Kevin Maynard

A big disappointment. It's toe-tappin' tripe aimed squarely at the undiscerning Britney Spears set.

The casting is sublime.

Has a credibly gritty texture, thanks in large part to Fishburne's generosity with his fellow actors.

Families already know exactly what they're in for, and they're likely to leave the multiplex high on the hum of a charming cast, sunny San Francisco locations, and a suitably happy ending.

There's nothing remotely bizarre about this boy meets girl meets boy tale.

The most obvious casualty ends up being Jennifer Jason Leigh, an actress known for her fearless choices, who is literally pissed on for her trouble.

Li's light touch and explosive fighting skills deserve a better vehicle than this overcooked pot of New Jack suey.

Not all of the jokes hit, but enough of them do that anyone who's ever filed, collated, or played Mixmaster DJ with the transcribing machine will find cathartic giggles in this breakout debut.

Its emotional sweep is ultimately undercut by murky characterizations and generic plotting.

Startlingly shallow even for a summer movie.

This avenging cat gets no action whatsoever. Neither does the movie, despite a terrific cast and a heap of street style.

Perhaps most depressingly, in pulling out all the stops for an ugly, violent climax, he (Schumacher) cheapens this vividly drawn slice of life, turning it into a tiresomely flawed, garden-variety vigilante thriller.

This is one of those movies in which there are only two types of people: officious yuppie pricks, and the beautiful folks who stop and smell the daisies. What keeps it (barely) from being completely intolerable is Keanu Reeves' hilariously awful lead performance.

An entertaining but insubstantial romantic thriller loaded with Euro-chic trappings and no small amount of sex appeal.

The more we realize that we're stuck in the company of a totally relentless loser, the drearier the entire experience becomes.

Makes for compulsive viewing.

As a snapshot of Hungarian history, Glamour's watchability trumps that of "Sunshine" — the droll absurdity of the former leaves a much deeper impression than the latter's bruising moralism.

Visually, Pitch Black is sleek and stylish in a post-apocalyptic way, and a scantily clad Radha Mitchell does a nice, more femme variation of Sigourney Weaver's Ripley.

What ultimately keeps Titan A.E. from taking off is an ordinary script.

Only really comes to exuberant life during the musical numbers.

Oy, it's such a pleasure that you'll be begging for Rush Hour 3.

A raunchy, scattershot, but often hilarious spoof.

Hits the wall and runs off the rails. They should've stuck to shtick.

Fans starving for some song and dance celluloid may be satiated, but this movie version really shows the material's age.

Dippy, funny, and fast-paced enough to be a guilty pleasure.

As classic romantic comedy goes, it ain't no "Tootsie."

It's so plot heavy it never finds its nimble comic rhythm.

An elegant, haunting folktale.

An audacious but underconceived blend of fiction and documentary that questions the idea of race and identity in America.

A matted hairball of a kiddie flick that's alternately maudlin and slapstickishly violent.

This one's all labor pains, and, in the end, nothing gets delivered.

Populated with whiny, unappealing characters that are impossible to care about and flatly staged sitcomish set-pieces...this lame Canadian import's a real woofer.

While both leads are appealing enough, it's the stuff on the sidelines that keeps All Over the Guy entertaining.

Oddly, Bully's only moments of power come at the film's end, after the crime takes place.

There's really nothing more to this by-the-numbers, ailment-of-the-week fodder dressed up with a classy cast.

"Footloose" meets "The Full Monty" in Bootmen, a cliché-ridden tap dance drama.

A modestly entertaining ride.

An amiable but contrived bit of blarney.

Love & Sex is nothing but pain and suffering.

A cross between a Hogarth painting and an MTV video, Plunkett & Macleane cuts quite a swath.

Offers nothing but tired "Red Shoe" Diaries-style sexploitation for the art-house crowd.

Strives for folksy charm but ends up just lying there like a plate of kippers.

It's dull, two-dimensional, and totally toothless.

It's Zahn's heartbreaking performance that drives Riding in Cars with Boys.

A barrage of dangling plot strands, inconsistent characterizations, and suspense-free shootouts.

The rapper-ever-increasingly-turned actor -- is having the time of his life, big pimp styling in a flashy wardrobe as he guts and struts.

The appealing cast makes the most of the derivative story.

Thanks to the first-time filmmaker's attention to character, Gun Shy is worth at least a shot at a matinee.

Considerably less fun than a marathon of Star Search episodes.

A chronic snore. My advice: Roll a fatty and re-rent the first one.

Doesn't come close to the pulp beauty and complexity of classic noir.

This is slight stuff, but the legions of budding Scorseses and Kevin Smiths might actually learn a little something, and they will certainly enjoy a chortle or two -- even if it is at their own expense.

In its attempts to chart a young girl's journey from innocence to experience, The Invisible Circus ends up having all the heft of a Nancy Drew mystery decked out in a tie-dyed T-shirt and peasant skirt.

Reitman has truly lost his gift for comic rhythms, cluttering up the film with running yuks that aren't that funny the first time and certainly don't improve with repetition.

Despite being full of Oscar-winning talent, this is still just a better-dressed, drawn-out episode of "Touched by an Angel."

The film's a vacuous bore.

An intermittently irresistible entertainment.

Hard to watch -- not because of its unflinching realism, but rather for its mawkish reliance on every boy hooker flick from "Midnight Cowboy" to "Johns."

An enjoyable female buddy caper -- more "Outrageous Fortune" than "Thelma and Louise."

Crude and witless.

The film's title accurately captures the sensation of sitting through it -- stay home.

Limp satire isn't worthy of its good intentions.

Shows its roots early on: Mixing the high camp of "Strictly Ballroom" with Monty's gritty milieu, the film comes off as little more than a contrived composite, despite the best efforts of pros Rickman, Richardson, and Griffiths.

One more attempt to pass off chopped liver as foie gras.