Michael Rechtshaffen

Resistance is futile. It's impossible not to be swept up into the uplifting world of Mad Hot Ballroom, a documentary that can be neatly summed up as the "Spellbound" of competitive ballroom dancing.

That outrageous third-act reveal proves to be a major deal-breaker.

The latest installment could well be Romero's masterpiece. Taking full advantage of state-of-the-art makeup and visual effects, he has a more vivid canvas at his disposal, not to mention two decades worth of pent-up observations about American society.

A tart and tender comedy that pulls off a little miracle of its own by being genuinely heartwarming without leaving any cloyingly sticky emotional residue.

The updated classic is a chiller of a political thriller in its own right.

This redemptive tale set against southwest Ireland's moody seascape holds its tangible charms.

Attempts to pass itself off as a fast-paced caper picture doubling as a socially conscious apartheid drama but ends up equally unconvincing in both departments.

Travolta has/is a blast in an action-thriller-comedy that otherwise comes up short.

A big fluff ball of a sex farce that's so light and flimsy it's a wonder they were able to thread it through the projector.

A soggy, listless affair, this would-be fun-in-the-sun sunken-treasure frivolity starts taking on water from the get-go, thanks to drawn-out exposition and languid pacing.

A shrill, far-fetched thriller.

One of those rare instances of a movie being so bad ... it's still really bad.

Very much bearing the creative imprint of Robert Rodriguez, but directed by Nimrod Antal, the new edition, in its best moments, is an unabashed B-movie that plays like a jacked-up "Twilight Zone" with award-winning actors delivering the pulp-infused dialogue.

A monumentally unfunny time-waster.

Although it has its involving moments, the watered-down Waugh fails to make any kind of lasting connection.

Layered with elements that are both amusing and touching but never threatening to collapse into a big heap of sentimental mush.

Directed with aching purpose by Lawrence David Foldes from a script he wrote with Grafton S. Harper, the lavish-looking but hackneyed memory play is small-screen fodder at best.

It all begins to fall apart around the midway point, before completely unraveling into a confused, murky mess.

More than ever, Depp masterfully keeps the enterprise afloat, even when the sheer weight of all those other characters threatens to throw it off-course.

A bright and breezy tween fantasy romantic comedy that coasts along on its charming performances and the light comedic touch of first-time feature director Elizabeth Allen.

Ultimately falls short of reaching the pleasingly pulpy heights of an "L.A. Confidential" or a "Chinatown" despite those obvious aspirations.

Despite its high-profile cast and a sizable marketing push from distributor Summit Entertainment, audiences won't require any paranormal powers of their own to realize they've seen this one before.

There are sufficient pratfalls and Miley/Hannah quick-changes to satisfy the fans, while Cyrus retains that natural, unforced likability that made her a star in the first place.

What Tying the Knot lacks in finesse it compensates for in making a heartfelt case for the hot-button topic of same-sex marriage.

This ridiculous thriller would be hard-pressed to last much longer than its title in theaters before doing time on DVD, as is already the case in many overseas territories.

In the absence of a sturdy, plausible foundation on which to hook all those grisly bits, the film, originally a Dimension release, tends to play out more like a protracted "Saw" outtake reel.

D-grade "Running Man" ripoff.

The picture might not be as fresh and clever as it could have been, but its spirited voice cast delivers the whole enchilada.

Ends up being of greater historical significance than of any lasting artistic merit.

It's a charming-looking, tenderly told story about friendship and diversity.

A textbook example of how not to mess with success, Cheaper by the Dozen 2 is every bit as forced, synthetic, banal and mawkish as the first edition.

What could have made for particularly potent satire in the hands of an Albert Brooks or a Christopher Guest arrives in the form of a politely benign family comedy by first-time director Scott Marshall.

There's a playful exuberance on display in Better Than Chocolate, a bright, funny and sexy romp set in the heart of Vancouver's vibrant lesbian community. Although it has a little trouble deciding what it wants to be when it grows up - romantic comedy or full-throttle farce - the picture's tonal ambiguity also happens to be part of its unpredictable charm. [12 Aug 1999]

Manages to retain a certain goofy appeal thanks to the stand-up efforts of its comically adept cast members.

