Connie Ogle

Nothing wrong with a movie having a point of view, but watching people spout jargon or exposition doesn't really make for riveting entertainment.

Trade's wake-up call needs to be heeded, but its missteps detract from its devastating message.

A romantic comedy need not be original to work. It just needs, you know, romance. Something to swoon over. What Two Weeks Notice provides, however, is a lot more messy.

Even the people who griped about Tom Cruise being cast as the towering Jack Reacher will have to admit Statham fits nicely in Parker's shoes.

There are a few flashes of wit in the romantic comedy Austenland, but for the most part, the humor lands not with Dear Jane’s grace and style but with all the subtlety of a cholera outbreak.

Feels every bit as cheap and flimsy as Edward's hospital.

Next begins to seriously embarrass itself and its stars -- except for Biel, surprisingly, who manages to escape with a shred of dignity, possibly because her role requires little beyond looking gorgeous -- once it rolls to its climax.

The second installment in a likable family franchise, Journey 2: The Mysterious Island makes a nice case to your kids that reading books is a good idea.

A briskly-paced, refreshing kick in this season of draggy, two-hour-plus movies. The film is smarter and funnier than its trailers indicate, and, as a bonus, there are no superheroes, pirates or Wilson brothers to be found.

What to Expect has no standout character who's consistently funny, and it must operate within the confines of a "kids are the most important thing in our lives" mentality, which is more tiresome ground, comedically speaking.

It's a cheery, impossible fantasy.

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

It never comes close to touching the audience's heart.

The arsenal is empty, and there’s nowhere for The Truth About Emanuel to go except — unfortunately — downhill.

A breath of fresh air in this musty spring movie season.

Like its eponymous subject, it succeeds only in being shallow and crass and not very much fun to be around.

Carlei’s film is not particularly imaginative in terms of context, but it offers proof that this material never tarnishes, that with the right sort of movie magic, even a traditional telling can be thrilling.

You don't have to love dogs to enjoy Darling Companion, but it couldn't hurt.

House of Wax won't give you nightmares, but it upholds teen horror traditions with flair and energy.

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.

Rapidly devolves into a pedestrian thriller in which almost nobody behaves in a recognizably human way.

Flamboyantly over-the-top, visually kinetic.

The whole incoherent mess is sort of like a downbeat Gap ad, only longer and a lot more boring.

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 movie didn't have to be good, but that it's so boring in its badness is tough to swallow.

One of those blessedly rare films based on a self-help book, is remarkable in one sense: It prevents "The Lake House" and its magical mailbox from being the most ridiculous concept on screen this summer.

Jackman's charisma breathes the fire into Wolverine, not the rather pedestrian script or the by-the-numbers action.

In Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters, choosing the dumbest character is a colossal task.

Taking a lightweight comedy such as this seriously is probably a fatal error, but there's no way around it: This House is built on a shaky foundation.

Sometimes I suspect there is secret high-stakes contest in Hollywood among filmmakers to try and come up with a movie without a single original idea. If so, Life As We Know It is a contender.

Crudup is about as effective as anyone could be in the dreary World Traveler, but he can't keep this shallow, pretentious film from wallowing in banality and staggering self-indulgence.

A by-the-numbers sports drama with a death grip on clichés and acting every bit as flat as the mat, seems unlikely to draw much of a crowd.

Definitely funny. Goofy, ridiculous, with more gross-out humor than is strictly necessary but still funny.

The most fortunate thing about The Lucky One is that despite a plot hole so big it could generate its own gravity field, it's still not a bad movie.

Tiresome romantic comedy that reinforces every imaginable gay stereotype.

While patience is a virtue in a marriage, we shouldn't need quite this much to make it through a movie.

There's nothing here you haven't seen before, especially if you own a PlayStation.

It's not only the mythical, mind-reading creature at the story's center that prevents the film from taking flight. A worn-out plot and a novice actor also contribute to the disappointment.

The few jokes it does land can't make this more than a look-what's-on-late-night-cable event.

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.

The comedy is slapstick, the colors Day Glo, the outcome inevitable.

Brosnan and Moore may not be substitutes for Tracy and Hepburn, but they're more than capable of making you smile for now.

The film is supposed to be about tolerance, but the only acceptance comes in terms of how the islanders accept the Mormon teachings. Somehow, that doesn't quite feel divine.

