Ernest Hardy

Although the film disappoints in the final stretch (both the villain and his motive turn out to be very lame), it confidently thrills for most of its nearly two-hour length.

Horribly slapdash affair.

Quite unintentionally, director Luis Llosa and screenwriters Hans Bauer, Jim Cash and Jack Epps Jr. have crafted a howler; Anaconda, meant to be a nail-biting thriller, is a laugh-out-loud comedy.

Albaladejo turns his film into a banal, mildly entertaining trifle of affirmation, eliciting a shrug more than any real emotion.

Buried beneath Silent Hill’s hyper-stylized stupidity (the film looks like a collaboration between David Fincher, Trent Reznor and music video director Mark Romanek) is the hollow effort to bottle something of the zeitgeist unease surrounding religious fundamentalism.

Though sprung from the mind of a woman, the film plays like a hetero male fantasy of tortured love.

A dark, biting comedy-- funny, smart and full of unpredictable twist and turns.

Too slow-moving and too understated in much of its humor.

The audience for this film would be those people who like their cinematic fare pre-digested and painfully familiar.

It's hollow, forced and false.

Lukewarm melodrama disappoints.

Less would have been more, and this film is sabotaged by its maker's unchecked pretension.

Exchanges overheard in bars, crisp dialogue between characters and a wistful tone underscore both modern isolation and the age-old need for connection.

A smart, seamless commentary on race, class and the expectations (or lack of) that are often attached to them. Kennedy is helped greatly by deep currents of heart and humor that pull you into the unfolding tale, and to the edge of your seat as the countdown to opening night begins.

A melancholy valentine to broken hearts and lost innocence.

One of the most haunting, viciously honest coming-of-age films in recent memory.

Animation fans, no matter their stylistic preference (computer-generated, claymation, old-school hand-drawn), will find much to sate their appetites in this collection of award-winning and critically acclaimed work. There’s not a dud in the bunch.

Far from the worst film this summer, but it also doesn't rate strong enough to be a future video rental.

For a film purporting to tell it like it is for black gay men, race is the most poorly handled aspect in Punk's equation; it's almost as if it had no relevance. That might have flown if its most telling moment didn't suggest otherwise.

In the end, Butterfly is an infuriating film because it's so very contrived, so annoyingly phony.

In the end, solid acting, stellar special-effects, and well-wrought tension make the film a worthy date flick or matinee outing.

It's a very funny film, one of the most enjoyable of the summer.

That tragedy looms heavily in Behind the Sun only makes its life-affirming moments -- resonate more deeply and powerfully in a film that is one of the year's best.

A movie that’s full of sound, fury and unintentional camp -- and is still bafflingly inert.

Preposterous and tedious, Sonny is spiked with unintentional laughter that, unfortunately, occurs too infrequently to make the film even a guilty pleasure.

The corniness and predictability feel, if not quite fresh, then not so groaningly stale.

Simultaneously hilarious and deeply informative thanks to the vibrant personalities at its center.

Merkin tries too hard for stylistic flourishes (as the hyper set-designed, claustrophobically seedy hotel underscores) and winds up almost sinking the noir-ish tale he’s telling.