An entirely dispensable, soapy caricature of a love story that comes complete with a jukebox full of music industry cliches plus Ashlee Simpson's big feature film debut.

A little charm and inventiveness would have gone a long way to tone down some of the picture's more obnoxious impulses.

A pitch-perfect, guilty-pleasure serving of late-summer schlock that handily nails the tongue-in-cheek spirit of the Roger Corman original.

A thoughtful and nicely observed dramedy about a group of AARP-sters grappling with life, loss, love and -- gasp -- sex in a South Florida "active adult community."

Though it's nice to see Mendes take a looser, not quite so studied approach to his filmmaking, some stops along the way -- like a detour to visit Burt's suddenly single brother (Paul Schneider) -- feel dramatically off-course.

Baby Boom serves up plenty of smart, knowing laughs early on, but by the time it hits the third act (or would that be trimester?), it barely crawls to the finish line.

A challenging, thought-provoking debut that compassionately questions the relevance of celibacy in the Catholic Church.

An intense Mel Gibson performance anchors this brutally effective crime thriller.

A deeply personal, often wrenching documentary.

The script is not without some perceptive observations about family dynamics, but the problematic tone keeps getting in the way. A little absurdist levity in these instances always helps to prevent things from becoming too maudlin, but in Stockman's hands, the played-for-laughs elements in this tragicomedy feel forced rather than organic, ultimately creating an emotional disconnect with the viewer.

The familiar formula feels significantly watered-down the third time around.

Thanks to sturdy performances by holdovers Michael Sheen and Bill Nighy as well as tidy, unfussy direction by first-timer Patrick Tatopoulos, the creature designer who is taking the reins from originator Len Wiseman, the third installment in the successful franchise should be to the fan base's lycan.

Writer-director Larry Blamire has clearly done his homework, and his playful cast nails the requisite acting-so-bad-it's-good pitch.

There's a new bogeyman in town, and he makes all other pretenders to the terror throne look like a bunch of cuddly Disney characters.

It didn't seem possible, but Johnny Knoxville, Bam Margera, Steve-O, Chris Pontius, Wee Man and company might just have cooked up a sequel that's even wilder, funnier, extra-depraved and more gag-inducing than the seemingly incomparable "Jackass the Movie."

Manhattan's storied hotel is the timely subject of this passionate tribute.

A pleasant if pedestrian British romantic comedy.

Decidedly stimulating in its own right, at least in the early going.

A backwoods psychological thriller delivered faux-documentary-style, with mixed results.

A tasteful melodrama courtesy of the easy chemistry between its two leads and a generally restrained touch from Tony-winning director George C. Wolfe in his feature debut.

A highly satisfying documentary tracking the hoop dreams of basketball bright light Sebastian Telfair as he made that rare leap from high school all-star to NBA draft pick.

Falling closer in tone to "Shaun of the Dead" than "28 Days Later" or the George Romero movies, Zombieland has its tongue planted firmly in its rancid cheek while still delivering the visceral goodies.

Narrated by Troy Garity, whose mother, Jane Fonda, candidly discusses her involvement in the movement that seems to have faded from the collective conscience in the intervening years, the film does a commendable job in providing enlightenment.

It's all quite a mess, with awkward performances, worse dialogue and a painfully protracted running time conspiring against any chance of enjoyment, even in a so-bad-it's-good guilty pleasure way.

An often imaginative though less than magical family feature.

There are twist endings and there are twist endings -- and then there is the logic-strangling, complete cheat of a reveal that takes place in the final 10 minutes of Hide and Seek. It's so absolutely preposterous that it stops the film cold and draws a collective "Aw c'mon!"

While it certainly looks swell thanks to director John Moore's striking visuals, the wings of this rebuilt "Phoenix" have been clipped by generic scripting and a short supply of dramatic tension.

Will primarily strike a chord with Latina-skewing audiences with minimal crossover potential.

Awfully dull, with scant evidence of the sort of things that make horror movies attractive -- like mounting suspense and spine-tingling creepiness and, oh yeah, the element of horror.

