Elizabeth Weitzman

Kessler has indeed made a film about a fame-chasing narcissist in desperate need of attention. But that has nothing to do with the guy we came to see.

The only real reason to see it is for a luminous leading turn from Dakota Fanning as Brooklyn teen Lilly.

A decidedly lightweight amusement.

While Suvari is especially miscast as a sophisticate, only Richard E. Grant, as a worldly Brit, seems to understand the text.

Geraghty relies too heavily on facial expressions and mannerisms, but those who appreciate visible effort may be seduced. There's no denying he works hard to keep us on the line.

The cinematic equivalent of a cookie-cutter wedding, Made of Honor ultimately feels a little depressing.

Saintliness is a heavy burden to carry, and Smith can't help but buckle a bit. He's always interesting to watch, but crafting a real person out of his cardboard character proves an impossible task.

Though gorgeous to look at, the first feature from Declan Donnellan and Nick Ormerod has an undeniable void at its very center: an utterly blank leading man.

The film never builds past its initial idea, the references to 9/11 feel cheap, the good actors are wasted, and the bad ones are distracting.

Despite the promise Epps and Turner show in their film’s finest moments, we’re still talking about a movie that tries to wring jokes from puppet therapy.

Looks so great, it may take a while to notice it's a clunky political parable wrapped in a tonally confused fairy tale.

Just like its meaningless title, Rachid Bouchareb’s disappointing drama evokes better works without developing any distinct identity of its own.

In Cheap Thrills, a committed cast elevates what is, ultimately, a gimmicky thriller. It dissolves into a puddle of blood-tinged hypocrisy.

There's a great idea here, but it's buried within a muddled story that lurches between dark comedy and maudlin drama.

The 3-D format is mostly wasted, and the production so slick we never truly feel like part of that screaming audience. For fans only.

A director as talented as Singer (“The Usual Suspects,” “X-Men”) should be working to raise popcorn movies to a higher level. Instead, this uninspired effort feels like a colossal letdown.

Bell’s skepticism feels real, and Brody, still best known as “The OC’s” insecure Seth Cohen, is perfect as the sort of arrogantly self-deluded player we’ve all met.

There is no urgency, and little honesty, to the convoluted goings-on unfolding here.

The biggest problem, however, comes down to chemistry. If the leads have it, a Sparks romance will work.

Most people can only watch the same movie so many times. But Philipp Stölzl is clearly hopeful that when you’re done with “Taken” (and “Taken 2”), you’ll want more of the same. Should that be the case, this undistinguished but decent knockoff is ready to satisfy.

It's no minor accomplishment to make one of the most indulgent projects in Hollywood history. But with This Is the End, Seth Rogen and his pals have indeed achieved this dubious goal.

I am neither anti-charter schools nor anti-union. I am, however, firmly against heavy-handed lectures disguised as art.

The first half of the movie is painfully tense, drawing us into a relationship that we desperately want to see work. But the screenplay lets its characters down, as it devolves into platitudes and melodrama.

There are some mildly amusing turns from costars like Kristin Scott Thomas, playing an icy editor, and Robert Stanton, as her frustrated debt collector.

Step Up 3D is so lacking in any kind of edge, it might as well be "High School Musical: The Hip-Hop Edition."

The biggest problem, however, is the way Zhang romanticizes the unimaginably awful, turning gold-hearted prostitutes and virginal orphans into cinematic martyrs. Though his talents are vast, there may be too much truth in this particular story to suit his extravagant tastes.

Every actor probably dreams of creating his or her ideal role. So kudos to Marvel movie stalwart Clark Gregg (“The Avengers,” TV’s “Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.”) for actually doing it, as writer, director and star of this indie drama. If only we could extend our congratulations to the project itself.

It's not sharp or ironic, but drab and downbeat. Unfortunately, it's also going to feel utterly familiar to those who've seen their share of independent dramas in the last 15 years.

