Rene Rodriguez

The story's third-act detour into tragedy is predictable and unwelcome, providing a resolution that is too pat and familiar to be moving.

If Soderbergh set out to make a galvanizing conversation piece, he has certainly succeeded. But this cold, occasionally dull movie practically defies you to embrace it.

The Hunted is so openly, defiantly derivative of 1982's "First Blood," you figure there has to be a copyright lawsuit brewing right this very minute.

The Hunger Games takes no risks.

Inadvertently does with the civil rights movement exactly what Banderas set out not to do: trivializes it.

There's an irrelevance to the movie that the filmmakers, hard as they try, can't quite shake - something awfully square about the picture: It would have played a lot better a decade ago.

You Again is at its funniest in the early scenes, when everyone is pretending all is well beneath forced smiles and plotting eyes.

The finished film has been tinkered with and tweaked so thoroughly that it borders on the incomprehensible.

A biopic that is as messy as the life it details.

It's another portrait of amoral, hedonistic youth gone awry, a la Larry Clark's "Bully", and it is alternately engrossing and ridiculous, often in the span of one scene to the next.

The movie is bouncy and zesty, its energy unflagging, and some of the big numbers are heavily tinged with Bollywood. Conceptually, it should have been a trip.

Loud and frantic and filled with all sorts of business, but it's also empty and inert, a creative exercise that would have played better as a 30-minute short.

Irritating when it should be amusing, dumb when it should be zany, flat when it should be snappy.

One question in particular hangs heavily over the entire film, a plot hole so distracting it becomes the only thing you can think about.

The main problem with Submarine is that Oliver is not a likable protagonist.

Curiously, TRON: Legacy makes the same mistake the original did: All the best stuff comes in the first act. The rest of the movie is as exciting as an overnight round of computer coding.

For a good hour or so, The Raven is gruesome, ludicrous fun. Then it's just ludicrous.

The film is just a procession of increasingly grim and ugly scenarios and discoveries, capped off by a wildly frustrating ending.

Familiarity is not without its pleasures. But Spectre is so confused and inert that Craig can’t even sell the signature “Bond. James Bond” and “Shaken, not stirred” lines.

There's plenty in Tokyo Decadence to titillate, and plenty to shock, too, and that should be enough to motivate some people into seeing it. The movie is never pornographic, though those who don't get out much are bound to be offended. There are also some interesting observations on Japanese culture put forth by Ai's various clients, though she remains an uninteresting cipher. Despite Murakami's best efforts, the things you'll remember most about Tokyo Decadence are the naughty bits. [23 Aug 1993, p.C5]

If you're going to make a heist picture, then at least have the decency to make the heist itself interesting. Otherwise, do like Tarantino did in "Reservoir Dogs" and just skip it altogether.

Everyone up on the screen appears to be having so much fun, you wish the movie found a way to let you into the party.

One of the most pessimistic movies about love Hollywood has ever made, a star-studded, glossy anti-date movie.

The movie never approaches the level of screwball fun its cast seems capable of. But the curiosity of seeing Arnie grunt and groan with labor pains is hard to resist. [23 Nov 1994, p.E2]

It's lifted from pretty much every movie or TV show you've ever seen about police corruption, only not done as well.

Worst of all is the movie's finale, a noble attempt to avoid an overly-pat conclusion that strays too far in the opposite direction.

Extreme Measures is a medical thriller with two personalities. At times, it's a drama about doctors with God complexes and a moral debate on questions such as, "If you had to kill one person to cure cancer, would you?"...Other times, it's a mystery about nefarious scientists, missing corpses and foot chases in the bowels of New York's subways...Neither side really works, though for a while the movie engrosses anyway. Even when you know you're being manipulated, Extreme Measures intrigues you in a Coma kind of way, because it initially preys on the same fears as that earlier thriller: vulnerability in hospitals at the hands of evil doctors...Then the mystery starts to unravel, and so does the movie. [27 Sept 1996, p.5G]

The result leaves the movie feeling like a one-note take on a complex subject.

Lovelace is a timid gloss over on a hardcore subject — a movie that takes a wild true story and shoehorns it into a formulaic mold.

Deja Vu becomes increasingly sillier.

The worst kind of sequel -- the kind that exists only to give you more-more-more of what you liked the first time around, without ever justifying its own existence. This lavish, superbly designed film goes on for an exhausting 2½ hours.