A bigger-louder-dumber take on that good ol' CBS hillbilly hit, the movie version of "The Dukes of Hazzard" starts off on the wrong foot and keeps heading, appropriately, south.

Although the impressively acted ensemble piece occasionally gets tripped up by Peter Elkoff's overtly literate script, it travels in some unexpected, thoughtful directions.

A vigilante drama boasting a powerful Jodie Foster performance and carefully weighted direction by Neil Jordan.

While Heigl is terrific, this uninspired romantic comedy is considerably less so.

Has something a bit edgier in mind than the usual, soft-focused wedding bell high jinks. For the most part, that's exactly what it delivers -- an amusing, smartly cast romantic comedy told from a guy's perspective.

Any scrap of charm or honest-to-goodness humor already possessed in limited quantities by the original has been relegated to the outhouse in this sorry follow-up.

While the archival footage is fun, it's ultimately those bittersweet recollections of his equally energetic wife and adult children that give Surfwise its compelling edge.

Despite the clunky bits, "Tomorrow" still manages to deliver the blockbuster goods.

Unable to decide whether it wants to be a rambunctious family comedy or a tender romantic comedy, the Dennis Quaid-Rene Russo vehicle strains to be both and ends up falling short of both marks.

Denzel Washington ventures into the dark side as a seriously corrupt narcotics cop in Training Day, and the results are electrifying. So is the picture, thanks to taut, sinewy direction by Antoine Fuqua and a compelling script by David Ayer (The Fast and the Furious).

Derivative bits aside, the pint-sized Japanese icon takes flight in vibrant CG animation -- no 3D glasses required.

The over-the-top tone gets stale awfully quickly -- especially once it becomes clear that it's all wacky style over any real attempt at substance.

With "instant classic" written all over it, Toy Story, the first full-length feature entirely composed of computer-generated animation, is a visually astounding, wildly inventive winner.

Highly watchable, anchored sturdily by Lane's convincing performance.

A crass, sophomoric and, more to the point, offensively unfunny parody that sets out to remake Shaft and his blaxploitation ilk as a Jewish action hero.

An uneven romantic comedy that feels as fresh as a hunk of week-old soda bread.

A darker, grittier creature that, while benefiting considerably from Dion Beebe's HD cinematography, is a frustratingly inert affair -- a long and talky excursion that fails to engage the viewer from the outset.

A beautifully shot (by Oscar-winning cinematographer John Toll) but dramatically empty pursuit picture set in the untamed West.

Thanks to a rock-solid performance by Dennis Quaid, nice historical touches and energetic direction by Gary Fleder, the tried-and-true formula is given a welcome shot of adrenaline.

Ultimately, Swimming Pool belongs to Ozon, and while incorporating a carefully measured, quietly menacing style that summons up vintage Hitchcock and Chabrol, he has made it unmistakably -- and entertainingly -- his very own.

The outrageously hilarious For Your Consideration was well worth the wait. Again delivered with comic precision by Guest's crack repertory company, his patented brand of parody takes affectionate but deadly aim at its awards buzz mania target and the results aren't just funny, they're face-hurting funny.

A painfully earnest but dramatically inert film.

This well-made epic boasts carefully researched production values and the talents of classically trained actors, but by literally playing it by the book, the picture loses something dramatic in the translation.

In Jarmusch's capable hands, the mundane has never been so delightful.

The most appreciative audience for this lame National Lampoon release likely will be guys in tour buses.

The beautifully acted serio-comedy takes a potentially smirky premise -- a chance dirty phone call between an introverted writer and a persuasive mystery woman becomes a meaningful long-distance relationship -- and turns it into something that really reaches out and touches you.

There are a couple clever touches here and there, including one sequence in which the end of a candy cane has been carefully licked into a highly lethal weapon, but for the most part the accompanying histrionics feel more regressive than retro.

While several of the dance sequences admittedly pack a visual pop, the added dimension does the hokey scripting and some of the acting no favors by amplifying their already noticeable shortcomings.

Eric Stoltz makes a confident if tonally wavering feature directorial debut with Confessions of a Teenage Jesus Jerk.

Can't decide what it wants to be when it grows up.

