Elizabeth Weitzman

In a town as status-conscious as Hollywood, the embarrassment of two "Garfield" movies on your résumé must sting like the Dickens.

It's not unusual for a Henry Jaglom film to fall into a black hole of narcissism, but he has outdone himself with his latest, a satire on Hollywood's unshakable self-absorption.

With so little action or even insight, Marathon is far too long at only 74 minutes. Perhaps for the sequel, we can come along as Gretchen watches paint dry.

The film does deserve credit for juggling difficult racial and class issues - but with a wacky score, cute puppies and silly side stories also jockeying for space, Bamford's best intentions tumble to a heap long before the movie ends.

While it's visually stunning, the pretentiousness makes it hard to take seriously.

If you want to direct a movie that's already been done, it's a good idea to pick one you can improve on.

A few scenes are stylish enough to amuse, but they all add up to nothing - leaving you ten bucks short and feeling like a sucker.

In fairness, the new movie from the Lorne Michaels machine does have its amusing moments. It's just most of them can also be found in "Napoleon," "Talladega Nights," "Eagle vs. Shark," and any installment of "Jackass."

Unless you're struck by the urge to watch strangers work out their petty issues in couples therapy, it's hard to find a compelling reason to sit through Gregg Lachow's irritatingly self-absorbed indie drama.

With little plot and a stifling set, the ­movie needs stronger performances than its leads can offer.

Would that the film were as interesting as the setting.

Though topnotch actors often can elevate mediocre material, they need a topnotch director to help them do it. Steve Carr ("Dr. Dolittle 2") is not that director.

Burns doesn't even bother to disguise his New York accent, any more than he does his boredom.

As irritating as an ideological college student, this earnest debut from Zak Tucker is determined to teach us a lesson about right and wrong.

It's interesting in the same way the early, rejection episodes of "American Idol" are oddly compelling. But, of course, you can watch those for free.

Enthusiastic performances help, but without a logical script or confident direction, the fizz very quickly goes flat.

Frankly, you may prefer the company of cinematic serial killers (Freddy vs. Jason) after you meet the pair at the center of this story.

Southland Tales does have enough energy and audacity to suggest significant potential. But was it ready for public consumption? The answer is no. It's as simple as that.

Cusack is excellent as Joan, the only woman in the film who values a girl's brains over her body, so it's a shame Fywell treats her with amused scorn.

Broderick is uptight; DeVito is obnoxious; and, somewhere, Nathan Lane is thanking his lucky stars he didn't get roped into this dreck.

You may want to wait and watch "Never Land" the way it was meant to be seen -- as a straight-to-video baby-sitter.

It's always admirable when a director decides to make a risky film. On the other hand, it's not quite as commendable to also make a boring one.

A mediocre little thriller that might have promised cheap fun on Blockbuster's direct-to-DVD shelf is instead destined to die a quick death on the big screen.

The marvelous Dussolier makes a poignantly aging lothario, but Fillieres is so off-puttingly strange, we don't really care what she thinks about.

Made in 1998, the picture sags beneath the leaden weight of its pre-millennial theme.

And though Samantha is written as a sly spoof of Ashlee Simpson, Faris frantically overplays her. She might have taken a tip from Smart, a lovely, understated actress who wastes too much time in lousy films.

The characters speak in Dialogue rather than English, the actors are so busy emoting they forget to act and the story feels like a first-draft college project.

Dramatically miscalculated satire.