The title may suggest acts of indecency, but if there’s anything this mild dramedy could use, it’s a little more raciness.

While ATM does offer a few jolts, we're paired with bland characters and an underrealized premise.

Luhrmann piles on one shiny distraction after another. But amid all the seductively gaudy excess, DiCaprio finds both the heart and hurt buried within one of literature’s everlasting enigmas.

Is there another actor working today whose face registers the extraordinary range of emotions Michelle Williams can display? Even in a film as false as Sarah Polley's Take This Waltz, her swiftly shifting expressions feel unerringly true.

Though Hurt and Rossellini make a warmly believable couple, they can't overcome the film's biggest drawback: Gavras' own awkward attitude toward aging.

It’s nice to see these characters again. But there’s an uncomfortable strain of bitterness running through the nostalgia. Klapisch is, for example, much kinder to his good-natured leading man than any of the ladies, who are by turns cruel, flaky and dishonest.

While The Iron Lady fails as a biography, it succeeds incontestably as a showcase. Streep captures Thatcher's voice and mannerisms and then pushes further, creating a three-dimensional character rather than simply offering a technically deft impression.

As both a comedian and filmmaker, Bobcat Goldthwait ("Shakes the Clown") has carved out a valuable spot as an idiosyncratic instigator. But even fans may be disappointed at how swiftly he undermines its own message here.

A listless thriller that can’t find its footing, Abandoned does occasionally rouse itself enough to suggest a better movie that never comes to pass.

Yeah, this is pretty much your classic been-there, done-that scenario: evil stepmother, clueless father, imperiled teen.

Philippe Le Guay's carefully-tailored crowd-pleaser does have its pleasures, even if originality is not among them.

Friedlander offers a nicely subtle performance, but the other actors - including Alan Cumming, Deborah Harry and Amy Sedaris - appear to have turned up as a favor to the director. Don't feel obliged to follow their lead.

Giamatti and Rudd banter with appeal, but Melissa James Gibson’s lackluster script doesn’t offer either much to work with.

There’s so much more to this story — as any number of articles about the people he wronged attest — but this time, Gibney never really gets in gear.

If you love Viagra jokes, look no further. Otherwise, stay home and find yourself a "Golden Girls" marathon.

The actors hold our attention, and there’s something to be said for the guys’ pathological disconnect. But the movie itself is too disconnected to say it.

As slickly entertaining as you’d expect a Disney-produced inspirational sports movie to be. But it’s so lacking in sincerity and creativity that “inspirational” never rounds the corner to “inspiring.”

The nearly unrecognizable Chiklis almost single-handedly saves the day.

Director Steve James ("Hoop Dreams") has a worthy message, but never makes the case that he needs an entire documentary to deliver it.

As her boss and boyfriend, an impressively good-natured James Van Der Beek adds a professional sheen to what otherwise feels like a vanity affair.

While Cera is charming enough to keep us watching, he's never allowed to cut loose -- even though that's supposed to be the whole point of the movie.

Nathan’s neurotic self-indulgence strains our patience.

Hawke works hard to solidify Pawlikowski's wispy ideas (which are adapted from Douglas Kennedy's novel).

As the world's most chipper recovering coma patient, McAdams is a beautiful blank. There's not a single moment when her character feels real, or as if she genuinely has anything at stake. So it's a good thing Tatum steps up to add a little depth to this unabashedly lightweight venture.

Simplistic plotting, pedestrian visuals and poorly-handled melodrama do lend the project a cheap, made-for-TV feel, which is underscored by the fact that Danes and Marsden don’t seem obliged to turn in their best work.

You will find a few glimmers of humanity in Todd Solondz' latest exercise in acerbic observation. But Solondz continues to mistake judgment for honesty, and empathy for weakness.

The result is undoubtedly impassioned. But it's also so blinkered and self-congratulatory that it feels like an undergraduate thesis project. Even if you relate to the cause, you may find yourself frustrated by the effort.