The problem once again remains an inability to sustain those de rigueur elements of tension and suspense much beyond those first 20 minutes.

This particular reconceptualization actually does an impressive job of capturing the nasty dread of the original. It certainly is a vast improvement over those previous remakes/sequels.

Ultimately goes the distance, it gets the job done with a halfhearted bunt rather than a solid line drive.

Outstanding, entirely unique father-son portrait.

Firing on all cylinders as a creepy thriller, police procedural and "All the President's Men"-style investigative newsroom drama, the smart, extremely vivid production oozes period authenticity.

Roth has managed the rare feat of actually improving on the original.

Happens to be extremely funny -- at times sidesplittingly so -- thanks to Zwigoff's way with raw irreverence and Thornton's perfectly pitched, ready-for-anything performance.

Retains considerable entertainment value on the strength of Herzog's never-dull, very personal narrating style.

It's a beautifully modulated performance in a nicely crafted, quietly unassuming character study by Vancouver-based writer-director Carl Bessai.

Gunn maintains the ideal glib pitch for most of the picture, flirting with camp but never hanging around it long enough to water down the squirm-inducing stuff.

Snowboarders are given their Dew in this nicely shot but lengthy exercise in corporate branding.

Once again, the three young leads give committed performances, with Lautner's character allowed a larger share of the spotlight this time around.

Moore and Neeson beautifully underplay their roles, lending screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson's ("Secretary") dialogue an unexpected, palpable poignancy.

A consistently amusing, often inspired family romp.

The end product is surprisingly charmless -- a shrill "Devil Wears Prada"/"Bridget Jones"/"Sex and the City" knockoff that keeps threatening to fall apart at the seams.

The production is graced by bold performances, lyrical visuals and, most notably, Irving's own words, which have made the transition quite intact thanks to a faithful but still filmic adaptation by writer-director Tod Williams.

Tedious portrait of a troubled Rolling Stone.

Witless, excessive and ultimately boring gore-a-thon.

The dull production obviously sees itself as an updated "Cincinnati Kid" for the World Poker Tour set, but the end result and its characters have all the originality and dramatic depth of a TV telecast.

Pitch-perfect performances bring it all home, particularly that of Danish leading man Mikkelsen.

Documentary filmmaker Julie Gavras has made a successful transition into narratives with the remarkably assured, thoroughly delightful Blame It on Fidel.

An obvious "Ocean's Eleven" knockoff, minus any of that franchise's hip sensibility.

The flatly generic results certainly appear at odds with the picture's stirring visual style, which pays homage to the great Flemish artists.

Mercilessly plodding pacing, problematic character motivations and a fundamental lack of chemistry between the two star-crossed lovers in question don't do a lot to help its cause.

Goes beyond the well-documented Warsaw Ghetto uprising to take a fascinating look at seven lesser-known individual paths to resistance.

Proving that with solid direction, tight writing and strong performances an American remake can actually be as good as the foreign-language original, The Last Kiss, an unusually perceptive dramedy about contemporary relationships also manages to stand quite capably on its own two feet.

Like its various post-Cold War European locations, the film remains chilly and distant. Every time you feel like you're finally grabbing hold of something involving, the picture once again spins frustratingly out of reach.

Despite that nagging whiff of familiarity, there are enough character quirks and inspired bits of funny business to carry this amiable if slight tale.

For a comedy, it's not really funny.

Pretty much any sign of creative life gets left out in the cold in Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs, the monotonous, strictly by-the-numbers third edition of the wildly lucrative digitally animated franchise.

Once again Bier demonstrates just how misleading appearances can be, as she artfully removes the veneers concealing the dark truths locked away by her intriguing characters.

It might have been inspired by actual events, but End of the Spear is, literally and figuratively, simply too dull to make any impact.

The film, with its intersecting vignettes, might ultimately feel like more of a sampler platter than a sustaining smorgasbord, but it's effectively rooted in a lovely Morgan Freeman performance.

With writer-director del Toro given free license to go where his singular vision takes him, Hellboy II plays like Guillermo's Greatest Hits with even hotter visual effects.

