M. E. Russell

Is it style over substance? Absolutely. But as with "Ocean's Eleven," style wins -- only just barely this time around.

A modestly charming family crowd-pleaser despite too-broad characterizations by many in the supporting cast.

It's hard to argue with the movie's big heart, solid craftsmanship, likable characters, decent acting, gorgeous scenery or the fact that it's going to leave its audience blubbering and smiling.

Minkoff lets the fight scenes go on for a while, which is nice, and all the best bits are in the middle, when Jackie and Jet spend a lot of time playing off each other.

Bees is a movie in which a bunch of powerful African American women get their lives upended and in some cases destroyed so a little white girl can feel better about herself.

But if it's going to be diet Pixar, at least it's action-packed diet Pixar -- with overwhelming, detail-choked production design that occasionally had my jaw lowering like a forklift.

It's inoffensive and shiny and competent and kids will dig it, and I can already barely remember a single thing that happened.

The characters devolve into boring narcissists. And the movie devolves into a broad-brush dark satire of emergency bureaucracy that feels a lot sillier than the post-9/11 panic attack of the first half-hour.

The movie is strongest when it stays with Bateman and Spacey, who play greatest-hits remixes of their best-loved performances.

The movie's anchored by a strong lead performance and a steady sense of humor.

Has a shocking anger and force.

Almost totally emotionally bankrupt. But it's a very specific form of total emotional bankruptcy, one that feels honest and even uplifting at the time, because the actors are great and the direction's well intentioned and just-so.

The film is a minor Christmas miracle: It succeeds on its own terms, despite the gossip hounds' best blood-sniffing efforts, and dares to be an entertainment rather than a statement.

Grint's role is larger and more "mature" than we've seen from him. During his adventures, Ben is seduced by a Scottish lit-festival flack (Michelle Duncan). But in some ways, his work is more limited here than it is in the "Potter" films. I have no idea why so many people consider Ben worth fighting for, or over.

While Wolf Creek has clunky moments, when you want to slap the idiot prey until they wake up, the movie embraces a minimalism that feels refreshingly old-school in a field of slasher films drunk on self-referential wisecracks and narrative tricks. And Jarrat's jolly-creepy performance might place Mick in the pantheon of great movie killers.

It works as designed.

In drama, tone, character and examination of the social issues tormenting these kids, Wassup Rockers is . . . taxing.

Feels like a movie that wants to bare its fangs, but only manages a mild gumming.

Keaton offers glimpses of a directorial gift, but this odd little piece feels like a warm-up for something more compelling.

Serious Acting Opportunities abound! Unfortunately, sharp dialogue and characters who keep you riveted do not.

Are Will Ferrell and director Adam McKay getting tired of their own shtick?

Three stories in one. This might be two stories too many.

As a chronicle of an extreme surfing subculture, Bra Boys is semi-fascinating. As a chronicle of rough-and-tumble street life, it's appallingly biased and self-glorifying.

Surprisingly charming and well-acted.

Sporadically funny, bland, talent-wasting junk.

Succeeds only in fits and starts.

Oblivion is Moebius-comic gorgeous and it sounds great, especially the loud, nervewracking honks the drones make when they're weighing whether or not to shoot you. I suppose that's a surface appeal. But it's a nice surface.

It gives me no pleasure to report that Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters is fairly excruciating to sit through -- because I'm writing this as a fan of the TV series that spawned the movie.

This is one of those comedies where the humor lies in the audacity of tone and character rather than any particular sight gag or one-liner. Same with "The Foot Fist Way," which is absolutely worth your rental dollar.

Never actively unfunny. The cast is far too smart for that. But it never quite pops like it would if it were whittled down to something just a little longer than an "SNL Digital Short."

I'm not sure if parents will be counting out each of Shorts 89 minutes or not, begging for it to end, but I'm guessing 8-year-olds will absolutely love it, because Rodriguez isn't talking down to them or using pop-culture references in place of actual gags; he's making what might be called eye-level children's entertainment.

It gives me no pleasure to report that the Pimentel biopic Music Within plays like a well-intentioned TV movie.

