Lisa Alspector

Bruce Willis's marvelous performance as a contract killer only makes everything else about this comedy seem more pathetic.

The plot is more convenient than intriguing, the characters more cartoonish than iconic--especially the heroine, who grapples with feminism in a way that should have been fascinating.

The more pathetic the role, the more evident Robin Williams's conscientiousness--but his professionalism doesn't make this fantasy worthwhile.

Time and space are condensed by means both elegant and crafty, and rarely are any of the characters made to be more--or less--than allegorical.

All the movie's free-form horror phenomena might have been more interesting if the plot didn't keep insisting on a systematic explanation for them.

Somewhat depressive anecdote drawn out to feature length.

Overwhelmingly grisly.

The scenes set on earth--messy, predictable satire about the commercial exploitation of fevered genius. The unconscious/underworld scenes may be boring because neosurrealism is a cliche.

The draggy narrative of this 1997 comedy is tough to sit through--there are even several overproduced musical numbers--but it does have an intriguing subversive element that I don't want to give away.

The acting--especially Dreyfuss's ability to roll with the mood swings--is impressive if not redemptive.

An ounce of self-awareness about its almost gleeful use of cliches would have improved this dance soap opera.

Geek-triumphs-after-all comedies can be charming, but in this one the triumphing begins so early it's hard to feel for the geek.

This earnest yet cynical drama makes the gang-infiltration genre seem exhausted.

Yet another unironic war movie.

The rest of these animated sequences...depend on gimmickry, cuteness, or facile ideology, and don't come close to demonstrating the complex relationship between sound and image found in "The Sorcerer's Apprentice."

Shakur’s performance get increasingly intriguing as his character becomes disenchanted with his partner’s tactics, but Belushi is in way over his head.

The clunky plot is set in Santa Fe, and includes a foil character who might as well wear a sign on his forehead.

Pesci proves he can act his way through anything.

This 1998 movie is essentially a compilation of things-aren't-what-they-seem games played on the viewer; all its little tricks, including Ricci's snide and smart-alecky voice-overs about movie conventions, are really old--except one. But it's not worth the wait.

Neither good nor terrible.

Oscar baiting is the main point of this unintentionally silly drama.

Stodgy storytelling and a hyperbolic score reduce their experiences to melodrama.

Hokey.

An intriguing noir whose conceptual sophistication is partly undermined by naive execution.

Satisfying in small ways.

Rowan Atkinson's recalcitrant TV character is the hub of this 1997 feature that will disappoint fans and nonfans alike.

Never seems to find its tone.

Nat Mauldin and Larry Levin's screenplay, indifferently directed by Betty Thomas, is simply an excuse for tired scatological jokes involving animal characters with the voices of well-known actors.

The tectonic shifts in this camp-horror extravaganza are unsettling.

Cliched narrative, which isn't funny as often as seems intended.

Clunky and obvious.

All of this comedy's jokes are old.

The feature has some lovely effects.

A narrative that tries to juggle thriller elements, tons of pop culture imagery, and way too much philosophical baggage.

Olympia Dukakis and Illeana Douglas come off poorly in silly supporting roles that make Aniston seem to have screen presence by default. Her character's habit of compulsively adjusting her bodice ensures our attention has the proper focus.

The buildup to social criticism in what at first appears to be pointless and partly misogynist exploitation is subtly impressive.

Partly because the seducer's technique is methodical--as a former conquest explains to the naive heroine--the movie's answers are too easy.

Blends extremes of violence and humor to create an irreverent tone that nullifies everything; the plot is so clever it crushes the characterization, making all the action seem perfunctory.

The result is an exploitation movie that seems like it's about something -- though what exactly I couldn't say.

It's all corny and contrived and usually sensitive. The filmmakers even dare to show the effects of illness--a subject frequently glamorized to the point of being insulting--in a love scene of rare honesty.

Whedon and director Jean-Pierre Jeunet ("Delicatessen") bend over so far backward to make Weaver's and Ryder's roles beefy that they end up mocking the characters' bravura.

Ultimately this is a sharp-focus issue movie, decrying intolerance as it explores the effects of labeling, the complexity of fetishizing, and the differences between business and crime.

A better disaster movie than it is a thriller.

This 1998 romantic comedy mostly bores with its cumbersome exposition and close-ups of trivial objects scattered throughout lackluster montage sequences.

Romantic comedy is set mainly in NYC, where the plight of its ambivalent lovers seems particularly trivial.

The ultimately uncomplicated view of sexual and emotional violence in a family is only tragic, not insightful.

A cute send-up of preadolescent stereotypes.

Becomes blandly idealistic.

Better than slick, though it feels pointless -- another homage to a kind of filmmaking that's had more than its share.

Dead-on imitations of some of the characters from the television series created by Bob Mosher and Joe Connelly will seem pointlessly stylized to viewers unfamiliar with the old sitcom.

