Michelle Orange

It's all sweet and very, very silly. I was surprised by the subtleties - both comedic and thematic.

Because his character is never clear, Manolo's choices lack emotional interest and narrative urgency.

Just Go With It attempts to merge farce and romantic comedy with the Sandler sensibility, and the result is a story that evades where it should engage and a whiplash tone that dispirits when it should delight.

Defiantly unwatchable if occasionally transfixing, the film is essentially the home movies of three marauding burnouts.

Chastain, an incandescent redhead with a heart-shaped face and round, shining eyes, does more justice to the part than it deserves.

The puffy high tones of medieval fantasy punctured by the flatly vulgar and colloquial - is the film's central comic vein, one McBride taps it like it's never been tapped before.

The film’s most impressive feat may be bringing a cartoon character to life while turning actual humans into 2-D cutouts.

Unfortunately, outside of the proxy satisfaction it will give those who are dying to see the grim reaper let loose on the set of a very special episode of "Glee," the pleasures of Don't Go in the Woods can't quite compensate for its straggly bits.

Greenfield works against her own interests with absurdly selective arguments and sloppy filmmaking.

Infinitely worse than you dared to hope it wouldn't be, You Again dumbfounded and then defeated me.

Though based on the Hemingway novel published 25 years after his death, Hemingway's Garden of Eden feels more like the result of an ungodly alliance between Harlequin house writers and the cut-and-paste masterminds at A&E Biography.

This latest is grim stuff: Little Fockers hardly bothers with finding a reason to exist, although one might assume a focus on the abiding hilarity of life with small children. That assumption would be wrong.

The goof on New York's awful elite only gets grimmer and less viable as the film goes on.

In another light the group's - and the film's - portentous resolution looks a lot like quitting, in true slacker style.

There is enough lurid, ludicrous subtext in the material to keep fans of such things happy. As trash, this is top of the line.

Number of chipmunks who speak fluent chola when necessary: three. Number of Spider-Man/Pepe Le Pew mash-ups I can't really get into: one.

It goes down like a canned but genial '80s comedy: Without fanfare or much nutrition; part of your balanced breakfast.

Over-narrated by Kiefer Sutherland in full "this is extremely important and also very, very cool" mode, from its first self-important minutes Twelve seems as if it can't possibly be serious. Would that it were not.

The charms of what might charitably be called Silver Circle's homemade look and feel are limited.