Lisa Alspector

The precredits sequence is exciting--it's the only part of the movie that even begins to use the idea of the vulnerability of a horror-movie audience reflexively. The rest of the story is a straightforward narrative that's threatening only to the ingenues in the cast.

Its blurring of the line between parody and exploitation only makes it totally innocuous.

Wastes most of its 110 minutes making impotent jokes about male sexual behavior and the repugnance of old women.

The final image, a minimalist evocation--perhaps a compromise for an unmarketable ending--puts an intriguing spin on everything that's come before it.

This is the scariest movie I've ever seen.

This serious if assaultively stylish meditation on faith uses traditional elements of religion-based horror in a way that's more innocent than calculating.

But Peter Hyams, who's both director and director of photography, forces us to constantly strain to see what isn't there, until ultimately the screen explodes in welcome light, a cathartic finale in broad visceral terms even if the drama hasn't inspired much emotion.

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

This insufferable romance-adventure includes vague comedy as well as unintentional humor, and its target audience seems to be preadolescents who won't notice the calculated enthusiasm with which it sidesteps sexuality.

Quaid's buoyant earnestness complements the stunning, low-key performance by Caviezel, whose close-ups give new meaning to the idea that still waters run deep.

This multigenre parody is excruciatingly slow and unamusing; a go-go dancer in the opening and closing credits does as much in a few minutes to shake up our perspective on a bygone aesthetic as the entire narrative in between.

It's doubtful that the haste with which two actors of the same sex break away from a kiss in this comedy was in the script, but otherwise everybody stays in character, which is impressive given the manic range of some of the roles and the comic monotony of others.

The dialogue reproduces infantile idiom even as it parodies the baby talk of adults, and a touching, didactic scene involving a baby blanket that’s become the object of sibling rivalry may appeal to a broad age range: it’s as strikingly elegant as it is obvious in its use of metaphor.

Full of adventure, spectacle, light romance, and the kind of suspense that doesn't require an unpredictable outcome to make your spine tingle.

A delicate balance of fantasy and realism, caricature and character study that isn't driven primarily by its plot or even the development of its protagonist.

At a relaxed pace, accompanied by restrained pop music.

Powerful, funny romantic drama.

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

Jensen's use of the conventions of documentary making -- and his undermining of them in ways both bold and subtle -- seems too canny and consistent for the form. Yet the harder I try to decide whether this is a documentary or a parody, the more I wonder why it matters.

Persuasive stylized drama.

Corky never becomes sympathetic, and without this fundamental irony the movie doesn't have a leg to stand on.

May persuade you to identify not with race-car drivers but with race cars.

Includes extensive performance footage but never drags, and it isn't exposé or self-mockery.

Mesmerizing dark fable, which also contains moments of comedy and action that don't disrupt its oddly earnest tone

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

Impressively nuanced.

Provides glorious escapism without asking you to turn your brain off.

Too dry to be very funny and too contrived to be outrageous, this movie has a tone so unusual it almost seems to have none at all.