An awkward mix of proficient 3-D animation, detailed technical recreation and strained storytelling that stalls on takeoff.

An engrossing mix of atmospheric gothic horror and smart sci-fi that's cemented by intriguing mythology, terrific visual effects, a dry sense of humor and an ideally cast Keanu Reeves.

A neatly contained crime whodunit with a nifty setup and an expert lead performance from Samuel L. Jackson.

An elegantly mounted ghost story that's steeped plenty of dank Louisiana atmosphere.

While Cheadle's fearlessly robust performance absolutely galvanizes Talk to Me, it's not the only thing that makes Kasi Lemmons' third feature such a pleasure to take in.

There's a fresh candidate in the running for worst movie of 2007 honors.

The film is at its most potent delineating Hefner's role in the American civil rights movement, going beyond the pages of his magazine.

A quintessential Hollywood story that might have just as easily been called "Karma."

It's the kind of sprawling ensemble piece that screams out for a Pedro Almodovar, but in the absence of an Almodovar it simply screams out -- in persistent, tedious intervals.

Quite an entertaining genre piece boasting a terrifically sinewy lead performance from Wanda De Jesus.

There's a palpable element of honesty in Lapica's writing and lead performance that gives this indie production, the edge over other troubled teen dramas.

A smart, sharply observed, highly affable look at contemporary relationships that finally injects a little life in the stagnating genre.

Beckinsale delivers even if Underworld doesn't quite manage to follow through on its initial promise.

The 1976 John Carpenter original has been reworked enough to give the urban thriller a distinct flavor of its own, and stars Ethan Hawke and Laurence Fishburne provide enough gravitas to keep things involving.

Things hold together longer than they would have without Banderas' commanding, committed performance.

A harrowing World War II epic about the struggle to uphold decency in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, the visual masterwork finds Spielberg atop his craft, weaving heart-pounding action and gut-wrenching emotion — often during the same sequence — that will leave viewers silently shaken.

Though the picture is not without its wow-inducing, SFX-driven moments, that potent X-factor is considerably diminished in Singer's absence.

John Waters has returned to trashy form with what is unquestionably his most outrageous film since those heady "Pink Flamingos" days.

An achingly eloquent rumination.

This crass drag of a dud at best manages to elicit just a couple of half-hearted chuckles over the course of its 80-minute allotment.

Nimbly blending comedy and action -- with an affectionate slo-mo nod to John Woo -- McKay does his best work to date here.

Ends up committing the spoof genre's worst crime: becoming a tired parody of itself.

Although the substance could have used more visual style, Ray tells an uncluttered story and draws strong performances from his actors.

In terms of inspiration or even the slightest shred of ingenuity, Banks ranks more like an 000 than an 007.

It admittedly starts off great guns, but all too quickly it becomes apparent that the big-screen arrival of the supernatural Western DC Comics series Jonah Hex"is firing loud, empty blanks.

As the heart and soul of the film, Chiwetel Ejiofor once again impresses.

Timeliness is all very well, but the significant subject matter cries out for a defter directorial touch and a deeper complexity in regard to the characters and performances.

Despite the updated setting and some on-the-money performances, the sleek if dramatically flimsy results make for a less than great "Gatsby."

The largely uninspired Clone Wars feels landlocked. In the absence of any extensive innovation, the video game-ready results play more like a feature-length promo for the imminent TV series of the same name than a stand-alone event.

Disney may have written the book on live-action animal adventure stories, but it has been quite a while since there has been a chapter as terrific as Eight Below.

This murky, thriller-tinged Western has the terrain down cold -- from the wide-open spaces to the rocky vistas -- but beneath all the requisite genre trappings there's a vast, empty gulch where the affecting dramatic element should have been found.

Plenty of salient points to make in this satirical cautionary tale, there's still not enough to sustain the expanded running time.

Though the concept serves as a soul-stirring showcase for contemporary inspirational performers, the writing and direction (both attributed to Rob Hardy) commit a multitude of sins.

Painstakingly formulaic and uninspired (it could have been called The Mighty Guts), the lumbering comedy will unlikely make much of a dent at the boxoffice. [17 Feb 1995]

The picture never successfully comes off the written page.