For a good hour, Seven Psychopaths is lively, bloody fun. Then the yawning starts.

There's no denying the movie's visceral impact: It's too bad, though, that Jakubowicz isn't aiming for anything other than sensation.

Too much of Lords of Dogtown still feels conventional and sugar-coated.

The best science fiction leaves you with questions and ideas to ponder. Arrival is the sort of superficially profound movie that initially seems deep and weighty but stops making sense the moment you put down the bong.

Van Sant's refusal to delve into his subject in anything but an abstract way renders the movie pointless and frustrating -- a lyrical, lovely tone poem, signifying little.

Flyboys is so schematic and contrived, you can anticipate exactly what scene is going to come next, and who will be the next to die in combat, once you latch onto the structure of the script, which has all the inventiveness and ingenuity of a flow chart.

Miller has crafted some intriguing, complex characters and stranded them in a muddled story that doesn't know quite what to do with them.

The longest and talkiest installment in the blockbuster Pirates trilogy, At World's End doesn't even have the decency to provide a good action sequence until more than two hours in.

At least LaBeouf makes for a likable hero. He's got the same kind of easy, natural charisma as Will Smith -- who, come to think of it, starred in another techno-paranoia thriller, "Enemy of the State," that Eagle Eye strongly resembles.

A stale pastiche of crime-caper dramas that goes through all the usual reversals, betrayals and triple-crosses with a sense of weary obligation.

Depends on one's ability to accept Sandler in the part: For me, the casting felt too much like a stunt, a filmmaker's compromise to get his intimate, uncommercial script green-lit.

What's missing is originality and story and inventiveness.

Like the type of music it celebrates, Rock Star is just a lot of posing, adding up to very little.

What went wrong with Man of Steel? The early teasers promised Terrence Malick. The finished film is more Michael Bay.

What seemed edgy and brash in Kick-Ass is now routine and old-hat. The first movie was a brash satire on formulaic comic-book movies — exactly the sort of picture the sequel turns out to be.

Ultimately, Bad Boys is too slick for its own good; all gorgeous photography and little story. It's like a two-hour-plus music video. But it probably will be a hit. Lawrence and Smith are hot, and if the Beverly Hills Cop formula worked with one comedian, it should certainly work with two. [7 April 1995, p.5G]

In his first starring role post-Harry Potter, Radcliffe must carry the movie with little dialogue and practically nothing to play other than fear, constantly reacting to creepy toys that suddenly spring to life and reflections in windows that shriek unexpectedly at him.

Director Scott Marshall and screenwriter Mark Zakarin pander to Jewish viewers the way Andy Garcia's "The Lost City" panders to Cuban Americans.

Its stop-and-start feel keeps you from ever getting fully absorbed in the story.

If watching cartoon characters spout four-letter words is your thing, this might well be the greatest movie ever made.

Jobs works much better as a history of Apple than it does as a portrait of the genius who dreamed it up.

I haven't watched "Fargo" in a few years, but I still remember almost every scene. I saw Thin Ice two nights ago and cannot in all honesty tell you how it ends.

You watch it in stunned disbelief, wondering how a movie that started so strongly devolved into something so absurd.

Unfortunately, disappointingly dull, a lumbering Bore-us-saurus of a movie.

The 6th Day gets a lot of mileage out of Schwarzenegger, who once seemed incapable of playing anything other than a cartoon but is becoming more and more of a "real" person with age.

The movie is a lowbrow showcase for an equally lowbrow comedian, and how much of it you can endure depends entirely on how you feel about Kattan.

The result, as is always the case with short story collections, is a mixed bag, although unlike "Paris Je T'Aime," the duds outnumber the winners this time.

A momentary diversion.

The movie will disappoint basement-dwellers who worried a female-centric Ghostbusters would somehow ruin their childhoods, because it isn’t bad enough to hate. But the film is an even bigger letdown for fans of Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig, Leslie Jones and Kate McKinnon, who are forced to play most of this material straight, with no room for comic improvisation.

Much of The Men Who Stare at Goats is indeed amusing, although mostly in a mild, setting-the-stage kind of way, and your smiles eventually turn to yawns.

It's not that Sahara is offensively bad: It's just that the picture, loud and busy as it is, never really finds its own identity.

