Connie Ogle

View it as a fat-free but tasty cinematic treat in the middle of the long, hot summer.

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.

A star rises in the east. A savior is born. Two thousand years later, a surprisingly dull film is made.

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.

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.

Too slight to bear up under the weight of the final melodrama, and the film ends too abruptly, as if MacLachlan just ran out of things to write. Still, this visit to the old homestead is worthwhile, if only to meet its unflappable, charismatic women.

Unlike "The Ring," Dark Water -- which features one of the mad, whispery ghost children who populate such films -- is never actually frightening.

The film's heart lies in what goes on at Calvin's shop, that haven from the cold, cruel world. Where else can you get philosophy, humor, friendship and a little off the top?

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.

Get Smart turns out to be a much more entertaining movie than its tedious trailers suggest. It's not going to redefine comedy as we know it, but it's amusing and briskly paced, busy with an engaging mix of supporting actors.

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.

Smith is an endearing, driving comedic force, one who makes the buoyant Hitch more enjoyable than it has any reason to be.

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.

At its core, Susanne Bier's wrenching portrayal of the shifting dynamics within a Danish family is really about survival, about how we cope in the face of shattering grief and what we'll do -- anything, really -- to save ourselves.

A devastating lack of romantic connection between its two stars. Lopez had more chemistry with "Enough" co-star Billy Campbell, and for most of that film they were beating the hell out of each other.

Charmless and grating and immediately forgettable.

Though there's nothing revolutionary about 17 Again, the movie is undeniably enjoyable.

A fatal lack of character development dooms Enduring Love as little more than a fleeting curiosity.

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.

The new version is a glorious, thrilling throwback that never sacrifices its solid roots in the western genre despite a sharp modern update that actually improves on the original.

On the plus side, if you're flummoxed by the twisty plot or its occasional holes, you can always gaze contentedly at Clive Owen and be wholly entertained.

Awe-inspiring and harrowing, vile and beautiful, as wild and mesmerizing as the Mexican jungle in which it is filmed and one of the most relentlessly thrilling films of the year.

It's a pleasure to see acceptance portrayed so matter-of-factly. May never happen in our lifetimes, but Lesnick's vision of tolerance is a soothing thought, anyway.

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.

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.

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.

It aims -- successfully -- to make you think and feel.

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.

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.

Sweet, amusing little film.

Carries an undeniable follow-your-field-of-dreams appeal.

A rousing and mesmerizing documentary.

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.

There's no doubt that Leigh gets inside his characters' lives. But that's often someplace we'd rather not be.

If the Giorgios were more interesting, perhaps Brooklyn Lobster would feel less sluggish. But as it is, the crustaceans' unhappy destinies are more compelling than the colorless lives of their captors.

Likable, cheerfully off-color comedy.

A royal mess, a lethally stupid romantic teen comedy.

It's not quite layered or weighty enough to fill the aching hole left in our psyches by the end of "The Sopranos," and most of the developments are as obvious as sauce on spaghetti. Still, Brooklyn Rules is a decent, if derivative, movie.

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.

Far more imaginative and intriguingly moody than other recent thrillers.

Bradshaw, who is funnier than you might suspect, also turns out to be the most fearless of performers.

Despite the film's sloppy structure, it feels weirdly good to hang out with these losers again.

Instead of a tense, emotional and psychological thriller or a thoughtful exploration of grief and guilt, what we end up with is ... soap. Whether you choose to wash your hands of it is up to you.

She could come off preachy here but instead sounds blunt and honest. And that's more than enough.

While the attentive art direction of Running With Scissors pays scrupulous and imaginative attention to period detail, the film overlooks its greatest asset: Burroughs.

The movie is slightly more sappy, and the characters are necessarily less fleshed out than they are in Audrey Niffenegger's dazzling novel, but neither shortcoming detracts from the film's appeal.

Descended from a long and healthy line of high school-sports and academic-achievement films, a hip-hop "Hoosiers" bolstered by a generous helping of "Stand and Deliver" and "Lean On Me."

It's not always an easy movie to watch, but its characters are unforgettable.

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.

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

Despite the fact that the film is not graphic, you won't want to watch Darfur Now over dinner with your family. But you probably should anyway.

The real genius, if that is what it is, behind Sacha Baron Cohen's crude, shocking and explosively funny Brüno is the fact that the filmmakers actually found enough gullible human targets.

Pirate Radio does what it sets out to do. It rocks.