Intriguing but poorly executed ideas are the basis of this not entirely unappealing romantic comedy.

Cathartically disgusting adventure movie.

The end justifies the means as long as everything turns out OK for the not-too-obedient American soldier and everyone else who enjoys Coca-Cola.

Director Bruce Beresford -- not intending to be funny but succeeding wildly.

Two generic ideas amount to nothing in this theatrical dark comedy about violence and information overload.

The movie's repeated attempts to combine seriousness and humor as in a blender give it a dysfunctionally earnest tone.

This kind of wheel spinning comes from having the desire to speak but nothing much to say, and Smith, who's made a slight movie about his being a slight filmmaker, seems to know this.

Contrasting the erotic with the disgusting is usually provocative and can be funny, but not in this underdog comedy.

Fast-paced editing doesn't compensate for unconvincing dialogue.

This terrible live-action comedy based on Jay Ward cartoons has its moments and its near misses.

In this inept thriller...the script is a coloring book, and the director's careful to stay within the lines.

People frequently cover the camera lens with their hands or refer to the "documentary" being filmed, as if to assure us that what we're seeing is real.

Too much plot and too much faith in special effects and adolescent humor doom this "Babe" wannabe.

In nearly every scene of her dangerously underwritten role, Diaz has a mouthful of cliches.

Writer Kevin Williamson, who's also responsible for the overrated "Scream," sets cleverness above emotional impact in a poorly conceived 1997 thriller with plenty of empty references.

This movie's story must have been computer generated along with its animation.

More of the abundant sight gags and slips of the tongue originate in bathrooms and bedrooms than are actually set there.

Unlike Michael Jordan, this 45-minute large-format movie demonstrates mostly unrealized potential.

Initially tolerable but increasingly stupid thriller.

The message must have got lost somewhere in the plot twists of this would-be topical thriller about the power of hearsay on a college campus.

Even the revelation of what the fifth element is at the end is disingenuous--in fact, the archness of this whole project is repellent.

This Farrelly brothers "hommage" replicates the mechanics of their work without echoing its spirit or complex tone, and many of the deliberate offenses fail to transcend mere exploitation.

A story that holds little suspense; we know exactly how happily this animated musical will end--and the wait isn't very diverting.

It's almost always night and almost always raining.

By the time the manic camera slows down to reveal the back stories of the characters, everyone's motives are either moot or redundant.

As the characters behave with symbolic excess in situations designed to provoke their bigotry and self-interest, superficial black comedy periodically gives way to painful drama.

The pranks are as bland as Macdonald’s demeanor, which is supposed to subvert expectations about the role of the straight man in a comedy duo; the subjects of running gags range from anal rape to anal rape.

This ambiguously pitched comedy--its idea of sexy humor is a cheerleader farting--shoots for camp without bothering with satire.

If misery were inherently interesting, this adaptation starring Emily Watson and Robert Carlyle as a couple plagued by alcoholism and child mortality might be too.

Ultimately the movie is alluring and respectful--its sadness may be what saves it from becoming sensationalist or trite.

Their splashy gore is more convincing than this incompetent horror-comedy's attempt to mock bourgeois high school dissoluteness without appearing judgmental.

Even the most shocking elements of the story are made bland by childish overkill.

The story, which is even dumber than it sounds, is told in flashback.

If DiCillo had been going anywhere with this, I'd have gladly followed. But setting up petty ironies and pathetic references to Woody Allen seems to be his only goal.

Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn are too good for this embarrassing remake.

Boring, irksome family movie.

Slow, arty thriller.

It’s a heart-tugging scenario undermined by a striking hypocrisy: obscuring a hot-button issue in casting, some actors with Down's syndrome have minor roles, while Penn plays the lead -- and chews the scenery.

Ritchie may be skilled at generating controlled chaos, but his surprise-a-minute strategy ultimately holds no surprises; Snatch is even more frenetically boring than his 1999 "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels."

Exploits all the cliches about shrewish women and pussy-whipped men without achieving satire.

Tedious mockumentary.

This comedy-thriller that has no particular motive for changing tones.

The movie occasionally makes an unexpectereference -- though with more desperation than wit.

The premise of this neither dark nor funny movie--which wants to be both--is that it's somehow ironic when wealthy characters are motivated by greed.

The thin story covering her acquisition of one wave after another while narrowly escaping death time and again is strictly for player one.

Conveys little sense of a connection, as if di Florio had made it mainly because she had access to a celebrity.

The fundamental problems with David Cronenberg's disastrous 1993 adaptation, written by Hwang himself, are twofold: the unsuitability of such a premise for film, where the actors and audience no longer share the same space, and the miscasting of Jeremy Irons as the accountant and John Lone as the diva.

The plot is largely a series of excuses for one-liners expertly delivered by Maguire, making all the hatred, maiming, and killing seem like digressions.