The undeniable star is the diminutive comedian. He’s the glue that holds the movie together when it wanders into the weeds and starts believing it’s a serious meditation on relationships.

The movie does miraculously end up making good use of a couple of running jokes, and the cast soldiers on, though the laughs are meager. But mostly, Girl Most Likely is a case of good actors in serious need of worthwhile material.

The humor tends to be broad, but the spritely pace doesn't allow for too much lingering on the jokes that don't land (really, we've seen enough morning sickness bits to make us gag).

Not entirely unwatchable.

Derivative and self-important, Third Person is a concept and not much more, precisely the sort of film that makes you wonder why anybody would bother to see it at all.

If you try hard enough, you might be able to forget that the story doesn't make a lot of sense or provide adequate thrills, although it tries to scare you a couple of times in the cheapest possible way.

Don't waste your money.

In an ironic twist, Mira Nair's big-hearted yet by-the-numbers biopic of Amelia Earhart never -- unlike the famous aviatrix -- takes chances.

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.

Features one of the more pointless cameos ever when Tom Waits shows up abruptly in the desert to spout mystical nonsense about Domino trading her life for somebody else's. The scene has absolutely no place in this jarring, violent movie; Waits is just another of Scott's distractions.

Evan Almighty may not be enough to make you shout ''Hallelujah,'' but it's not the cinematic equivalent of a plague, either.

Funny in the juvenile, crass way we expect.

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.

It's possible to achieve hilarity and pathos, but it's not easy, and Litvak isn't quite skilled enough to make the sex jokes rest easily beside the final grandiose and pat confessions. As a result, When Do We Eat? merely whets your appetite for a fresh take on family matters.

The dancing, while reasonably entertaining, isn't anything you haven't seen before on MTV or BET, although the soundtrack might be a worthwhile investment for hip-hop fans.

It's the sort of film that's entertaining while you're in the theater.

Only in the execution does Madonna stumble: Despite the undeniable romance of the historical material, she has made a movie more concerned with how things look than how they feel. Which should not surprise anyone.

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.

Viewing the new Martin Lawrence kiddie movie is more enjoyable than watching my dog eat a desiccated toad carcass he pried off the road, but only marginally so.

A cliché-ridden, condescending and ham-handed film that clumsily fails to bring to life what should be an interesting story. You might say none of its punches even comes close to connecting.

The cinematic equivalent of herpes, Sex Tape is an uncomfortable embarrassment to raunchy comedies everywhere. Fortunately, no medication is required after being exposed to it: The effects are not permanent, only painful.

Harmless, mildly enjoyable.

Never reaches this level of devastating loss despite its tragedies, but it's not the dismal bomb that much of the British press claims.

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"?

The movie is less painful than having your kidneys removed, but Turistas doesn't offer a trip entertaining enough to take.

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.

The best story here is the one about how Stolen Summer made it to the screen; that's more compelling than anything that happens in Pete's world.

This film, directed by Curb Your Enthusiasm's Robert Weide, makes an entertaining companion piece to his book.

If only someone had recognized the inherent vileness of the premise, we might not have been subjected to this hideous Rumor at all.

The movie still manages to unearth laughs, some of them pretty big, especially once Shanté's program is under way.

The best thing you can say about Scooby-Doo is that Matthew Lillard makes a really, really good Shaggy.

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

The music is of course majestic, blending well with a loving cinematography.

The film is well-scrubbed of anything resembling sexuality, more a nonthreatening fairy tale than the romantic drama it aims to be. Its appeal flies straight to the hearts of 13-year-old girls.

An invasion of the body snatchers is preferable to realizing that the true horror perpetrated here is not on the characters but on the audience.

An annoying, tedious little film.

It's full of lively and crude sexual banter, discussions of hookups and sex and Joel McHale's bare butt. Oddly, all this makes the film funnier and more accessible than you might imagine.

Exhausts you with its derivative stupidity, leaving you weak and bored and weary of comedy that's not funny, action that's not exciting, dialogue that's not clever. It's not even an adequate rip-off of the TV show.

The Back-up Plan is about as much fun as 36 hours of labor, only you don't get to go home with a baby at the end. Instead, you leave with a throbbing headache and a lot of questions about why anybody still thinks Jennifer Lopez can anchor a movie.

