Angie Errigo

Disappointing given the talent and situation, dull as ditchwater and historically suspect, another "The King's Speech" it definitely is not. Nice costumes, though.

Cards on the table: rock operas pretty much suck except for "Tommy."

Okay for those who dote on ‘classics illustrated’ in the Merchant Ivory line, but not as fluid as all that.

Made more than two years ago, this is nowhere near as well thought out as its predecessor ["Boyz N The Hood,"] and is far more strained in making its point.

Be warned - Damon isn't in this one.

Beautifully presented but over-long and best appreciated if you already have an idea of van Gogh's life and work.

There is scarcely a laugh to be had unless you are six years old or immoderately fond of such wheezes as depositing dog poop on a white carpet.

All along, of course, we are supposed to realise they're made for each other, except that that's a little hard to swallow when there's so little chemistry between them.

It's just too tempting to dismiss it as extremely long and incredibly disappointing. It's challenging, divisive and has moments of beauty but leaves you cold.

The ambitious, initially intriguing Dead Again fails so spectacularly it may well become the fetish of a camp cult.

Remote, murky and interminable.

Sleepwalkers, Steven King's first original screenplay, is horror filmmaking by numbers. It has monster fiends, a few swooshing tracking shots, many a touch lifted from every self-respecting vampire movie ever made, and several weak but intentional laughs to indicate that no one here is taking the thing too seriously.

While the supporting actors are engaging, the turgid screenplay lets the whole thing down.

While Landau, Aiello and a brief appearance by Christopher Walken do perk things up, it's a tediously indulgent, redundant work.

Commercially it looks a disaster. Artistically, if very far from a triumph, it’s interesting, almost held together by its charismatic stars.

On such a limited level this delivers; if you take the kids, leave them to it.

Sadly, this will not go down as one of Brooks' classics.

This plays like a collection of translated, stylised scenes rather than a seamless narrative that arouses one's sympathy with Finn or forbearance for Estella. File under well-meaning failures.

There is nothing reprehensible about Palmetto; it simply falls short of conviction because you're too aware you've seen it all a hundred times before.

There's lo-fi charm in the musical numbers and heartfelt turns from the young cast but the story drifts along without offering much that we haven't seen before.

By the time everyone's done their darnedest to undermine this romance and the tirelessly selfless St. Danny has begun to contemplate cutting the apron strings, they've all nearly worn out their welcome. It's simple, sweet and uninspired.

Pretty as a picture, but emptyheaded as hell.

Despite some smart, brittle dialogue and the classy cast, this seldom rises above the routine and is basically a bittired and terribly 60's.

Another "Hangover" was too much to hope for, especially as this was scripted by committee. It's a bit funny but also quite a bit nasty.

A prime example of what works in a book not working in a film.

A wasted effort with a limp storyline that fails to do Michael Crichton's book justice.

A bold but ultimately doomed effort that will irritate all but cultists of the bizarre and the most rabid fans of Mr. Cage.

Williams' virtuoso hijinking and Daniels' Huggy Bearish bonhomie save this from complete ignominy, but we’ve seen it all before.

While the kids may sing a storm when at last they get down to mixing Beethoven, gospel and rap, in the good clean fun department this is monumentally weak and derivative.

The jokes start wearing thin, and most of the noisy characters become rather tedious well before the rag-bag of thesps finally pitch up on Broadway.

In some quarters this will doubtless be hailed as "gritty" and "realistic". Movies about junkies just aren't much fun, however, and to be really powerful or tragic they need to be a lot less hack­neyed and directed with more inspira­tion than this.

Ambitious but very tedious and talkatively hackneyed, redeemed just a smidge by the money shots of a swarm of extras on horseback sweeping across the sands.

A note to Fonda: even thin, fabulous 67-year-olds shouldn't wear strapless gowns. It's scary.

One comes out of this fragmentary documentary about the King Of Cool’s passion for motor racing liking him much less than one did going in.

Relentlessly ugly, preposterous and hackneyed of dialogue: guilty on all counts. It will do well, then.

It’s sufficiently well done to qualify as cute, quite the thing for a girlie outing with grub after, but it’s utterly phoney baloney.

What sounded like a bad idea before it started shooting, proves such an atrocity that it makes her last effort, The Beverly Hillbillies, look almost Oscar-worthy.

Boring and Silly, Ronin is a better example of Frankenheimer's direction.

The bastard offspring of a charmless romcom and a toothless political satire.