Connie Ogle

What's missing most in the film, though, is a palpable sense of tension.

Guggenheim managed to turn a Power Point presentation into a crowd-pleasing Academy Award winner, but he can't do much to free Gracie from its constraints and clichés.

What most hurts The Day After Tomorrow is its unfortunate, lecturing tone.

Schwarzenegger doesn't at all seem too old for the part; his bulging muscles still fill the action-hero's suit just fine. It's what he's doing that is tired and, maybe, played out.

The uneven Goldmember seems to take a big step toward the extremely juvenile, with more scatological and fewer sex jokes

Unfortunately, Insurgent can’t quite live up to its intriguing set up. Even if you’re curious about it, the movie is often plodding and frequently nonsensical, with action that never feels novel or exciting.

If you're not a rabid fan of Texas hold 'em -- the poker phenomenon that swept the country a couple of years ago but is hardly cutting edge now -- you might want to step quickly away from Lucky You.

Just amusing enough to provoke a few chuckles and just short enough to keep you from glancing at your watch.

Put in such an uncomfortable position, the audience needs something to fall back on, like chemistry between its stars. Here that's half-hearted at best.

The idea of Arnold Schwarzenegger as a small town sheriff is ludicrous, but then that's the whole point of his new movie: It's dumb fun, emphasis on the dumb.

Wild Hogs is a paint-by-numbers comedy, borrowing most of its broad strokes from sitcoms, and not clever ones like "The Office" and 3"0 Rock," either.

The script is so pre-determined it seems generated by a computer program, not human beings.

The girls who adore the likable Everygirl Bynes will find a lot to enjoy about the film, especially the boys who look as though they just were lounging around the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog.

Its frights are not that chilling or original, its secrets more run-of-the-mill than astounding.

Entertaining in spite of itself.

A tepid sort of romantic comedy, with lengthy stretches during which nothing much happens punctuated by bouts of paralyzing boredom or, on rare occasions, random but fleeting hilarity.

17 Girls is allegedly inspired by true events, but this diffident, dreamy film is so insubstantial it's hard to believe there's a speck of reality to be found in it.

In the thriller Into the Blue, the Bahamian waters dazzle the eye. They are breathtaking and welcoming, possessing mysterious depths. The same cannot be said for the film's stars, Paul Walker and Jessica Alba, who are every bit as gorgeous as the scenery but not quite so profound.

Twisted is a movie so derivative it's hard to pinpoint exactly how many other thrillers it poaches from.

Gridiron Gang is not imaginative, but neither is it painful to watch.

The racing itself is entertaining enough, though it's not so mesmerizing as the shorter, more focused competition in the far-superior "Seabiscuit."

It's the cinematic equivalent of Bon Jovi's You Give Love a Bad Name: You know in your heart it's a crappy song, and every wince-inducing line is an affront to your intelligence, but hey, it's on the radio, so you turn up the volume and sing along anyway.

A competent but utterly unnecessary retelling of the story.

For all its pretension and artiness, Blindness is more like M. Night Shyamalan's "The Happening" (which at least had the decency to be fast-paced and short), right down to its upbeat and inane conclusion.

The Great Debaters keeps things on the surface and pushes the obvious buttons, hoping you won't notice its distinct lack of depth.

Observe and Report conveys an essential truth about Rogen: Like every other actor on the planet, he needs good material to do good work.

Trailers make it seem as though Radio is all about football, but it's not, and once the film leaves the fall sport behind it wanders around in no particular direction until it reaches an abrupt, poorly executed ending.

What we're left with is an unfocused, rambling concept that lumbers off the ground but never really soars to the level of lunacy it could, especially at the afterthought of an ending, which is nonsensical at best.

There’s potential here, a decent story and a cast well-stocked with grownup cinematic luminaries. But this supernatural Gothic romance is a prisoner of its own demons, which include sketchy Southern accents, tacky and tired stereotypes and faux homespun dialogue in the wrong mouths.

You won't necessarily applaud The Notebook's excesses, but its final moments of grace will leave you in a sodden heap on the theater floor.

The film is weighted down by a dour sensibility at odds with the book's insouciant charm.

A well-acted, well-crafted but excruciatingly tepid romantic film about a subject that will attract poetry lovers and yet test even their considerable patience.

The idea of cracking a secret message from the enemy during war is thrilling; making the process interesting to watch is more problematic.

As a film, though, Gimme Shelter is unremarkable, a predictable story of redemption that happens awfully fast, to a girl who only seems to be in peril briefly — and has a rich dad to bail her out.

The good news is the updated version is scarier than the original, thanks to snazzier special effects, a shorter running time, moody lighting, a few solid jolts and one icky moment involving a bratty babysitter and a closet. The bad news is the film rehashes every horror movie cliché you can imagine.

You should know right up front that even if you realize you're being manipulated you are probably going to weep anyway.

Neither scary nor thrilling, although it's reasonably entertaining despite an abundance of haunted-house clichés, the usual inexplicable scary-movie behavior and an almost-naked John Hurt.

The fact that License to Wed isn't as unbearable as its trailers make it look doesn't mean it's good. It's not. It's just another mediocre addition -- worse than the best sitcoms, better than the worst.