The best thing about this mildly diverting but instantly forgettable comedy is that it seems to have awakened something in Murphy that had laid dormant for much of the past two decades.

Technically a prequel to "Da Vinci" but could also pass for a two-hour episode of "24," rarely stands still long enough for anyone to deliver a monologue.

Last Man Standing is utterly bereft of humor -- Hill plays every scene perfectly straight -- and it's a drag. There's no cleverness to Smith's machinations, no joy in watching his plans come to fruition. [20 Sep 1996, p.6G]

Doesn't conclude so much as just stop, because Brooks, having come up with a great hook for a movie, didn't bother to come up with a satisfying story to go along with it.

The actors all suffer beautifully, but their pain doesn’t register: It’s all affectations and red-rimmed eyes.

Jodie Foster gives a bravura performance in Nell, but the film lets her down. If only the screenplay had been half as daring as Foster's portrayal of a backwoods recluse who's never ventured into the modern world. [24 Dec 1994, p.G1]

A shapeless, chaotic, overly frantic comedy that manages to make almost no sense, even if you're paying close attention.

Comes packed with so many plot twists and reversals, there's barely any room left over for a story: The movie is all clever gotchas and hoodwinks, without any substance to go along with them.

Still, this is one French comedy that could have used a little more hand wringing and a little less whimsy.

Cannot sustain the level of comic insanity the filmmakers hoped for -- no movie could -- although it's bound to play much better on late-night cable TV, especially when accompanied by a few beers and the occasional bong hit.

In his debut, Alwyn comes off as a likable, sympathetic screen presence capable of handling more difficult material. He’ll have plenty more opportunities. Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk, though, will be forgotten in a month’s time.

A movie about grief for people who don't want to be upset too badly. It's a half-a-hankie tearjerker, a meek, polite weepie.

In Murder by Numbers, though, even Schroeder can't keep his own boredom from showing.

The Illusionist is dogged by an inert, stale aura that overcomes everything and everyone in the movie.

Fury aims for history, and the contrived resolution shows a timidity by Ayer that is uncharacteristic of his previous work. Still, the action sequences, which use actual vintage tanks and little CGI, are pretty extraordinary and, at times, incredibly gruesome. War is hell. That’s entertainment, folks.

For all its splendor, The New World is really a love affair between Malick and his camera.

There's no bite or sting, nor is there a single moment when the film is anything close to scary. It isn't ever engaging, either; it's a dull, sluggish bum-out.

The problem with Men, Women & Children — and it’s a big one — is that the movie isn’t telling us anything we don’t already know.

Ultimately done in not just by its familiarity -- anyone who can't figure out where the story is heading hasn't watched enough Scorsese -- but also by the convenient coincidences and contrivances Gray relies on in order to pump the story into something greater than it needs to be.

The film emits a subtle yet distinct John Hughes vibe.

It feels like three movies stitched together.

With a script co-written by Penn himself and based on a well-regarded novel by the late French crime writer Jean-Patrick Manchette, this one has to have some meat to go along with the gunplay, right? Sadly, no.

At its best when it simply lets Hoffman and De Niro play off each other .

It's the damndest thing, watching this light but genial movie self-destruct. It's as if writer-director Barry Levinson set out to sabotage his own film by gradually turning what should have been a minor subplot into the story's main subject.

The movie, which has more than 10 credited producers, feels like one of those slick, for-the-money projects Hollywood studios cook up via graph charts and marketing surveys.

Director Hector Babenco's sentimental, unconvincing adaptation of Varella's book, is a soft, simplistic look at a tough, complicated subject.

You don’t buy into their romance the way you buy into, say, Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling in the upcoming “La La Land.” All you see are two big movie stars playing make-believe.

Reacher is so good at everything he does, and Cruise plays him in such a robotic manner, that the movie becomes a bit of a bore: The hero is practically omnipotent.

The problem with I Love You, Beth Cooper is that aside from Denis' speech at the start, everything else seems familiar.

To Rome with Love is so inviting, and most of its gaggle of characters so diverse and likable, it's doubly disappointing that Allen, who wrote and directed the movie, can't think of what to do with them.

It''s loud and flashy and fun to look at, but you''ll grow tired of it very quickly.

Saving Mr. Banks is two movies crammed into one cumbersome, overlong drama.

It might have all seemed hip and edgy 10 years ago, but today, it just feels tired.