There's definitely a workable, reality TV-based angle at the core of Last Stop -- something along the lines of "No Reservations" but with scattered human remains instead of Anthony Bourdain.

Combines purported raw case study footage with dramatic "recreations" to unsuccessful effect.

Although Vallee's remarkably assured film, which clocks in at more than two hours, proves that it's possible to have too much of a good thing, Canada's official Oscar submission for best foreign-language feature still manages keep up the entertaining yet emotionally satisfying pace sufficiently to earn audience accolades.

A dysfunctional drama.

Sufficient cheap thrills and enough of the prevailing camp quality.

Many moments of laugh-out-loud comedy. But somehow those moments never add up to a fully satisfying viewing experience.

At best a kitschy "Catch Me If You Can" and at worst a tedious comedy that grows more tiresome by every self-consciously irreverent minute.

A heartfelt but dramatically flat portrait of a couple grappling with one tragedy whose lives are profoundly affected by the outcome of another.

Every bit as vulgar, sophomoric and thoroughly tasteless as 1999's Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo. But what is most annoying is the sequel's capability of inducing laughter even as one hates oneself for so easily succumbing to the total silliness of it all.

Perhaps a greater passage of time was needed to provide a more effective historical perspective, but "Tiger" has a bigger problem with a dramatic structure that sags conspicuously in the middle, never to completely correct itself.

The production is over-stuffed with cutesy split screens, jarring dream sequences and a pushy score by Bright Eyes band members Nathaniel Walcott and Mike Mogis that succeed in dragging the proceedings from merely cloying to increasingly annoying.

It's a safe bet that exposure to the film should cause audiences to make room on their iPods for some serious downloading.

Although comparisons to the memory-challenged machinations of "Memento" are inevitable, the plotting here takes a more traditionally linear path.

Kells proves that in the increasingly high-tech world of feature animation, there still can be a place for old-time tradition.

Effectively anchoring the picture is Keke Palmer's lovely lead performance as Akeelah Anderson.

A deeper, darker, visually arresting and more emotionally satisfying adaptation of the J.K. Rowling literary phenomenon, achieving the neat trick of remaining faithful to the spirit of the book while at the same time being true to its cinematic self.

Essentially a telenovela with cinematic pretensions, La Mujer de Mi Hermano (My Brother's Wife) is a vapid slab of soap depicting a love triangle among three remarkably uninteresting characters.

A thoroughly conventional romantic comedy with all the usual trimmings.

Some of that frenetic running around has been replaced by inspired effects sequences and amusing riffs by the talented cast, especially new arrivals Hank Azaria and Amy Adams.

That it squanders a terrific cast in the process -- one that also includes Common, Phylicia Rashad and Pam Grier -- makes it all the more disappointing.

One of the year's most satisfying films.

An awkward blend of live action and animation.

An improvement of sorts over the lifeless 2005 edition.

It's business as usual at Camp Crystal Lake, with very little in the way of fresh jolts or an innovative visual style that would have really revitalized the hokey franchise.

Both the anticipation factor and writer-director Mick Garris' slick adaptation fail to live up to the old hype.

Steeped in high-tech paranoia, Winkler's film has a nice kinetic energy, effectively portraying the extent to which computers have become an intrinsic part of our lives. The screenplay, however, for which Winkler shares credit with four others, feels like watered-down John Grisham. [24 July 1995]

The production comes by its authenticity naturally -- and not only because several of the cast members (fascinating faces all) happen to be related.

An unwieldy, excessively talky affair, unintentionally exhibiting all the clunky stops and starts and self-conscious ramblings of a particularly awkward first date.

A pitch-perfect musical comedy that at long last moves the talented John C. Reilly up the billing ladder from second banana to top banana.

A largely compelling ride on the strength of a powerful cast led by Russell Crowe and Christian Bale.

In this lukewarm climate of pointless remakes and uninspired sequels there's always welcome room for a film that wants to push the envelope, Shadowboxer merely crams it with a lot of nonsense.

A sweeping romantic epic with a strong feminist backbone, the thoroughly entertaining Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon also happens to boast a generous offering of seriously kick-ass action sequences that make 'The Matrix' seem downright quaint by comparison.