It's not perfect or "Shining"-level inspired, but it's solid.

Eraser-dull.

Often as not, the movie works. Here and there, it works kind of beautifully.

The movie is gorgeous to look at, the script has a killer twist and the cast is competent.

This makes "Eli" sort of wonderfully silly toward the end, as if the Hughes brothers set out to make the first-ever faith-based "Mad Max" movie.

Other than flubbing the dismount, Stick It is smarter and funnier than it has any right to be.

The Guardian doesn't offer too many surprises. Except for one: it's genuinely well-made and, at least when it comes to the character Ben Randall, kind of moving.

To my thinking, the grand simplicity of the metaphor is a big part of In Time's oddly retro sci-fi charm. Niccol is practicing the old-school craft of making a barn-broad alternate-reality that forces you to think about the way we all consensually agree to participate in systems -- even when those systems are hopelessly screwed up.

Other than its overwrought Herod-Antipas scenes, The Nativity Story sticks so closely to the text that it's a total snooze.

The Protector is the nuttiest movie I've seen all year, and I've seen the last 20 minutes of "The Wicker Man."

Despite this familiarity-wallow, The Holiday is likable. Really likable, in fact.

A gorgeous, life-affirming movie. On paper, it sounds lurid bordering on ridiculous.

Feels less like a movie and more like a Tony Robbins motivational seminar.

No one joyfully embraces this absurdity better than Michael Sheen. The actor finds a ridiculous-yet-perfect way to deliver every single second of his performance as head of the global vampire council -- He's all over the film's finale. It's fantastic.

The Rock charms you through the worst of it, but the effects are cheap, the dialogue is about as challenging as a "Hannah Montana" episode, and the pace manages to be both brisk and numbing.

There are several things to enjoy here. The use of motel service-industry code words by the safe-house staff is dryly funny.

Vastly entertaining, slightly overlong.

Still, this feels like minor Phillips to me -- something in the neighborhood of 2006's "School for Scoundrels," quality-wise, though with a much grimmer heart.

I can see how Mamma Mia! might be a fun stage musical. As a movie musical, it's a train wreck.

This is a totally predictable exercise if you're not in the target market.

Wants to be a sex farce, a sports film and a serious meditation on Catholicism. To its credit, it succeeds as all three.

I'm pleased to report the new Land of the Lost movie keenly understands that what was once scary is now ridiculous.

It's almost like you're watching a 100-minute trailer for a much better six-hour miniseries.

Conrad seems to have used whatever clout he got from "The Pursuit of Happyness" to fund something personal and sincere -- a story that's ultimately about victories of character and suppressing your worst impulses.

It's an ambitious, passionate, grief-stricken work of film art.

A fairly good movie about an evil subject.

While Predators isn't nearly as vivid or fresh as the original, it's certainly its strongest sequel.

At one point during the big race, the kids get passed at close range by a team of pros so seasoned, they wrote the navigation software the kids use. I was begging the camera crew to follow them.

Watts is a champ for seeing this through now that she's actually famous.

A movie adapted from a novel inspired by a person who probably never existed.

John Carter is too wickedly strange not to recommend. Movies this expensive usually play it much safer.

If you find the film's xenophobic undercurrents distasteful, take solace in this: Taken was co-written and directed by the Frenchmen responsible for "District B13," so at least the xenophobia is imported.

I suspect audiences will divide sharply on the movie's wild tone shifts. I found them sort of fearless.

It all sort of plays out like "Law and Order: Spiritual Victims Unit," but the movie's stuffed (some might say overstuffed) with wonderfully staged moments and set pieces.

The romance is boring. Everything is blandly good-looking. The emotional beats are so programmed, you can predict the entrance of every single note of the Philip Glass dirge of a score. And the title means nothing beyond its double-entendre.

While it's focused on the people -- on men who never had mentors struggling to mentor themselves and each other -- the movie works as a smart B film.

Super Ex does have a certain low-key, adult-contemporary charm. It's almost entirely because of Luke Wilson.

Poseidon '06 is spectacularly noisy, uninteresting and character-free.