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The most surprising thing about The Bone Collector is not the identity of the titular serial killer (the answer to that question is as ridiculous as they come) but rather the appearance of Denzel Washington as the paralyzed hero. That an actor as good as he would take on dime-store pulp that barely registers as third-rate Silence of the Lambs leads one to believe that despite the "challenge" of playing a quadriplegic, a substantial paycheck might have had a hand in the decision-making process. It couldn't have been the material, which is littered with every illogical, implausible, impossible and unforgivable suspense-thriller cliche that has ever offended at the multiplex. Angelina Jolie, who looks like anything but a beat cop (as if anticipating our skepticism, the movie breathlessly explains that she was a "child model" before she answered the call of law enforcement), acts well enough to assuage our substantial doubts. But her verisimilitude is too little, too late as the ordinary plot chugs along its predictable path until depositing the wearied audience at the foot of a howlingly awful conclusion.

A stylish, virtually epic, and synchronistically informed ensemble piece, Magnolia is surely one of the most challenging films of 1999. Unfortunately, the picture's extreme length and handful of unnecessary side-trips prevent it from attaining the levels of transcendence reached by other recent works (American Beauty and The Straight Story, for example) tackling similar thematic terrain -- morals and responsibilities, life disappointments, family relationships, and the need for love. Employing (it would seem) a dozen or so of the cast members from the superior Boogie Nights, Anderson adds Tom Cruise to the mix in a turn that unquestionably represents the actor's finest work to date. Regardless of its shortcomings (the entire section with kid genius Stanley, played by Jeremy Blackman, felt entirely too much like Little Man Tate), a number of the film's risks -- including a most unexpected kind of rain and the tour-de-force montage employing Aimee Mann's "Wise Up" -- pay off with dazzling results.

Despite some terrific performances (particularly from supporters David Morse and Michael Jeter), Frank Darabont's adaptation of Stephen King's serialized novel The Green Mile falls far short of the director's previous effort, The Shawshank Redemption. Revolving around a series of unusual events taking place on death row of Louisiana's Cold Mountain prison in the mid 1930s, the film focuses on head guard Paul Edgecomb (Tom Hanks), easily cinema's most humane and forgiving penitentiary employee -- who also happens to have a vicious urinary tract infection. Unfortunately, the rest of the formidable cast lines up along one of two polar opposites: either big-hearted and destined for sainthood or malevolent and hateful. This approach robs the characters of much-needed complexity, and infuses the proceedings with a rote predictability just an inch from the borderline of formula. The Green Mile's significant running time (at least a half hour to an hour longer than needed) isn't justified by the subject matter, and the bizarre and unnecessary framing device undoubtedly works better on the page than on the screen.