By the time they're done with all the tinkering, "Scooby-Doo" ends up bearing as much a resemblance to Hanna-Barbera as the recent "Cat in the Hat" did to Dr. Seuss.

As directed by Bill Condon (Sister, Sister) it could be redubbed "Farewell to the Fresh," having been watered down into a standard, run-of-the-mill slasher film, the only remaining hook being the one that its one-handed heavy uses to impale his victims. [17 Mar 1995]

The results might make for some swell production stills, but as a motion picture, Teknolust never really makes it alive out of Hershman's head.

Hartley's kooky cosmopolitan caper can never be accused of slumming, but the shift from dry, offbeat wit to politically charged drama is a little jarring, to say the least; it's a bit like taking in Woody Allen's "Annie Hall" and having it morph mid-way through into "Shadows and Fog."

An audacious, highly contemporary psychological thriller, Sorry,Haters is the kind of audience provoker certain to elicit at least as many haters as admirers.

Not bad enough to be considered a camp, guilty pleasure, it's more of a dull, defanged dirge with the reliably intriguing Benicio Del Toro and Anthony Hopkins turning in oddly disaffected performances.

Despite focusing entirely on a single individual speaking into a headset in a Danish emergency call center, The Guilty nevertheless emerges as a twisty crime thriller that’s every bit as pulse-pounding and involving as its action-oriented, adrenaline-soaked counterparts.

Loud, mean-spirited and generally obnoxious, Son of the Mask makes the boisterous 1994 original look downright demure and refined.

Several shades darker in tone than the previous edition -- which, to be fair, didn't carry the burden of expectation that a sequel must bear -- the return to Narnia still casts a transporting spell.

Neil Marshall's horrifically terrific The Descent cannily recasts 1972's "Deliverance" as a female-bonding thriller with some "Hills Have Eyes"-style mutant terror tossed in for truly harrowing effect.

There also are hints of Doug Liman and Tony Scott to be found in this hopped-up, bullet-riddled crime thriller, but while certain sequences pack an admitted visceral kick, the prevailing effect is one of utter overkill.

Browne keeps it amusingly involving.

Gervais and Robinson take what might have been a cute concept comedy and elevate it to delicious heights.

A lively and often enlightening documentary.

This first feature by veteran visual effects supervisor Eric Brevig has its transporting, if benign, charms.

A limp sex comedy about men behaving badly.

Carrey's most satisfying live-action effort since "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind."

The wow factor works overtime with state-of-the-art effects sequences that often are as beautiful as they are astonishing.

Less horrific than it is horribly didactic.

Demanding but deeply affecting, My Flesh and Blood ultimately takes on a literal, highly visceral meaning that transcends notions of conventional family dynamics.

Strictly old hat -- and a poorly assembled hat at that.

Never really gets up to speed on any engrossing level, save for Michael Hardwick's notable cinematography.

What might have achieved a degree of cult status across the pond when it was aired in 10-minute installments, struggles to pass big-screen scrutiny.

It is to Dance's considerable credit that he never lets the filmmaking overtake the understated storytelling.

The film fittingly embraces the elements of camp and kitsch that played such a major role in defining the Nomi persona.

A movingly rendered, stirringly photographed first feature by Ham Tran.

Thanks mainly to his (Jackson) considerable presence, Coach Carter works more effectively than expected.

A winning mix of sharp comedy and touching bits that keeps the laughter -- a few tears -- flowing.

Never achieves the propulsive traction and outrageous/endearing balance that made "The Hangover" such a smash this time last year.

The 2006 summer movie season went out with a reasonable bang courtesy of Crank, a jacked-up, unapologetically mindless bit of ADD-prescribed escapism that more or less delivers on a nifty premise.

Curiously, despite the ever-energetic Tony Scott at the throttle, the sleek new edition isn't as transporting as it should have been.

Making his feature-length debut after forging a career making socially conscious short films, director Ward Serrill never takes his eye off the ball, maintaining a sharp storytelling focus distilled from those seven years worth of footage.