I'm not suggesting Costner and Kutcher should run out and remake "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" just yet, but in The Guardian, the two actors turn out to complement each other well enough to make a lot of this supremely derivative and formulaic picture go down better than it should.

The movie's exploration of prejudice within the military is certainly on target, but it's presented with all the finesse of a classroom civics lesson.

Sunlight Jr. is what is often described as a slice-of-life drama, but this one is more of a tiny sliver, and it doesn’t leave you with much to chew on.

In Country Strong, the Oscar-winning Paltrow gets upstaged and outacted by the kid from "Tron" and the snotty brat from "Gossip Girl." Who'd have thought?

The story's historical setting is fascinating, but the movie is populated by thin, uninvolving characters.

Awfully amiable and dull. Instead of honoring musical gods, the film seems to think Pat Boone was headlining.

Beautifully shot by the great Vilmos Zsigmond, the movie is watchable, sporadically amusing and ultimately frustrating, because Allen is capable of so much more, but doesn't appear interested -- or willing -- to push himself any longer.

So lazy and rote, it feels like a rerun the first time you watch it.

A blatant sell-out, a wink-nudge pander to Hollywood, disguised as satire.

As written, Seven Pounds would have always been a melancholy experience, but a lighter touch would have helped to keep you from noticing the implausibility of its plot.

Unfortunately, The Big Lebowski doesn't hang together, and it's not supposed to: That's just the way the Coens want it. In some circles, this will be celebrated as the brothers' refusal to "sell out" after achieving Oscar glory. But anyone hoping for a real movie will see The Big Lebowski as nothing more than a pleasant waste of time. [6 March 1998, p.5G]

But most of Sniper is a bore. The details of their assignment are never spelled out, the middle of the film sags, and, in any case, it's hard to work up much enthusiasm for these snipers, heroic though their mission may be. In the movies, heroes must be larger than life: There's just not much excitement watching two guys hide in a bush, waiting for a clear shot. [3 Feb 1993, p.3]

In an effort to turn Brashear's life into a larger-than-life sermon, Men of Honor almost manages to make it all feel like an overbearing crock.

By the time the end credits roll, you're still not sure what kind of movie The Hunting Party is supposed to be, other than just queasy.

You know something's amiss when you're in the middle of a picture that runs under three hours and you're tempted to whip out your cellphone and send friends a text message that reads "Send food."

A slow, inexorable slog to the titular event -- a public execution so inconceivably violent and brutal the movie practically dares you not to look away.

The good news about The Scorpion King is that The Rock turns out to be a charismatic, ingratiating screen presence.

There’s a fleet and funny comic-book movie nestled inside Thor: The Dark World. You catch glimpses of it here and there.

In Dodgeball, Vaughn is stuck playing the straight man to a collection of stooges, and he looks utterly bored doing it.

Here is a film in which nothing is at stake: Cars crash into each other head-on at high speeds, vehicles sail off cliffs and tumble down rocky mountainsides, people jump out of buildings and fall six stories to the ground, then characters just dust themselves off and continue as if nothing had happened. Even Wile E. Coyote wasn't this resilient.

Considering the talent involved, Fathers' Day comes off as a whopping disappointment. Williams and Crystal are a good team: You just wouldn't know it by watching them here. [9 May 1997, p.4G]

Comes off as an episode of "Beverly Hills, 90210" where, instead of spoiled rich kids, the characters are all ballet stars in the making.

What Passion ultimately lacks most, ironically, is passion, the artistic fervor that distinguished all his best pictures. This one feels like a throwaway by a gifted filmmaker who has run out of ideas.

Repetitious, uneventful and, in the end, dull.

In the sequel, Weitz lays on a pop song and slow-motion during a critical scene involving the sudden reappearance of a fearsome villain, giving everything an MTV-slick, teen-friendly gloss and reminding you this is just a movie -- a somewhat silly and hollow one.

There's enough gee-whiz bang in Richie Rich to keep young viewers entertained, though much of it is woefully uninspired. [21 Dec 1994, p.E1]

All is Lost is more fun to think about than it is to actually watch: It’s a testament to a great actor, an experimental piece of cinema and a bit of a bore.

The Coens feel out of step this time; they’ve lost their rhythm the way they did in The Hudsucker Proxy, where the style consumed the entire picture, turning what should have been humorous and snappy into a grating chore.