Surely Patton Oswalt could have leveraged all those accolades from last year's "Young Adult" into a better project than this instantly forgettable comedy.

Cage and the always-intense Pearce keep this thing going, but even they seem to know the ultimate destination is a bargain bin.

The pacing is so tedious and the action so unexciting that it's a real thrill when J.K. Simmons shows up as a wry alien expert — and a huge disappointment when he disappears a few minutes later.

Tooth Fairy's script -- which was written by five people -- is lousy, and the direction, by Michael Lembeck, is weak.

While W.E. cannot be counted as a successful directorial effort, there are genuine elements of interest here. The most notable is a nervy central performance from Andrea Riseborough, who plays true-life Baltimore socialite Wallis Simpson.

Gently sweet but unmemorable bonbon.

A well-shot but generically dull disappointment.

Ivory appears most concerned about creating a mood, and in this regard he's successful. But Ruth Prawer Jhabvala's surprisingly bland screenplay, based on Peter Cameron's novel, feels half-finished

While some documentaries are broad enough in theme and creative enough in style to attract a wide-ranging audience, others remain best-suited to a smaller group of devotees. Such is the case for Peter Rosen's biography of violinist Jascha Heifetz.

The only grace notes come from Noah Wyle and Peter Bogdanovich as the two characters who refuse, in different ways, to buy the industry line.

Despite the calculated advance press about the movie's nudity, polygamy, dirty talk, etc., David Wain's comedy is depressingly banal. And all that breathless hype now feels like nothing more than manipulation.

Rickards tries hard in a difficult role and Greg Germann offers nice support as an empathetic neighbor. But like her character, it's Broderick who keeps things from falling apart.

It's a shame, though, that the movie also features stereotyped or retrograde attitudes towards Jewish, gay, and female characters. Perhaps Van Peebles' kids could school their dad on the virtues of across-the-board respect.

If all you want is a bullets-and-bombs B-movie, you'll get your money's worth: Somehow, Hayward makes 82 minutes feel like hours.

Despite the movie’s flaws, Cicin-Sain does show considerable confidence for a first-time writer and director.

True, the Boys are thoughtful and eloquent, and the whole package is engaging enough to hold even a newcomer’s attention, but the end result is an incomplete story of a forgotten band hoping to celebrate — or should I say sell-abrate — an anniversary no one else remembered.

What do we do about a movie that is half compelling and half unwatchable? Director Charlie Stratton seems to be onto something at the start of his period drama In Secret. Then it all slips through his fingers.

Having carried the mediocre smash “Divergent,” Shailene Woodley now uplifts another underwhelming teen thriller. This one’s as tiny as that one was huge.

Half amusing and half appalling, Matthew Vaughn’s shameless spy caper Kingsman: The Secret Service is ultimately done in by its own hypocrisy.

A story that never finds a reason for its own existence.

While they have all the materials needed for a sharp satire, they're too timid to arrive at any real revelations.

What "The Exorcist" might look like if Madonna rewrote it, this silly fright flick finds college student Casey (Odette Yustman) haunted by a Kabbalistic demon.

Something has surely gone wrong when there is not a single moment in Ice Age: Continental Drift that equals the four-minute "Simpsons" short that precedes it.

"Grace" may be based on a true story, but barely a moment in it feels real.

Earth to Echo is a copy of a copy. The movie feels less like a weak “E.T.” than a substandard “Mac and Me.” And you may not even remember the latter, a 1988 flop — the fate likely to hit this well-meaning but underwhelming effort.

You know what you’re going to get, and that is, indeed, what Sandler delivers. It’s juvenile, it’s obvious and it’s crass. But with Sandler at the helm, at least it’s as easy to like as it is to forget.

It's a shame, of course, that Madden brought the best to such an exotic Top locale without making the most of the opportunity.