Antonio Banderas looks a little older, Catherine Zeta-Jones snares a bigger role, and the powerful charms of both are weighed down by an absurdly plot-heavy script.

What's lacking is any sense of Beverly's brightness. She's supposedly smart, but she never displays a shred of intelligence.

Inherently laughable, but in all the wrong ways.

Comes off curiously flat.

Downright terrible: impossible to enjoy, impossible to believe.

Crushingly inept family comedy.

Wonderfully energetic.

No rose-colored memories can improve this tedious interpretation of the famous girl detective's adventures. Nancy Drew falls somewhere between "The Haunted Mansion" and the live-action "Scooby Doo" movies in terms of quality but is more irritating than either.

The most remarkable aspect of Charles Ferguson's lacerating documentary about the U.S. invasion of Iraq is that the film contains virtually no new information, and yet its message is as compelling as if we were hearing it for the first time.

This is a film about depression, though, and it comes awfully close to trivializing its subject by suggesting that all Craig needed, really, was a cute girl to like him back.

Half-hearted satire of Hollywood and small-town life, and Bosworth is not particularly memorable in it.

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.

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.

Reveals little about the personal aspects of the deeply troubled man behind the sunglasses -- it naturally deals with none of the darker aspects of Jackson's life -- but it deftly underlines his commitment to showmanship.

A slightly dull film by photographer Sam Jones.

Though its violence is searing and brutal, the film, about four FBI agents investigating a terrorist attack in Saudi Arabia, shows a conscience and a brain, and if it explains things a bit simplistically at times, so much the better.

A poignant film punctuated with clumsy moments and a resolution that occurs far too abruptly.

McGillis, though, is the film's worst enemy. Her wooden attempts to recreate Kathleen Turner circa 1981 undermine too many scenes.

Mom (Elisabeth Shue) suffers from the fatal movie ailment of being so underwritten she's practically see-through.

Don't forget the waves. They're the stars of this show, and Blue Crush smartly never lets you forget it.

Just plain fun. Don't miss it.

A sporadically funny, always predictable, weirdly downbeat fantasy.

There's nothing offensive about Barbershop 2, and maybe there should be. But even if the film plays it safe, it remains a cut above other mainstream comedies.

Gripping family drama keeps Swimming Upstream from going under.

Freedom Writers is prone to throwing in unnecessary plot developments, so it never quite succeeds as anything more than "Dangerous Minds" Redux.

For a low-brow, psycho-on-the-loose-in-paradise thriller, A Perfect Getaway is surprisingly entertaining.

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

Maybe it's a measure of the numbing awfulness of romantic comedies in general lately, but Definitely, Maybe isn't nearly so bad as you might fear; it's actually fairly pleasant, a bit too off-color to be a family film but enjoyable just the same.

Provides the rare pleasure of a blossoming romance between two people older than Kate Hudson or Ryan Reynolds.

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.

Midlands finds some measure of success in its use of regular, real-looking people -- as opposed to the oddly glamorous characters who turn up in most romantic comedies -- but it's as though the writer used up all the personality traits before he got to Shirley.

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."

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

There's plenty of action, but it's all the same.

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

What The Bank Job ends up stealing is all your precious time.

Despite its humble nature, the film is downright uplifting without being vulgar, flashy or embarrassing.

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

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.

Provides a few of the best thrills so far this summer.

Something we've all seen before, far too many times, not only in its premise but also in its lame parade of scatological jokes and its sad, tired pratfalls.

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

Huston, unfortunately, is never really believable as a man rediscovering lost principles; he feels out of place in this otherwise fine ensemble.

A nice set of drapes and a striking ballgown or two are not enough to provide this interesting love story any serious heft or insight.

If nothing else, director/screenwriter Jordan Roberts knows good music. If only we could say the same about his script.

From the first strains of its overly dramatic, self-important score -- come on, this is not by any stretch of the imagination "Citizen Kane."

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.

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.

It's easy to work up a good head of feminist steam over the misogyny and downright idiocy of a story that suggests that the tyranny of a righteous man can prevent an abused girl from making poor and whorish fashion choices. But it's hard to dismiss completely this atmospheric and persistently intriguing film.

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

What sets it slightly apart is a willingness to deal with a potentially tricky subject -- race -- in the context of light-hearted fluff.

There is little trace of tragedy in this warm, refreshing Southern comedy, which is quirky without being idiotic, original despite some familiar developments.

Though it's entertaining when the tone is light, The Joneses can't quite keep up with this sort of complexity.