With its unfathomably stupid plot, half-hearted laughs and slow-witted action, can only be considered a waste of time. Especially yours.

On the Line's cutesy premise is no more ridiculous than that of most romantic comedies.

A pleasant if unremarkable romantic comedy that plays out like a sitcom with great scenery.

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 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.

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

It has virtually nothing in common with the charming book written by the Gilbreths about their turn-of-the-century family and everything to do with making money on DVD rentals.

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

It's fun to watch the stocky, scowling Ice Cube and skinny, jittery Epps play off each other; they click on screen.

A sentimental romantic thriller. But it’s a well-made sentimental romantic thriller, and that makes all the difference.

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.

Loaded with so much drama that the story sinks into a grim, sloppy soap-opera mix.

Full of It's message is directed straight at 9-year-olds -- lying is bad! -- and yet there's plenty of sexual content. Unfortunately there isn't much else.

Predictable but amusing. The painfully awkward, stubby Gervais as romantic lead is a funny enough concept, but the actor's ongoing banter with Kinnear is engaging, and their styles mesh entertainingly.

The film moves jerkily, in fits and starts, squandering its promising setup and bogging down in explanation.

Steeped in pitch-perfect nostalgia and propelled by equal doses of comedy and tragedy.

But the blame for the stultifying Mooseport lies squarely on the shoulders of the screenwriters and anyone else who assumed the limited Romano could carry such a dated, lousy film. The results are in: He can't do it, at least not without a lot more help.

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

The Last Song, yet another maudlin remake of a Nicholas Sparks bestseller.

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.

Dismal.

It's just awful. Pointless, lazy, derivative and paralyzingly dull.

The less said about Simpson's performance the better. From the neck down she fulfills all the requirements, but, honestly, I think General Lee might do a better job with the dialogue.

The film is probably not evil incarnate, but it's so irritating you wish it -- and just about everyone in it -- would just shut up and get out of your room.

Merely adding an older generation of lovers to a love story does not make your romance one for the ages. Doesn’t even make it "The Notebook."

Rich in cliché and brimming with the sort of potent idiocy that can only be found in January-release romantic comedies, Leap Year manages to do every possible thing wrong.

It's an hour longer than the average sitcom, but The Wedding Date isn't much different from what you see crammed into any TV comedy lineup, minus the laugh track.

It's an extremely raunchy hybrid of "Bridget Jones's Diary."

Paranoia has a promising foundation — betrayal, danger and corporate espionage are solid building blocks of suspense. But the movie turns out to be more exasperating than exciting.

An apocalyptic Bob Dylan song made cinematic, with all the vision and poetry dissipating in the transfer. It's as if the filmmakers listened to "Desolation Row" just one time too many.

Watching Wilson and Hudson toil thanklessly through this mess is more laborious than writing the Great American Novel. And a lot less lucrative.

A lot like getting socks for Christmas: Better than finding coal in your stocking but not exactly as thrilling as unwrapping a big-screen HDTV.

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.

Blended isn’t Sandler’s funniest movie or his best, but it is a big step up from the dregs he’s been churning out, a messy, shaggy dog of a comedy that you can’t help but like even as it sheds all over your house.

There's no real artistry to this: It's as though Parker has just seen "Seven" and suffered some sort of David Fincher flashback.

Unfortunately there’s far too little magic in this clumsy attempt to marry fantasy and realism; the film doesn’t have the grace or imagination to bridge the gaps between the two.

It's not quite true to say that death is preferable to sitting through Over HerDead Body, but it's a safe bet that if you struggle through this witless romantic comedy the lure of being six feet under will cross your mind.

Don't expect perfection, and you'll emerge from this goofy movie all in one piece, with reasonably entertained kids and a milder headache.

The idea, I suppose, is that love connects us all, even when it goes wrong. Fortunately, even love doesn't usually go quite so badly as this movie does.

It is a grim and monotonous affair despite the overkill of bad guys -- a trio of evil spirits plus a bonus serial killer -- mixed with a few cheap shocks futilely intended to make the audience jump.

The guys are more amusing than not, and they display the easy chemistry of real-life pals.

Better than you might expect despite its awkward, slow beginning, drawing you in gradually and paying off in surprisingly effective and bittersweet ways.