Once Quale and writer John Swetnam get their generic setup out of the way, they can loosen up and treat the tornadoes like the villains they are. The effectively simulated storms, with their massive wreckage, start to feel like monsters stalking the heroes.

Along with Moore, all of them deserve some kind of credit for committing to a movie barely six souls will ever even see.

While Diaz and Kutcher make their clichéd characters as likable as possible, you can bet on this: Any movie named after an already-stale ad campaign isn't likely to gamble on the unexpected.

Tolan writes regularly for smart shows like "Rescue Me," but his best instincts deserted him when he set his sights on the big screen for the first time.

If you go in knowing what you're getting, you should come out relatively satisfied. Our hero vigorously beats up a parade of bad guys. Lots of bullets fly. There are a couple of decently plotted thefts. And to tell the truth, Statham's Southern accent is nearly worth the price of admission itself.

Mostly, though, you'll appreciate Grenier, who approaches this minor project with hilarious and generous abandon.

With its cash-flashing men and dirty-talking women, the movie already feels dated. But it wouldn't have been much fun five years ago, either.

It’s a mystery as to how so much talent combined to create such a cynically superficial product.

Any story about Suu Kyi's extraordinary life is worth seeing, simply to learn more about her. Even so, such a rare individual deserves a film that treats her not as a saint, but the remarkable, complex human being she actually is.

Even if you overlook the lousy lighting, awkward editing, and uneven acting, there's so much talking -- and so little story -- that your mind is likely to wander.

You must really love a movie if you decide to remake it just three years after its release. But unless you also intend to improve upon the first attempt, what's the point?

This film - like all the Madea-free dramas - could use more humor. Still, every Perry movie has its highs and lows. This time, the highs are a little higher, and the lows not quite so low. There is no faith-based message, but the moral is obvious: persistence pays off.

Unfortunately, Madsen (a Danish filmmaker, not the American actor) has an approach to this rich topic that is repetitive and simplistic, as if he wasn't quite sure how to fill out even a brief feature.

When it comes down to it, you can’t have a strong horror movie without a strong villain. Given that Chucky is currently working overtime to torment an entire community, surely Annabelle can do more than offer up a couple of creepy grins before calling it a day.

The criterion couldn't be simpler: does a 20-minute martial arts battle featuring Thai superstar Tony Jaa sound like the ideal way to spend your time and money? If not, move on.

Daniel Cohen’s genial French comedy is as airy as a soufflé. Alas, it’s not nearly as satisfying.

The movie is designed not to explore the experience of illness, or first love, or adolescence, but merely to make us swoon, sigh, and sob.

Though Wilson tries hard, none of the actors - including Terrence Howard as the detective who unravels this story in flashback is able to overcome the script's considerable deficiencies.

While the actors are appealing, their weirdly co-dependent characters aren't. And they don't learn enough to balance out the bland, intermittently irritating nature of their adventures.

Chico Colvard's tragic documentary is blunt and rather artless, but it does make for impactful, and deeply disturbing, viewing.

Director Donald Petrie doesn’t have much to brag about here, but at least he gives us some nice scenery to look at.

Unfortunately, the stylistic repetition and intensely one-sided viewpoint only undermine his (Suleiman) goal.

Anyone looking for a date-night flick will be inclined to fall for Michael Dowse’s aggressively adorable What If. Just be warned: The single-minded determination to win you over may wind up pushing you away.

It's hard to imagine this was his intent, but David Mackenzie's minor romp manages to make being a rock star look like a distinctly unglamorous affair.

There simply isn’t enough here to sustain an entire movie.

Its compelling conceit is immediately weighed down by leaden execution.

Knightley does fine work, but she’s been miscast. Her innate sophistication undermines the movie’s intentions right off the bat. We never believe her as Greta.

Like a creaky Vegas act desperate to please, The Incredible Burt Wonderstone is so eager you can’t help wanting to like it. But you also can’t help wondering if something better is playing in the theater next-door.