Winds up making a very good case for never going out of your way to help anybody.

Fever Pitch is surprisingly devoid of jokes, or romance, or any of the other basic elements you'd expect to find in a romantic comedy. The only thing the Farrellys get right is the obsession.

Aside from a disturbingly graphic depiction of a drowning, there is also death by fire, electrocution and giant falling objects.

There are 10 minutes of animation in the film, and it could have used a few more: They have a spirited, inventive energy that the rest of this well-intentioned but awfully melodramatic movie lacks.

The Wedding Planner dissolves into a mopey, leaden romance that piles on the contrivances before limping to its foregone -- and rote -- conclusion.

This huge, unwieldy movie is busy and overcrowded.

The film lacks the menace and danger of Sendak's book, along with the beautiful simplicity and delicated, understated portrait of a lonely, misunderstood boy.

The actors, many of them now in their mid-30s, look understandably fuller in the face and thicker around the waist. The jokes, too, are starting to show their age: They wobble.

The Mechanic remains singularly uninvolving - a rote exercise in a genre with characters so familiar they barely register.

As intriguing as Hardy is to watch, the picture can’t overcome its cinematic-stunt vibe.

Yes, the Naked Gun series is showing its age, resorting to spoofs that have been done countless times before (there's a long, mostly unfunny parody of prison movies) or sketches that simply don't work (like a lame Thelma and Louise takeoff.) This type of rapid-fire, joke-a-second comedy is on the verge of cliche -- imitations like Fatal Instinct, National Lampoon's Loaded Weapon, and the Hot Shots! series have turned what was fresh and rollicking into a formidable challenge. Audiences have grown used to this style of stupid humor, so if a movie is going to employ the Airplane! format, the jokes have to be funny. [18 Mar 1994, p.G5]

In his quest to capture truth and honesty, (Korine) has made a movie that is practically impossible to like.

By turning Brooklyn's Finest into a morality tale, Fuqua lets the movie slip right through his undeniably talented fingers.

Although there are some initial feints at using zombies as a metaphor for third-world issues and cultural differences, the picture forgets all that stuff by the final reel. World War Z opens with an undeniable bang. But if this is the way the world ends, we’re going out with a whimper.

As Seeking a Friend for the End of the World crawls toward its sentimental finale, you're rooting for that asteroid to get here, quick.

There is no faulting the big set pieces, which are shot and edited skillfully. But without involving characters to go along with them, those sequences make for awfully empty movie calories.

It's bottom-feeder entertainment wrapped up in high-minded airs.

Truth should have felt like a tragedy, a story about a monumental but fascinating failure of journalism, the flip side to the upcoming Spotlight, about the Boston Globe’s Pulitzer Prize-winning investigation of sexual abuse within the Catholic church. Instead, Truth wants to make your blood boil. It succeeds — but not in the way the filmmakers intended.

Angry, potentially offensive movie.

The clownish humor is imbued with a great, genuine pain. Unfortunately, the twist proves too much for the filmmakers to handle. The second half of The D Train collapses into a series of plot curlicues and narrative dead-ends. The picture loses its nerve and opts for a pat, wan resolution.

Although there's no denying the threadbare nature of the script, watching Murphy riff can be a formidable entertainment on its own.

After a promising start, this ambitious but ultimately clunky and unwieldy movie dissolves into a pile of ideas in dire need of dramatization.

Altman seems lost here. We expect Ready to Wear to go behind the glamour of the fashion industry, uncover the pimples and scars on those flawless faces and bodies, wrinkle a few overpriced cat suits. But the movie is as superficial as its subject. [24 Dec 1994, p.G1]

A high-tech freak show, a gallery of grotesqueries that are fascinating and repellent.

The problem with Saved!, which is often bright and likable, is that its central point -- extremism, religious or otherwise, is bad -- is too obvious for a satire.

Falling into the trap that sinks most horror sequels, Blair Witch amps the jolts and shocks with more visceral frights (there’s some business involving an infected foot wound that is truly unnerving and also super gross) to diminishing results.

Full Grown Men marks the feature debut of director David Munro, who was born and raised in Miami and shoots Florida like a native.

Despite the great care and research that went into the movie, Frost/Nixon pales in comparison to Oliver Stone's "Nixon" when it comes to humanizing the infamous leader.

