What a difference a few years can make. The Desert Fox, released six years after the end of World War II, is a solemnly respectful tribute to Erwin Rommel, Germany's most celebrated military genius. James Mason's portrayal of this gallant warrior became a highlight of his career iconography. The film itself is oddly disjointed: a precredit commando raid to liquidate Rommel is followed by a flashback to the field-marshal's lightning successes commanding the Afrika Korps—-a compressed account via documentary footage and copious narration (spoken by Michael Rennie, who also dubs Desmond Young, the Rommel biographer and onetime British POW appearing briefly as himself). The dramatic core is Rommel's growing disenchantment with Hitler (Luther Adler), his involvement in the plot to assassinate der Führer, and his subsequent martyrdom. Mason's Rommel returned two years later for a flamboyant, mostly German-speaking cameo in The Desert Rats, a prequel focusing on the battle for Tobruk. -Richard T. Jameson.

The 1970s were difficult years for the great Japanese director Akira Kurosawa. Following the box-office failure of his 1970 film Dodes'ka-den and an unsuccessful suicide attempt, Kurosawa was unable to find financial backing in Japan, and he made his acclaimed 1975 film Dersu Uzala in Siberia with Russian financing. With only partial Japanese backing for his epic project Kagemusha, the 70-year-old master then found American support from George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola, who served as coexecutive producers (through 20th Century Fox) for this magnificent 1980 production-to that date the most expensive film in Japanese history. Set in the late 16th century, Kagemusha centers on the Takeda clan, one of three warlord clans battling for control of Japan at the end of the feudal period. When Lord Shingen (Tatsuya Nakadai), head of the Takeda clan, is mortally wounded in battle and near death, he orders that his death be kept secret and that his "kagemusha"-or "shadow warrior"-take his place for a period of three years to prevent clan disruption and enemy takeover. The identical double is a petty thief (also played by Nakadai) spared from execution due to his uncanny resemblance to Lord Shingen-but his true identity cannot prevent the tides of fate from rising over the Takeda clan in a climactic scene of battlefield devastation. Through stunning visuals and meticulous attention to every physical and stylistic detail, Kurosawa made a film that restored his status as Japan's greatest filmmaker, and the success of Kagemusha enabled the director to make his 1985 masterpiece, Ran. -Jeff Shannon.

Saturday Night Fever it's not-call it more like Sunday Morning Leftovers. This portrait of the legendary Manhattan disco and its colorful cofounder, Steve Rubell, plays like the outtakes of a much more interesting film-where's the sex, the drugs, the classic disco music? (It shouldn't surprise viewers that Miramax and writer-director Mark Christopher had a falling-out over the final cut of the film; Miramax prevailed. ) Considering that the essence of Studio 54 was about the rich and beautiful, it seems a bit unwise to focus on the poor and only-somewhat-beautiful, namely Shane (Ryan Phillippe), a Jersey boy who gets taken in by the razzle-dazzle of the disco era. Crossing the river, Shane finds another, more exciting life at Studio 54 as a shirtless bartender, and soon finds himself partying with the crème de la crème-and smitten with comely soap star Julie (Neve Campbell). The permutations of the story are familiar; if you've never seen VH1's Behind the Music documentary take on Studio 54 you'll find this film enjoyable, but unlike that exhaustive portrait, too many elements are missing. Most of Phillippe's performance seems to have ended up on the cutting-room floor (although his chiseled torso gets maximum exposure), Campbell's role is basically a glorified cameo, and Breckin Meyer and Salma Hayek, as Phillippe's only true pals, are wasted. The one true gem of the film, though, is Mike Myers's take on the late Steve Rubell, an inspired high-wire performance that balances humor and tragedy without ever giving in to camp or pathos. Had this been a more well-received movie, he'd be remembered come Oscar time-his drunken proposition of Philippe is a minor treasure. The soundtrack does feature some unknown chestnuts and a few new remixes, including an inspired disco version of-believe it or not-Gordon Lightfoot's "If You Could Read My Mind. " -Mark Englehart.

White is the second of witty Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowki's "three colors" trilogy Blue, White, and Red-the three colors of the French flag, symbolizing liberty, equality, and fraternity. White is an ironic comedy brimming over with the hard laughs of despair, ecstasy, ambition, and longing played in a minor key. Down-and-out Polish immigrant Karol Karol is desperate to get out of France. He's obsessed with his French soon-to-be ex-wife (Before Sunrise's Julie Delpy), his French bank account is frozen, and he's fed up with the inequality of it all. Penniless, he convinces a fellow Pole to smuggle him home in a suitcase-which then gets stolen from the airport. The unhappy thieves beat him and dump him in a snowy rock pit. Things can only get better, right? The story evolves into a wickedly funny antiromance, an inverse Romeo and Juliet. Because it's in two foreign languages, the dialogue can be occasionally hard to follow, but some of the most genuinely funny and touching moments need no verbal explanation. -Grant Balfour.

A movie only a kid could love, which was the whole point. Harvey Keitel plays a small-time thief who performs as an organ grinder on the boardwalk at Venice Beach. His scam involves his monkey, which has been trained to pick pockets. Now a mob boss wants to borrow the monkey to pull off some big scores-but the monkey runs away and is adopted by a lonely little girl (Thora Birch). She finds herself in increasingly hot water when her new pet starts bringing her the valuables of everyone in the neighborhood. Birch is a natural young actress, while Keitel hams it up shamelessly (he reportedly made the film to amuse his young daughter). -Marshall Fine.

David Schwimmer plays a drifting twentysomething who receives a telephone call out of the blue to be a pallbearer at the funeral of someone he supposedly knew in school. Trouble is, the caller has mistaken Schwimmer's character for someone else, but our hapless hero-who still lives with his mother at home-doesn't know how to say no. An encounter with the dead man's mother (Barbara Hershey) leads to a sexual relationship, while an old flame (Gwyneth Paltrow) from high school is suddenly on the horizon if only Schwimmer's loser character can quickly get his act together. This umpteenth variation on the Oedipal conflicts in Mike Nichols's The Graduate doesn't have the imagination, vitality, or authority to take classic themes about growing up all the way to the finish line. But in its brooding, comic way, it is honest about the difficulties of crossing the line into adulthood when one doesn't know how. -Tom Keogh.