Director Tina Gordon Chism, who also wrote the screenplay, seems to have relied pretty strongly on Perry for guidance. In particular, she rejects any notions of subtlety, either in the comedy or the weirdly heavy-handed messages about masculinity.

In truth, Musical Chairs is so simplistic it almost feels like a first film.

Though it was directed by Burr Steers, Charlie St. Cloud feels more like a misguided collaboration among Nicholas Sparks, M. Night Shyamalan and Billy Graham.

Unfortunately, Färberböck never gives us reason enough to sit through such unremitting punishment. Though the story is based in truth, an emotionally removed Hoss feels more like a symbol than an actual person, while her detached narration keeps us at further remove.

The trouble starts with the casting. The usually reliable Kevin Spacey never quite gets a handle on Abramoff, an Orthodox Jew devoted to unorthodox business methods.

He tells his story honestly, but with no great sense of self-awareness or insight.

With his (Cage) over-the-top delivery and operatically intense facial expressions, there's no way anyone could accuse him of phoning this one in.

None of the seven shorts here is worth a single, well-made feature. But there are a few amusing moments to be found.

If any life story should make for a compelling biography, it's certainly Hugh Hefner's. Unfortunately, this love letter is so lacking in any edge, the end result is not just unsexy but unforgivably staid.

An appealing Deschanel does her best, but the pair is mismatched in every way, from age to attitude. The entire movie is hung on Carrey's shtick, so if you're a fan, you'll have a decent time.

But oy, such terrible jokes and choppy direction. Would it have killed her to share the credits with someone else?

While the whole cast -- including Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson -- is game, too much time was spent coordinating chase scenes and explosions, and too little fixing a slack script that relies on bathroom humor and snickering sex jokes.

The results are awkward and atonal.

His (Surnow) unfocused script swerves all over the road, but Christopher Meloni and Dean Norris repeatedly get things back on track.

Ultimately it’s the cast, more than the crime, that gives this story life.

A romantic triangle featuring Rebecca Hall, Alan Rickman and “Game of Thrones” costar Richard Madden has no business being this dull.

There’s never a moment when we forget that Mike and Wallace are just vacant personalities that two talented actors decided to try on for fun.

The ensuing road trip should be hilariously chaotic, a classic misadventure between two ill-matched travelers. Instead of “Midnight Run,” though, we get another gloss on the recent “Guilt Trip,” in which the concept is all that counts.

Berger’s got some clever ideas, but he does not push far in exploring them. And aside from Cross, there is virtually no one to like among these self-involved suburbanites. After an hour alone with them, we can’t help wishing The End would just arrive.

While a good director can spin a worthy movie from any subject, first-timer Carlos Brooks does surprisingly little with the jaw-dropper of a topic he chose.

Even if he's slumming, Renner gets it best: his dry delivery fully acknowledges the movie's ridiculousness. If you're planning on entering this fractured fairy tale, you'll want to follow his lead.

The most startling truth is about Emanuel is that she's a rather ordinary teen in a rather ordinary movie.

Teller is, by far, the best thing about this easygoing, stubbornly generic independent romance from Max Nichols (son of Oscar-winning director Mike Nichols).

The efforts of Beavan's clan are so extreme that they spark some interest, but their environmental commitment feels a bit too self-serving to have the impact that's clearly desired.

Regretfully, the beginning of this movie is as good as it ever gets.

The script is undernourished, the supporting characters - including a horribly miscast Lucy Punch - ill-conceived, and Val increasingly hard to take. But when the movie ended, I wanted to watch Walken all over again.

The second film from Enid Zentelis (“Evergreen”) comes across as a heavy-handed message movie. And its presence in theaters can only be explained by the participation of Oscar-winning lead Melissa Leo.

Emma Stone, for example, is no one's idea of an ugly duckling. And though she offers a sincere effort, she never quite settles into the role of Skeeter.

Even if you appreciate the sight of grown men acting like idiots, the film's repetitive pacing and self-congratulatory air start to feel exhausting.