The first Hollywood horror flick I've seen that seems like it was made specifically for 12-year-olds.

I will tell you what The Village is not: It is not scary. It is not all that interesting. It isn't even much of a movie.

Unfortunately, The Island grows dumber as it goes along, gradually disintegrating into a generic good-versus-evil spectacular that not only defies all known laws of gravity and physics, but also suffers from the lack of morality that plagues Bay's films.

For all its Buck Rogers-style derring-do, gorgeous vistas of an Art Deco New York and sepia-toned cinematography, Sky Captain is a static, uninvolving experience.

Corny? You bet. But it also proves surprisingly inviting -- for a while, anyway.

This is certainly not a movie worth going out of your way for, but don't be surprised if you happen to come across it on cable one rainy Sunday afternoon and find yourself watching it to the end. Even Lopez pulls off a few good moments.

A surprisingly sappy misfire from brothers Jay and Mark Duplass, a hug-it-out, touchy-feely movie that succumbs to the maudlin sentimentality they had avoided in all their previous pictures (The Puffy Chair, Baghead, Cyrus).

Start with a heaping helping of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Throw in some "Percy Jackson," a dash of "Twilight," a spoonful of "The Vampire Diaries" and a sprinkling of "Harry Potter," and you end up with The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones.

It's only near the end, when Romanek sets out to release the tremendous tension he's built up, that One Hour Photo loses its bearings.

If any of this screams "cheap Generation X marketing ploy," you're right on the money. [31 March 1995, p.5G]

It's surprising to see a three-hour movie about Chicanos being distributed by a major studio, and Hackford had an opportunity to do something special. Instead, he simply gives us more of the same. [30 Apr 1993, p.G5]

The movie is so grand in scale that you can’t help surrender to the spectacle, even if the stuff that’s going on with the people in the film is often close to risible.

Isolated moments in Color of Night hint at Rush's visual creativity. He can spin afresh the most perfunctory scenes -- watch the clever way he shoots a simple fender-bender, or his spectacular take on an opening-scene suicide. But as the story falls into place, the visual embellishments feel increasingly hollow, like fancy icing on a grocery-store sheet cake. [19 Aug 1994, p.G5]

What saves Fly Me to the Moon from being a total wash is the actual mission itself.

The real love affair in For Love of the Game is between Costner and himself.

The phrase “casting is everything” has never felt truer than it does with 2 Guns, an unremarkable, standard-issue shoot-em-up that rests entirely on the charisma of its two stars.

You expect something far different and better than the same-old.

Because it's Pacino, though, Simone is never quite boring.

For all its sweat and muscle, Gladiator packs a weak punch. [6 March 1992, p.G5]

Stops dead the second the monsters fall out of view. It doesn't help that the movie's post-apocalyptic future is of the unimaginative backlot variety, or that the movie takes itself so seriously.

It's like watching "The Treasure of Sierra Madre" as remade by "Nightline."

The movie's hokey mysticism and heaving melancholy is closer in spirit to a solemn Hallmark greeting card.

You come away from the movie lamenting the missed opportunity and wondering what a stronger, bolder filmmaker would have done with this material.

The Mummy was certainly no "Raiders," but as far as summer movies go, it was just good enough.

I respected The Beaver for having the conviction to treat mental illness seriously and without compromise. But did it have to be so maudlin, too?

Feels like the shell of a wonderful story.

Race never delves under the skins of its characters, because they’re intended to be used only as symbols — reminders of an important chapter in history rendered quaint by this noble but patronizing movie.

A surprisingly straightforward romp in slasher-flick cliches, Friday the 13th is replete with gee-whiz gore, gratuitous sex and nudity and party-loving teens with a penchant for ending up on the wrong end of a pick ax.

Once in a while, A Good Man in Africa hits that elusive sweet spot between serious drama and lighthearted comedy, serving at once as a satire of political corruption, a drama about personal integrity and a comedy about carnal lust and culture clash. Most of the film, though, is a mishmash of conflicting tones, veering from one emotional extreme to another so clumsily, it's impossible to keep up. [09 Sep 1994, p.G5]

Medicine Man is an adventure story with a message: We must save the Amazon rain forest. It's certainly a noble cause, filmmakers forgot to make their movie any fun. [08 Feb 1992, p.E6]

It's crisp, efficient, well-made and strangely, vaguely dull.

