Michael Dequina

With Simone, Niccol makes what seems like a preposterous idea not only fresh and entertaining, but most of all reveals said idea to be not at all far removed from reality--as any good satire should.

A two-time Oscar winner playing a crazy person in a big studio film released in late October. Can't you just smell the pretension? Probably not, given the other ways in which this film stinks.

Lahti's feature directorial debut plays like a watered-down variation ("Ghost World") -- that is, until the final third, when the film not only deviates but flat out derails.

It certainly didn't take long for Madonna to ruin husband Guy Ritchie's career.

Not only harmless, but actually quite funny and charming.

Luckily, the genuinely funny jokes far outnumber the duds in the film itself, which is helped by the generally energetic performances by Broken Lizard and their co-stars.

Washes away whatever unique filmmaking personality Franklin has.

The surprisingly sweet Shallow Hal finds Peter and Bobby retreating to a gentler mode -- and, in the process, a far less funny one.

Should the likes of Burstyn, Flanagan, Smith, and Knight have to be reduced to playing eccentric caricatures of aging Southern belles?

Forces a self-examination that is both traumantic and revealing.

There's no excuse to come within a hundred feet of a screen playing this monstrosity of a movie.

Given how much Yellen does right, it's all the more shameful that she so spectacularly sinks her film in the foot with one hugely questionable "creative" decision: adding a pair of ghosts into the mix.

With nothing in the way of inspiration coming on either the writing or directing end, it's up to the actors to maintain audience interest and emotional engagement, and two members of the cast rise to the occasion: Kline and Christensen.

There's no question that Meg Ryan is the queen of romantic comedies. Yet for every piece of frothy fluff that works -- there comes a couple where you just want to say, "Enough already." Kate & Leopold is one such movie.

Whatever distinguished "Riding in Cars with Boys" the book certainly doesn't show up in the movie.

All crass in its empty bluster and bogus uplift.

Nothing sums up Bones better than its parting shot, in which maggots are projectile vomited directly toward the audience. How so very appropriate.

A faithful translation of the character and one of his more memorable tales on the page; it satisfies as an adventure and as a more intimate story.

Sophomoric silliness.

Bratt's fast-talking, all-attitude interpretation is showboating without soul -- which can be said of the entire movie.

The much-publicized decision to go "younger and sexier" with the casting--a move that turns out to pay off handsomely, enhancing and enriching the material.

As palpable as the atmosphere is, had the film boasted a clearer, more memorable story and performances that were a step above adequate, the creepiness wouldn't have simply lingered with the viewer, it would have gotten under their skin.

Surprisingly lifeless monster movie.

The love story that is supposed to drive the film fails to ignite a single spark--and, hence, the film fails to generate a single iota of interest from the viewer.

There's a fine line between inspiration and manipulation, and from its first frame, Joshua crosses it and never looks back.

But damn it if the film doesn't work as what it's supposed to be: a big, brainless blast o' boom at the box office.

The oh-so-convenient convergence of plot threads at the climax make the film feel that much more run-of-the-mill.

From the plotting and the characterizations to the explosions and excessive use of blue light filters, everything about Bad Company has been done and seen before.