While Shepard and Tuck earn a few laughs spoofing the celebrity/enabler relationship, the high points come from the game cameos: Ashton Kutcher, Jon Favreau, and Bradley Cooper are drolly entertaining as A-listers who make it perfectly clear that they're doing their buddy a big favor by appearing in his movie.

Most of the actresses are appealing, but ultimately not even the gifted Mara can keep the film from feeling like a gauzy portrait of privilege.

Early potential fizzles away too quickly in this underachieving buddy comedy, which just barely skids along on the charm of its co-stars.

On the bright side, the charismatic Liberato is one to watch. And de Matteo (“The Sopranos”) brings a crucial jolt of assertive energy. Both seem to be in another, more exciting movie entirely.

It's impossible to guess why Bullock was ever attracted to this insulting role, and the eternally confident Reynolds is miscast as a young, bullied underling.

The kind of middling thriller you might stop to watch if you came across it on cable, director Roger Christian’s “Alien” knockoff is presumably only in theaters because Christian Slater’s contract demanded it.

One can't blame Colfer for wanting to expand his range, but he's created a character who is neither hero nor villain, in a black comedy that is neither dark nor funny enough.

For a while, Leterrier does manage to conjure up a little bit of magic between all these charming actors. And then, presto: Just like that, it’s gone.

As both writer and director, Cronenberg focuses so intently on the surface that he neglects to include enough substance.

Check out the trailer before you commit to this one; if it's for you, you'll know instantly. And if it's not, you'll know that, too.

Moore shows promising ingenuity in shooting parts of the movie covertly, within the notoriously restrictive Disney World resort. But his script never takes the same sort of risk.

It's an odd showcase for Diane Kruger. She is never very believable as Elsa, a war correspondent who has been kidnapped by the Taliban.

Sam Esmail’s fractured romance is beautifully shot and creatively structured, but he never gives us a single reason to root for his mismatched couple.

If you’re wondering how much heat you’ll find in this French romance, the title offers an unexpectedly frank clue.

As for that unpolished screenplay, the less said the better.

This uneven directorial debut from Jen McGowan is notable mostly for a nicely understated turn from Juliette Lewis.

It’s almost painful to watch the immense promise of The Congress, Ari Folman’s spectacularly ambitious experiment, dissipate into nothing.

In mistaking obvious observations for cutting insight, writer-director Jonathan Parker becomes what he lampoons.

When Robert De Niro, Clive Owen and Jason Statham unite for an action thriller, we should be able to expect something special. Or at least memorable. Instead, Killer Elite gives us ordinary.

Though Cooper deserves credit for pushing beyond his comfort zone, he's clearly miscast in a role better suited to a young unknown.

Refn's version was successful enough to inspire two sequels; at its best, this effort will push Coyle's career a little further along in the U.S.

Statham could do these movies in his sleep by now, so he gets credit for offering up so much dry wit. In fact, while Rudakova makes a painful acting debut, Statham appears more engaged than he has in a while.

Long before your 140 minutes are up, you may wish you went to see "Sparkle" instead.

You know how sometimes you have to listen to the boring problems of acquaintances you don't really like? And all the while, you're silently wondering if you remembered to pay your rent? Well, writer/director Alan Hruska has very kindly recreated that experience for us all.

Apocalyptic visions are no longer enough to shock us. By this point, if you want to imagine the end of the world, you really need to say something new about it.

The movie may critique its antihero, but it also offers just one more venue in which he's allowed to wallow - while we pay his way.

Towards the end, you might find yourself thinking, "Well, this could have been worse." And you'll mean it as a compliment.

The sort of movie that’s not good enough to embrace, but not quite bad enough to dismiss.

Alexandre Aja’s supernatural thriller Horns isn’t an entirely successful movie. But with a committed Daniel Radcliffe in the lead, it’s a consistently intriguing one.

