Kim Morgan

But with a potentially fascinating study of ethics, of how cheating rich boys become cheating rich men while humble souls do more good in the world, The Emperor's Club doesn't take the audience anywhere smart.

On paper, it sounds like the start of a good film. Too bad McKee made such a lackluster thing of it. Though the horror comes from an interesting place, it's frequently forced, negating much of the humor and pathos the film attempts to instill.

It's merely a by-the-numbers coming-of-age film

Jas some nice moments, a great soundtrack and some wonderful works by the dark-even-while-light Ricci.

The film strives to be poetic, but it exposes nothing especially moving or relevant. Rather, the engaging leads wander around like actors lost in an ill-fated exercise in subtext.

A slick disappointment -- though there's much unintentional humor to be enjoyed.

So what is the picture saying? With its uneven tone, flat direction (on bad-looking digital video) and varied performances, very little.

Works as pure escapist entertainment, but it's on the cusp of being smarter -- making it all the more frustrating.

So action-packed from start to finish that the final result is grating rather than thrilling.

Scattered and silly. If it evokes any strong feelings from you, it will probably be hunger -- the food all looks so good.

Short on both life and laughs.

You can't just rework a beloved Christmas classic, set it in reverse and expect it to run smoothly.

Written and edited by Sayles, "Casa" is certainly the artist's baby, but he crams too much into a relatively brief running time. Worse, though it should be longer, we're not especially unhappy that it isn't, for being around these women gets tedious.

This is not a movie about actors. It's a movie about racing, chasing, chicks and adrenaline -- just what many theatergoers are dying for in a summer dominated by a sweet ogre and a dumbed-down historical tragedy.

Gallo makes some fatal mistakes in his direction. As Griffin talks, he adds sound effects that are distracting and annoying. It's actually an insult to the comic -- as if his jokes aren't clever enough on their own.

If not for the race sequences and the intriguing presence of Caviezel, who made this film before "The Passion of the Christ" and who one hopes will take on even more roles befitting his peculiar sad-eyed charisma, the film would amount to a well-intentioned snooze.

Blue Crush, which might appear exciting in an "Endless Summer"/"Where the Boys Are" kind of way, actually is really boring.

Poor special effects, a silly looking werewolf and clunky comic writing help to spoil what should have been a fun B-movie.

Bullock maintains a luster and comic naturalness that most actresses couldn't pull off in such mediocrity.

Though it's enjoyable, you can't help but feel the squandered situations and talent, flattened by mediocre writing and direction. Scoff if you will, but the gifted Sandler and his audience deserve better.

So strained in its "charm" and "pluck" that you grow weary by minute 15, hoping that the teens whose lives it depicts will stop being so darn peppy or sweetly confused or irritatingly dramatic.

Peter Segal's film, a predictable, choppy affair at best, boasts an understated, likable performance by Sandler, but here we never feel, as we did with the original, invested in the outcome of the final game, or convinced of the redeemability of the movie's sordid protagonist.

Kassovitz can't control the ridiculous script and messy tone. And though it's not exactly hard to watch Berry run around in a hospital robe (Cruz and Berry: That's one good-looking mental ward), it's not particularly profound.

Though it's debatable whether Sandler is squandered or just supremely annoying here, the film's flaws aren't entirely his fault.

If the movie wasn't about an actor but instead about an insurance salesman or a plumber who looked like James Gandolfini, it might come off better. But then, who says a plumber would care either?

The film wears out its welcome by the halfway mark, becoming a silly spectacle.

Sometimes funny but mostly stupid film directed by Adam Shankman might have worked had it been made on TV by Norman Lear in the 1970s.

In The Tuxedo, ridiculously, Chan's just a suit. A suit walking Jennifer Love Hewitt's breasts around. Chan deserves better.