Unfortunately, Twohy has tried to turn the Riddick enterprise into a sprawling, Tolkien-powered epic, jamming the screen with too many historical parallels and a confusion of new characters.

Has the crass look and feel of a 90-minute infomercial.

Hoodwinked occupies some considerably shaky turf situated uncomfortably between "Shrek" and dreck.

Eli Roth turns to modern-day Asian fright filmmakers as inspiration for his latest blood-soaked effort while demonstrating an intriguing, original voice of his own.

A sharply observed tragicomedy that draws laughter as genuinely as it coaxes tears, the nicely paced film tempers its themes of loss and sorrow with a cynically witty edge and is graced by a perfectly pitched Sigourney Weaver performance.

While several members of the cast valiantly fill the void where they can, these fish out of water could have made a greater high-definition splash if they had been thrown an occasional line or two rather than counting on inspiration to wash over them.

Boasting two terrific performances by Uma Thurman and Evan Rachel Wood as the adult and teenage versions of the same character.

Ending with neither a bang nor a whimper, the finale falls somewhere in between. It's an improvement over its concurrently shot, babbling predecessor, but it ultimately fails to capture any of that jaw-dropping sense of exhilaration that made the original such a must-see event.

A tone-deaf muddle that shifts moods more often than its lone wolf vigilante rubs out bad guys, clocking in at a punishingly paced two hours and change.

Director Levy struggles to find a uniform pitch that would agreeably blend together the gags, the visual effects and the obligatory heart moments. In its absence, there's a stop-and-start hollowness that confuses noise and chaos for comic energy.

An agreeably loopy romantic comedy that bounces along effortlessly on the genuine chemistry of leads Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore.

A beguiling, multilayered drama.

Alternately disturbing, laceratingly satirical and affectingly poignant, the film, which he adapted from the novel, Towelhead, by Alicia Erian, is very much a companion piece to the Ball-penned "American Beauty" in its unwavering examination of the dirty little secrets and raging hypocrisies lurking just beyond all those manicured suburban lawns.

An affecting film that manages to find glimmers of beauty in the encroaching bleakness, and coaxing richly dimensional performances which, like Maria's photographs, transcend the conventionally black and white.

Had Cameron Crowe and the late John Hughes collaborated on a movie populated by Disney Channel superstars, the result might have looked and sounded a lot like Todd Graff's Bandslam. And that's meant as a compliment.

With his stirring visual sense very much intact here, Salles sets the creepy mood eloquently, but the picture -- ultimately fails to reward all the little shivers with any satisfying jolts.

May not offer up any fresh revelations, but this effectively assembled documentary puts it all in valuable, if depressing, perspective.

In Arnold's absence, an important ingredient of the "Terminator" iconography -- namely, the fun factor -- is in short supply.

The director's split-screen effects and hand-held digital camerawork go from being innovative to repetitive to irritating in a Santa Cruz minute.

The plot's pretty lame, the dialogue is downright hokey, and the characters are a bore, but somehow Final Destination 3 (an oxymoron if there ever was one) still delivers a certain degree of over-the-top amusement.

Director Renny Harlin's take on Agatha Christie's versatile "Ten Little Indians" is total B-movie swagger in all its unsubtle glory.

The kind of inspirational movie that actually earns its crowd-rousing response as opposed to merely pushing the same old, emotion-coaxing buttons.

In the wonderfully droll Kitchen Stories, Norwegian filmmaker Bent Hamer takes an already inspired premise and weaves it into a spry absurdist comedy that also manages to find some considerable warmth.

This "Living Dead" exercise delivers far less monstrosity and a great deal of pomposity, not to mention dull characters who aren't nearly as lively as those dead guys.

Feels anonymously generic and charmlessly mechanical.

Ultimately, Adam Moreno's screenplay, with its multiple narrators and constantly shifting points of view, makes for mighty confusing viewing.

The drama gets stuck in a dispiritingly dull rut and fails to build toward what is supposed to be a something of a crowd-rousing triumph over adversity.

Packs a quiet wallop.

Eddie Murphy's amusingly out of this world in this otherwise tired vehicle.

An engaging portrait of a functionally dysfunctional family.