If Magic Mike XXL is bulging with anything, it’s inane conversation.

The film relies a bit too much on the humor of older women flipping each other off and mouthing obscenities, although it is hilarious to see the usually proper Smith frantically chopping up a roofie to slip into Sidda's drink.

It's fitting. Valentin and Jane may be awakening from life's slumber, but mostly they're just putting us to sleep.

Mostly due to luminous writing, Baxter's novel evoked a sense of magic, but this Feast, though never completely uninteresting, leaves you hungry for enchantment.

Together (Hunter/Murphy) they're actually sort of fun to watch, and it's amusing to realize, not quite halfway through the film, that its most potent chemistry exists between them.

The real Guerin deserves a more complete cinematic tribute.

This movie couldn’t be more fantastical if dragons swooped down and incinerated London, Paris and the south of France.

It's a disappointing chapter in what until now has been a highly entertaining, even thought-provoking series.

While there are some genuinely creepy moments, it never truly ends up as more than an average "X-Files" episode.

Won't surprise you, but it's more tolerable than the grating, garish, millinery-challenged Cat. Besides, a cadaverous Terence Stamp trumps a glossy Alec Baldwin as a bad guy any day.

The overwhelming sensation of deja vu is exhausting and disorienting. You really HAVE seen it all before.

Something Borrowed commits the most fatal mistake of all: Its characters are so deeply uninteresting that the audience can't get invested in their eventual happiness.

There was, however, another question the screenwriter should have asked: Why does the script focus on the wrong couple?

Soon settles down into a drizzle of steady mediocrity, never living up to all the frenzy of those first few moments.

Once in a great while, a film of insight and wisdom defines a generation. Step Up is not that film. Instead, it's the sort of mildly entertaining movie that comes along a couple of times a year.

Assassination Tango offers little heat. In dancing with death, Duvall stumbles a few too many times.

Just one more in the plague of weak Cinderella stories released in the past year. It's too sugary to be good for you, but in the end, its over-the-top sweetness won't kill you.

Assange is a compelling figure that merited a better effort.

Mostly, by story's end, we're just glad they and their unfortunate clothing are out of our sight for good.

The body part joke to alien joke ratio seems slightly skewed in favor of the former, which makes the humor more than a little repetitive. How many different ways can one film say: "Men are idiots"?

New Year's Eve is not unbearable. It's not bad, but it's not good, either. It delivers exactly what you expect: pretty faces, shallow romance and a mythical fanaticism about an event in a friendly Manhattan unblemished by hyper-vigilant security measures, obnoxious drunks or New York Jets fans.

An incredibly lazy movie -- but not an unbearable one, thanks to Aaron Eckhart's charm.

With more time and a dash more cynicism, the film just might have achieved the thrilling allure of Becky Sharp's perfectly icy heart.

Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby is a failure that should have at least been a magnificent mistake, a risky endeavor that showed a daring intent even if its brash vision didn’t quite succeed. Instead, the movie leaves you cold and weary and vaguely disgusted.

Right now, this goofy film is the best candidate for mindless, enjoyable laughs.

The bigger problem with the film, which is genuinely unnerving at times, is what happens when the cavers are not in immediate peril, because they talk.

Something of an overlong, overblown, disorganized mess, despite being slightly better than its predecessor.

In the end Secret Window asks too much, demands allegiance when only incredulity can be mustered.

Anything but light on its feet. It lumbers instead of dazzles, drags where it should feint and jab.

Allegedly it's based on a true story, which is believable only because the outcome is so unsatisfying it carries the dull metallic tang of real-life ambiguity. And that's neither scary nor stimulating.

The first film was tedious in the extreme; Monsters Unleashed, though it feels way too long and padded, it shows at least brief flashes of imagination.

Essentially a rip-off of "Apocalypto" for audience members too young or squeamish to endure graphic human sacrifice and jaguar face-eating.

Solondz's determinedly removed eye for the graphic and shocking is by now practically a cliche. If Solondz really wants to outrage anyone, he'll have to make a sweet and heartfelt drama.

You might not think it would be easy to make a dull film about love, war and a bisexual threesome, but Head in the Clouds manages this task efficiently.

This is an insignificant film with a passably entertaining premise that goes wildly to hell the instant it strays from its comic ideals with brief, unsatisfying detours into the realms of art and high-end lingerie.

This period piece, directed by Richard Laxton, is shot in such a grim and grainy fashion you long to turn on the lights — which is fitting, because you also wish the filmmakers had illuminated the characters a bit more clearly.

It's safe to say that without De Niro Analyze This and That couldn't even exist; or rather, if they did, they would be unwatchable. De Niro is that important to the mix.

The film seems more an excuse to attack a target than an exercise in solid storytelling.

Feels more like a lecture you've already heard than a galvanizing call to action.

Despite its title, Shekhar Kapur's new film resembles tarnished copper, its dull focus more appropriate for an episode of “One Tree Hill” than a biopic of one of Britain's greatest monarchs.

Ride Along sabotages itself, although I suppose that doesn’t really matter — there are already plans in the works for Ride Along 2.