequel to his romping Three Musketeers-released the year before-reunites his swashbuckling cast for a decidedly less happy and more somber experience. This time, D'Artagnan (Michael York) and his Musketeer mentors (Richard Chamberlain, Oliver Reed, Frank Finlay) have a tougher fight against their old enemies, and the adventure is not without its casualties. But the film is highly entertaining, filled with that same loony air that makes most films by Lester (How I Won the War, A Hard Day's Night, Help!) so much fun. The actors are with him every step of the way: Reed, Chamberlain, Finlay, and York are a heroic version of the Marx brothers, Raquel Welch was never better, and Charlton Heston clearly enjoys playing the evil Cardinal Richelieu. -Tom Keogh.

Toy Soldiers is a slick dose of high-concept absurdity, and lots of fun if you don't think about it afterward. Adapted from a novel by William P. Kennedy, it's got the swift momentum that's a specialty of screenwriter David Koepp, whose later credits include Jurassic Park and Spider-Man. Matching Koepp's narrative energy is director and cowriter Daniel Petrie Jr. , who wrote Beverly Hills Cop, and whose big-screen career stalled after this crowd-pleasing debut. The hokey plot involves a class of prep-school misfits (led by Sean Astin and Wil Wheaton) who use their rebellious ingenuity to foil Colombian terrorists who've taken over their school. The lead villain (Andrew Divoff) demands the return of his extradited drug-lord father (one of the prep students is the residing judge's son), and the inevitable showdown provides a heady mix of nonsense, graphic violence, and military muscle. It shouldn't work but it does, especially if you've got a tolerance for Die Hard clones that barely pass inspection. -Jeff Shannon.

One of the most important fairy tales of East German film production, Wolfgang Staudte's The Story of Little Mook (1953) is a well-crafted work brimming with solid performances, lavish costumes, and authentic scenery. The Arabian tale is of an old hunchback who shares his captivating life story: As an orphan boy named Mook (Thomas Schmidt) he bravely sets out to find the Merchant of Good Fortune. Instead, he stumbles upon a pair of magic slippers and a golden scepter, which help to earn him a position in the Sultan's court-until he becomes a threat to a trio of crafty courtiers. Through kindness, cleverness, and a bit of magic, Little Mook navigates his way through the evils of betrayal and imprisonment to help his friend, Prince Hassan, win the hand of Princess Amarza. The enchanting family film underscores the timeless truths that appearances can be deceiving and good fortune wears many disguises. The film is dubbed in English and suitable for ages 6 and older. -Lynn Gibson.

With Hollywood Ending, Woody Allen good-naturedly bites the hand that feeds him. The modern studio system is a ripe target for Allen’s rapier wit, but the veteran writer-director goes a delicious step further by playing a has-been filmmaker who suffers from psychosomatic blindness-during the production of his big-budget comeback! Rather than sabotage his career, he proceeds to direct the film with guidance from his Chinese cinematographer’s translator, telling his agent (played by another veteran director, Mark Rydell) while hiding the truth from his ex-wife and producer (Téa Leoni), her studio honcho husband (Treat Williams), and his ditzy actress girlfriend (Debra Messing), who has a small role in the film. Chaos ensues-and so does Allen’s predilection for casting much-younger female costars-but Hollywood Ending favors a more contemplative blend of comedy and drama, peppered with memorable punch lines and blessed with, yes, a Hollywood ending that’s as entertaining as the mayhem that precedes it. -Jeff Shannon.

Christian Dior really ought to be considered one of the stars of Indiscreet, director Stanley Donen's consummately glamorous, altogether grown-up love story. The magnificent 1950s "New Look" gowns Dior designed for Ingrid Bergman, herself at the peak of sophistication and loveliness, are a high point of the film's chic, cosmopolitan mise en scène. Bergman plays Anne Kalman, a celebrated actress who's "the envy of everyone who knows her," yet is bored and lonely. Then she meets suave diplomat Philip Adams (Cary Grant), her match in every way: looks, charm, elegance-the works. The electricity is palpable between them and neither makes any attempt to hide that fact. When Anne learns that Philip is an expert on international finance, she's bold enough to crack: "I'm crazy about hard currency. " It's the very maturity of the romance between Anne and Philip that makes this movie so exhilarating, so romantic, and so affecting. When people fall in love at "a certain age" it's much more poignant; much more is at stake. (The film has a truly surprising plot twist, which throws everything into chaos. ) The two "sadder but wiser" stars Bergman and Grant had certainly seen their share of love and heartbreak by this time in their lives, and it shows. [+]