The germ of a better film lies in that joke, but Schaeffer doesn't quite dig it out. Instead, we get painfully unfunny scenes that make us think that when it comes to writing comedy, Schaeffer should stick to his own rule: never again.

Shameless in its desperate grab at the heartstrings.

Premonition is actually more daring than you might expect. Not bold enough to be memorable, maybe, but just enough to keep you from falling asleep in front of the TV.

The ghastly first half of this romantic comedy -- is as close to unwatchable as any moment in "Bride Wars." The fact that it stars Renée Zellweger just makes it harder to bear.

Fool's Gold isn't so much a film as an opportunity to pay homage to Matthew McConaughey's impressive physique.

According to legend, a silver bullet can kill a werewolf. Too bad it can't slay bad writing, without which the ill-conceived Red Riding Hood would not exist.

Just My Luck is way too long for such a slight premise, and Lohan, so appealing in Mean Girls, is years too young for the part.

There's only one excuse for the sentimental and ham-handed I Am Sam, and it's not to tout the rights of the mentally disabled.

Nobel Son is not good. Nor is it bad. It exists, instead, somewhere in the middle ground of interesting enough to hold one's attention without actually providing any fresh, sensible or nonderivative developments.

The sloppy charms of Just Married don't exactly break new ground, but they don't make you want to swear off romantic comedy forever, and in these "Maid in Manhattan" days that's saying something.

Embarrassingly shoddy film.

Frothy as it is, SATC2 is best when it's about the women, not the wardrobe.

Young girls are the only ones likely to enjoy this vapid road-trip movie.

There is humor in the familiar just waiting to be rehashed for new generations, and A Guy Thing surely isn't the last stupid leave-'em-at-the-altar film we're likely to see.

Silly, tedious, inept disaster.

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.

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

The search for true love is the backbone of romantic comedy as well as the lifeblood of match.com, but this film's clumsy, completely inauthentic portrayal of it is handled in a shockingly tedious fashion.

Amusing at times but never more than a modest diversion, lacking the cleverness and imagination required to turn it into more than a one-joke movie.

Filmmaker Christopher Cain has turned a national tragedy into a teen romance, and not in a grand, entertaining, "Titanic" way.

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.

The sort of entertainment that makes you happy to be grown up and able to avoid the current onslaught of trite, lazy, unimaginative films aimed at tween-agers.

Tale is anything but spellbinding.

Could there be a more inappropriate time to release a cheesy horror movie about evildoing in Louisiana.

It's a cannibalization of "Sleeping With the Enemy," a not-so-good Julia Roberts film, with a ridiculous female-empowerment subtext and a relentlessly stupid script that goes nowhere you can't predict before the opening credits roll.

Surprisingly sweet and, dare we say it, old-fashioned, with an engaging sense of humor that's a definite improvement on lame, lowbrow efforts such as "Little Nicky."

An insipid comedy in which the women are shallow, acquisitive, backstabbing, selfish harridans.

Insulting to anyone with a healthy sense of humor and the simple desire to laugh.

A cheesy horror film can offer a vicarious cheap thrill or two. Darkness Falls offers only a test of the patience, not even providing much chance to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of its villain.

Yes, it's every bit as brainless as the trailers suggest.

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.

They pull it off, but even if you believe in Santa, you'll never believe that this is any sort of holiday classic.

In the end, Bratz celebrates something even more important than good grades or good friends: the vital acquisition of totally awesome shoes. Fitting for a movie that exists only to separate you from your paycheck.

Here's what is bad: this movie.

Charmless and grating and immediately forgettable.

It’s bad enough to make you look askance at Salma Hayek, Maria Bello, and Maya Rudolph, all of whom deserve a chance to do something funny other than pose as wives exuding various degrees of sexiness.

Sometimes it seems as though Hollywood can't make a decent action movie anymore. Now that's a thought to make you go ballistic.

Downright terrible: impossible to enjoy, impossible to believe.

Not that the film is so horrendously offensive -- it's almost, and I hesitate to say this, too stupid to provoke insult -- but it's juvenile enough to suck a few IQ points out of any audience member with a brain cell.

Insulting, witless comedy.

Plentiful helpings of dreadful acting, confusing action cinematography, choppy editing and embarrassing dialogue, with the added bonus of a plot almost as dumb as that of the original film.

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

A tired and unnecessary sequel.