It's always dispiriting to see an ideal subject given shallow treatment, and one spends most of this documentary wishing a more experienced director had made it.

While foodies are sure to feel sated by the gastronomic splendors of Paul Lacoste's debut documentary, others may walk out with a strange sense of emptiness.

The smooth professionalism of so many outstanding participants can’t help but elevate a very ordinary film a little bit higher. Despite the best efforts of both McCarthy and O’Dowd, though, there’s never a moment where it truly takes flight.

Strong performances and understated cinematography help balance the self-conscious editing, but ultimately the entire affair feels false.

If ever a thriller were to inspire a collective "eh," it's got to be The Roommate. It's not a good movie, by any means, but it's also not bad enough to have fun hating on.

Houston does his best with an unlikable character, and the young actors are appealing enough to keep us watching. The movie itself, however, is a mess.

It's a shame, but perhaps no surprise, that Niederhoffer was unable to transfer her astute vision to the big screen.

After a clever start, Spurlock turns self-serious, aiming to teach us something about our enemies and ourselves.

Unfocused and underwhelming.

Anyway. Here's what matters: The dance scenes are great. While no more revolutionary than the "political" plotline, the flash-mob concept does allow for more creative choreography than this series has seen in some time.

The script is a mess, built on lazy clichés, stilted jokes and easy payoffs. What the movie does have, though, is enthusiasm.

Boredom is the very basis of this sequel, at least at the beginning.

Wahlberg and Ejiofor muster enough charisma to keep us watching, and Jason Mantzoukas cuts through the generic feel with some much-appreciated weirdness as the Artisan.

The performances range wildly from high (Banderas) to low (Birgitte Hjort Sørensen as Jacq’s pregnant wife) to you-must-be-kidding (Melanie Griffith as both a scientific genius and a prostitute android).

It’s a shame to see both actor and director play things so safe. Not only is much of the choreography reminiscent of their better films, but they rely too much on digital effects. Instead, we should be awed solely by the sight of a first-rate fighter.

It's up to you to decide if his oddly artsy vision, which pulls in first-person perspectives, surreal memories and highbrow cinematic references, suggests interesting ambition or misplaced pretension.

Story and his four screenwriters don’t exactly strain themselves to find a new angle in this mismatched buddy comedy. Picture “Rush Hour,” and then imagine Hart as the annoying kid in “Are We There Yet?” You’ve basically just watched the entire movie in your head.

Has some nice moments, but it feels very much like a first film. The pacing is off, and the cast members appear to be acting in completely different projects.

Sometimes these characters say things worth hearing. But too often, and in contrast to her first feature, "Me and You and Everyone We Know," July's calculated delivery doesn't reveal the profundity required to elevate it beyond a self-conscious deadpan.

Why, given all its potential, wasn’t the bar set higher? That, alas, remains the most noteworthy mystery of all.

An inferior retread of Marshall's equally contrived "Valentine's Day," only dressed up with coats and confetti.

At the very least, it does provide an easy excuse to sit in a heated room eating popcorn.

The only truly ugly side to this self-consciously grimy movie is the streak of Neanderthal humor. Operatic overacting is funny. Racist and homophobic jokes? Not so much.

A painfully flat spoof of the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion.

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.

Director and screenwriter Adam Brooks, adapting Jennifer Egan's novel, doesn't seem to understand what makes a movie relevant.

Despite catchy animation and a few intense scenes, there's simply nothing here we haven't seen before.

Oddly enough, though, only the finale is predictable in a movie that appears to have been edited in an early-model blender. Not a single scene connects smoothly with the next.

Just like its increasingly wan antihero, this blood-soaked series is on its last legs.

Although it's recycled from start to finish, there are some decent jokes laced throughout, plus enough gore to satisfy the most bloodthirsty tastes.

Regrettably, neither cast nor crew is able to save it from itself.

Don't let the title fool you. The one thing they have in common is how decidedly unerotic they are.

