Andy Klein

Ninety percent of this thriller is absolutely terrific; but the 10 percent that fails is so troubling that it threatens to undermine all that is wonderful in the rest.

Hope Floats comes lumbering along, scourging all in its path with saccharine sentimentality and bogus emotions.

Instead of gags, we’re treated to endless observations about love, commitment, romance, parental responsibilities, and other well-trod subjects. None of this is particularly insightful or interesting.

It's not really a kids' film, nor it is particularly funny, by either design or execution. It is, rather, Columbus' latest attempt at a comically tinged tearjerker.

Nearly every attempt at humor in this witless, completely reprehensible "movie" is mean-spirited and stupidly conceived at the expense of some group that deserves better.

All the new plot stuff is way old hat, as though straight from a textbook chapter called "Conflict Drives Your Narrative!" And at times the motivations are either unclear or senseless.

This is as close to a total wipeout as can be imagined.

Jones seems to have trouble keeping up with the large amount of action he's required to participate in. And Del Toro seems ill-cast and ill-used.

There is nothing particularly interesting about either the people or the situations. Barrial might as well have filmed ANY body.

What Ichaso does do is take us on a dizzying, constantly moving ride through an exciting decade in the blossoming of "Nuyorican" culture with its most flamboyant figure as our focus.

Fact is, there is nothing feloniously awful about the whole thing, but the laughs are tepid and too infrequent.

It's pretty good fun, once it gets going, but still makes some of the same mistakes that have plagued other Hollywood films that interpolate the concepts of Hong Kong action.

While the humor is recognizably Plympton, he has actually bothered to construct a real story this time, and the joke sequences are shorter and better integrated. The visual style is also richer and "better drawn" than before.

It's perfectly effective, though only rarely inspired.

Williams is so unique that his presence automatically changes any project he stars in. Surprisingly, in this case, the change isn't particularly welcome.

This really should have gone straight to video--or, better yet, to the nearest landfill.

The result is by no means the embarrassment that many such offerings from unjustifiably vain actor-auteurs have been, but nor does it present much of anything new or compelling to demand one's attention.

Comes across as artificial.

Inert, unfunny, and not even interesting as a dirty movie, 8 1/2 Women could well rank as one of the worst films of the year.

The underlying theme constantly changes shape, not in a way that seems rich in ambiguity, but in a way that seems poorly worked out.

With virtually no interesting elements for an audience to focus on, Chelsea Walls is a triple-espresso endurance challenge.

Nowhere near as bad as distributor New Line seems to think.

As worthless a piece of garbage as we've seen this year.

This use of narrative irony is in fact not just the central joke; it's the only joke. And as a result, the movie slightly overstays its welcome.

This is after all a romantic comedy, not a romantic tragedy, though you might not realize it since it’s almost devoid of humor.

Goes by relatively swiftly and painlessly, despite the completely ragtag nature of its construction, but there is not an inspired moment in it.

It's hard not to warm to a film that features William Shatner (playing himself) looking at De Niro's character and complaining about what a lousy actor he is.

Manages the seemingly impossible task of being very funny indeed and being as dark as anything Wong has ever made. This is an almost painfully bleak comedy that makes you squirm in the manner of “The Out-of-Towners.”

A mostly well-constructed action flick with a number of flashy, well-choreographed fight and chase scenes.

When emotion is called for, Cassavetes drags out every tear-jerking moment beyond the point of tolerability.

Boll uses a lot of quick cutting and blurry step-printing to goose things up, but dopey dialogue and sometimes inadequate performances kill the effect.

The film is reasonably entertaining, though it begins to drag two-thirds through, when the melodramatic aspects start to overtake the comedy.

This is not exactly original, but Schaeffer and his cast manage to make it tolerable.

In the real audience with which I watched it, the only laughs were from kids under eight or nine, mostly at hilarious "hooter" jokes.

If a movie is going to be so totally derivative, it should at least do a better job of it.

Indeed, the best that can be said about The Majestic is that it may boost Capra's reputation by virtue of comparison. Apparently, it's not so easy to weave that kind of magic.

Has an awkwardness that defeats whatever emotional involvement it tries to achieve.

It would be heartening if the adolescent girls of America turned their backs on this pandering piece of kitsch, but that would be hoping too much.

Nobody involved will want to make this banal "comedy" a highlight of their résumé, not if they have any sense.

Kay doesn't seem to know the meaning of moderation.

First, the good news: Unlike most action film sequels, Speed 2: Cruise Control is not a mere retread of the original. Now the bad news: Better it had been.

Generally engaging.

An uninspired, standard-issue mimeo whose only distinguishing feature is a reversal in its casting.

Given how uninvolving Summer Catch is, the truly remarkable pitching here was not so much on the mound as in the executive office where someone convinced Warner Bros. to green-light this turkey, which should have been called Good Will Hitting.

The plot can be really tough to follow, in part because Banderas' accent, rarely a problem in recent years, is surprisingly hard to understand at crucial moments, and partly because it's tough to keep track of just who's working for whom...and why...and even where.

On the up side, there are some genuinely funny jokes, and Oedekerk has been wise enough to keep the running time down to 82 minutes, including the eight-minute closing credit sequence (which is worth staying through its entirety). But Kung Pow! is no "What's Up, Tiger Lily?"

The acting tends toward the cartoonish (not in a good way), and the story is built on a series of illogical motivations.

The film is overwrought, slow, and portentous, with confusing surreal elements and a narrative time scheme that's impossible to keep track of.

Despite some savvy camera movement, the production values obviously can't match American action films made for a hundred times the budget. Still, Hatamikia has put together a gripping drama that balances visceral suspense and interesting ideas.

I still think the first is the best in the series, but I'm in the minority: Number two has a stronger following among the legions of Hong Kong movie buffs.