Apted delivers a fine, righteous climax and packs his film with some of Britain's best character actors.

The film is far from perfect, but it's likely to inspire more than few quests for balance -- or at least a fabulous bowl of linguine.

Fierce, profane and hilarious comedy.

Fails to offer a single moment you don't see coming but its cast is appealing, and it provides a welcome respite from young wizards, talking robots that turn into trucks and other staples of this long, hot, boy-focused summer.

Marley & Me gets so many of the details right, particularly in its final act, when it turns into a five-hanky weeper.

The dance numbers grow tiresome after a while, and director/screenwriter Ramon Salazar throws in so many calculated oddities that it's impossible for anyone to become too attached to his characters.

Turns out to be a more disappointment than joyful reunion, a tedious and desperately drawn-out affair that tests your patience even as it brazenly courts (and often earns) your contempt.

The film actually improves on Cunningham's novel, thanks to gorgeous cinematography, a deft script by playwright David Hare, a mournful, melodious but never intrusive score by Philip Glass and a superb cast that brings the delicately formed characters to full, raging, sorrowful life.

Worst of all, nothing happens that we don't see coming. Nothing. If, as Nathan seems to believe, surprise is a crucial element in any campaign, then The Last Samurai might win a battle or two for your attention but is doomed to lose the Oscar war.

Prime may have its unlikely moments, but overall its heart is winningly untraditional and in exactly the right place.

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

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.

Mostly honest in its portrayal of teen sexuality -- it exists, whether we like it or not -- but also offers up the troubling notion of teen pregnancy as romantic and magical.

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.

Serendipity's finale is a perfect crowd-pleaser, sweet and unlikely and over the top.

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

The actors are their usual reliable selves; you can't really blame them for the unlikely mess Levity becomes.

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.

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.

"Our self-esteem is wrapped up in it,'' admits actress Tracie Thoms (who sticks with a natural curly look). "A woman's hair is her glory,'' Angelou says.

The problem -- aside from the fact that one of the best things about Foer's story is its irreverent, intricate, just-maybe-brilliant writing -- is what Schreiber has decided to cut.

At the film's uplifting conclusion, when a stilled voice finally makes itself heard, you can unmistakably feel your heart lift, as if it had grown tiny wings. Camp reminds you that once you believed it would always soar, just like that.

Sensational documentary.

Insulting, witless comedy.

Shares an important slice of German history that is largely unknown.

The Safety of Objects doesn't carry the power of Ang Lee's "The Ice Storm," a similarly themed work about WASPS in crisis. Objects is too artificial, clunky with too many preposterous situations.

Call it a victory for sincerity and style: Despite its familiarity, Blonde 2 doesn't make you want to pull out your hair by its (touched-up) roots.

Goes too far in its slapstick efforts to please mainstream audiences, but there's no denying the genuine appeal of -- and I can't believe I'm actually writing this -- Richard Gere and ballroom dancing.

Turns out to be amusing and astute, a smart observation on the ups and downs of female friendships.

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

Green Zone is just an excuse for director Paul Greengrass to haul out his jittery hand-held camera as Miller and Co. sprint through the streets and buildings of Baghdad in pursuit of one villain or another.

Whether you'll enjoy this loud and rowdy remake of a 1974 Burt Reynolds film depends on your tolerance for three things: football, Adam Sandler and unabashed product placement.

It's a cheery, impossible fantasy.

Despite its contemporary-sounding anti-French cracks, could easily have been made 20 years ago.

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

Hearing Wilde's pithy lines in her mouth -- ''London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained 35 for years'' -- is worth the ticket price. In the end it's Dench who reminds us of the importance of enjoying Oscar Wilde.

McGrath has managed to turn Dickens into a cozy date movie. When was the last time anybody could make that claim?

The film isn't much of a character study; too many of its secondary characters are stereotypes, and it never fully engages our emotions the way "Schindler's List" or "The Pianist" did.

The aggressively over-the-top plot is sloppy and totally irrelevant. What counts are the jokes that fly so fast they're easy to miss.

Cusack, of course, is the perfect Anti-Schmaltz. His rapid-fire delivery makes everything he says sound like it's just pouring from his brain to his mouth, so that even the sappiest dialogue is rendered sincere.

Clearly an important film, if only for such disheartening reminders that a McDonald's salad with ranch dressing has more calories than a Big Mac or that Miami is the 15th fattest city in the country (Houston is No. 1).