Charles Taylor

Love's Labour's Lost is flawed, but Kenneth Branagh remains our greatest living interpreter of Shakespeare.

A time-waster with some enjoyably empty zip.

Didactic, clumsily directed and abysmally acted, never lets go of its intellectualized approach long enough to deliver any real kinetic thrills.

The whole movie is overbright, overloud, antic, telling us the characters and animals are endearing rather than allowing them to reveal themselves as such.

The bitterness of her new comedy, Loser, comes as a shock. It's not a mean-spirited movie.

The movie is so thoroughly lousy. It's loud, brash and obvious, full of car chases and explosions and gunplay.

Isn't particularly offensive, except in its total mediocrity.

What's missing -- apart, of course, from a plot -- is any character development.

Such an inept bundle of work -- crying out for the filmmaking equivalent of Ritalin, but still sluggish as syrup -- that it doesn't even provide an opportunity to ogle properly.

It's a flat, clumsy piece of filmmaking. When Phillippe and Ward are in bed, the shots are so badly matched that I believed they were having sex, just not with each other.

Even dressed up in tabloid lighting and cut with jagged edits, this pulp nihilism never goes beyond daytime TV banality.

Isn't particularly assaultive, but it can still make you feel that you never want to see another car chase, explosion or gunfight again.

"Star Wars" fans deserve better.

The irony of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is that it has the most literate pedigree of any action movie you're likely to see this year or next -- and it's been made by people who seem to have no sense of how to tell a story.

It's like receiving a box of Valentine's chocolates in which someone has deliberately hidden ground glass. Flee.

Jackie Chan is thoroughly wasted in a bad suit and a witless comedy.

The problem with She Hate Me is that there's no playfulness in Lee's provocations. He doesn't have the style or the naughty joie de vivre that you need to make a sex farce.

Such a blatant imitation of Adrian Lyne's Reaganite thriller that the only thing you can be grateful for is that it's far too clumsy to get people arguing about it or taking it seriously.

Penn's portrayal strikes me as equally insensitive. It's the nightmare performance of 2001.

One of those movies that makes you feel as if the national IQ was dropping while you're watching it. It's the return of all the homiletic clichés about an America that never existed.

There isn't a frame of The Musketeer that's believable even as a Hollywood re-creation of a fantasy world. It's conventionally picturesque, except in the nighttime and interior scenes, which are dark to the point of glaucoma.

Totally unwatchable if it weren't for Ashley Judd.

The most dispiriting thing about Gloria is that it's further evidence that filmmakers just don't know what to do with Sharon Stone.

There's a vacancy in The Million Dollar Hotel, and it's between Wim Wenders' ears.

The movie is flat-footed, and the pacing gives you time to rest between laughs.

I think you'd have to be comatose or mentally incompetent not to find Enough ludicrous.

Who cares about old guys and young girls? This handsome romantic slop finds other problems.

Stallone returns in a gangster remake that wears itself (and the audience) out trying to be cutting-edge stylish.