Madhur Jaffrey and Faran Tahir fare considerably better as Nina's conservative mother and brother, leaving us confused ourselves: Why didn't Patel focus on them, instead?

Hartley's satire of consumer-driven sexuality is undermined by the straight-faced decision to cast affectless model Tatiana Abracos as the heroine.

This off-putting satire is a jumble of misguided ideas that gather like lint in the navel of self-obsessed director Philippe Caland.

This lackluster outing is mostly just a retread of past glories.

Feels like reading someone else's diary. Undoubtedly, there's some very important stuff in there, but it's most interesting to the person who wrote it.

Tries everything possible to win you over -- satire, gross-out comedy, even earnest romance. But as any high-schooler can tell you, the harder you try, the bigger you fall.

Scenario is ripe for subversive humor, but Ralston never even questions the superiority of the genetically privileged.

If there's a lesson to be found in this shameless vanity project, it's that money can buy anything. Even a movie.

Why would so many accomplished women waste their time and talents on a movie as counterfeit as Mad Money?

Stays firmly, depressingly, inside the lines.

We never get a sensible explanation for Linda's bizarre double life, or uncover any reason - any reason at all - why Bullock would pick this lazy, patchwork script out of all the ones she surely receives every year.

It would be nice to say this predictable fantasy has such a big heart, we can forgive its excesses. But director Kirsten Sheridan overplays nearly every already-corny scene, and there is no chemistry between Russell and Rhys Meyers, who appear to be passing through on their way to better projects.

This preposterous adaptation of the Book of Esther is recommended viewing only for those impressed that it comes endorsed by the American Bible Society.

Lighter on horror than it is on inadvertent humor.

A flashy homage to a dozen better movies, this self-conscious Hong Kong action flick is so packed with visual thrills, you may not notice that there's absolutely nothing beneath its impressively slick surface.

The movie veers so wildly between being zany and grim, we're left feeling more empty than entertained.

A great idea that never gets off the ground.

The sort of slick-looking indie that plays well at film festivals, this heavy-handed boxing drama is really just a flyweight bulked up on cliches and false sentimentality.

The writing, directing and acting are all so sketchy, it's a mystery that Kattan didn't just try out this material the way he should have -- in a three-minute sketch.

Competent in the extreme, the talented Jolie would make a great Jane Bond. But mired in this joyless orgy of preposterousness, her biggest challenge is simply keeping a straight face.

Sets out to be a social critique but settles for smug disdain.

We're bombarded by witless racial clichés, stale sexism and homophobia and enthusiastic celebrations of extreme flatulence.

Neither chimps nor children should be subjected to such shabby mediocrity.

There's a fascinating and terrifying story to be told about Elizabeth Bathory, the dramatically depraved 17th century sadist known as the Blood Countess.....This ain't it.

Normally, I'd recommend a movie like this only to diehard fans. But even they may want to wait until it hits cable.

Turns out to be as heavy and earthbound as an injured dragon.

This tale of disaffected sexual depravity is practically a parody of the worst of French filmmaking.

The result feels as if she (Trish Doolan) gathered all her friends, turned on her camera and let them loose. Which is perfectly fine, if you don't expect anyone to pay to watch the finished product.

Ever been on a blind date that you knew would be dismal from the start? Well, this is the movie version of that date, stretched out over the slowest two hours imaginable.

There's a lot of scary stuff in Wes Craven Presents: Dracula 2000. There are eyeball-sucking leeches, decapitations, punctured necks... and appalling acting.

A superficial tween comedy that mocks celebutantes like the Olsen twins while simultaneously pushing stars Hilary and Haylie Duff as their replacements.

The question is, if Sarabeth is so desperate to escape this oppressive distillation of Jewish neuroses, why would filmmaker Debra Kirschner think we'd want to stick around?

The plot is as riddled with holes as Matilda's victims, making her sudden appearances more distracting than distressing.