Yes, it creaks. It creaks mightily. But The Net cheerfully plugs along, asking you to swallow one whopper after the next without burping. [28 July 1995, p.6G]

Depp isn’t doing anything different here than he did in "Dark Shadows" or "Alice in Wonderland" or the "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies. Once again, he’s unrecognizable under elaborate makeup and prosthetics, and he speaks with a peculiar voice (this time a thick South Boston accent).

Steven Soderbergh has been telling interviewers that he's planning to take a sabbatical from filmmaking because he has lost his inspiration. His lack of interest is palpable in Haywire, a rote exercise in action filmmaking that is sleek and polished and instantly evaporates from memory.

By the time Ceremony reaches its admittedly clever finale, you're too wrung out from Angarano's tiresome antics and Winkler's unconvincing dialogue to care who ends up marrying whom.

The movie is polished, well-acted and atmospheric, but still pure formula, and not very scary, either.

The Jungle Book has its moments — the panther Bagheera voiced by Ben Kingsley, the python Kaa voiced by Scarlett Johansson and a funny porcupine voiced by the late Garry Shandling are all memorable creations — but the overall film feels cold and mechanical, befitting a movie that was made primarily because technology made it possible.

An impeccably shot, studiously staged, passionately acted bore, one of those curious fizzles in which everyone seems to do everything right, but the film simply refuses to take off.

You know a movie's not working when you see minotaurs, flying monkeys, "The Wizard of Oz's" Toto and Helen Mirren riding a unicorn -- all on the screen at the same time -- and you're still waiting for the thing to be over so you can go home and get on with your life.

After an exciting high-speed car chase reminiscent of the Mad Max pictures, The Rover settles into a two-character drama between Eric and Rey, but Pearce is so one-note that their relationship is never engaging.

With all the obvious work that went into this beautifully detailed, giant-scale movie, and considering the historical importance of the subject matter, was it too much to ask for a trace of intelligence, or maturity, or even insight?

By flaunting its own stupidity, The Ten practically dares you not to laugh at it, like a stand-up comic who sells an unfunny joke through the ferocity of his delivery.

Even the women in Festival in Cannes feel more like sketches than fully realized people -- the aging actress, the naive hopeful, the newly minted starlet -- leaving you nothing but the showbiz satire to chew on.

Monsters University feels half-hearted and lazy, like they weren’t even trying. At least show a little effort, guys.

Little Ashes succumbs to the dreaded Masterpiece Theater syndrome as a talky historical drama weighed down by self-importance.

The kind of movie that rockets so far beyond the line of credibility and so deeply into the realm of utter stupidity, you start to wonder if the filmmakers aren't putting you on.

The lack of cynicism is refreshing, but someone needed to tell Redford pixie dust and a nine-iron will only get you so far.

The fight sequences are well handled, the three leads are pleasant (and quite good, it seems, at the martial arts) and the violence is bloodless and amusing, with all kinds of cartoon sound effects thrown in to soften the chop-socky violence. If the audience at a sold-out Saturday afternoon showing I attended is any indication, 3 Ninjas delivers the promised action-packed, empty-headed goods. As long as your age is still in the single digits, that is. [10 Aug 1992, p.C6]

For 2 1/2 hours, Strange Days swirls and blooms its way into your head, sounds and colors popping like fireworks, a stream of ideas flowing steadily beneath the dazzle. It's a light show for the mind, a kaleidoscope of exhilarating action, social commentary and post-modern science fiction -- yet when it's all over, you can't help but think, "Is that it?" [13 Oct 1995, p.5G]

Aside from its period New Zealand setting, there is little to distinguish Bride Flight from something you might watch briefly on Lifetime, then change the channel.

At least The Game Plan does have Johnson, whose innate charisma will make it easier for adult viewers to endure the film without ruing the decision to make a family outing to the multiplex.

Lack of any real substance.

If you're in the proper frame of mind -- namely, forgiving -- there's some fun to be had here, but you'll respect Don't Be a Menace's daring more than you will its humor. [15 Jan 1996, p.8C]

Mistress is a black comedy about the trials and tribulations of a writer/director trying to get his film financed, and if it had been released last year, it might have seemed better. But memories of Robert Altman's The Player, which deftly covered similar ground, are still fresh, and Mistress suffers badly in comparison. [30 Sep 1992, p.E7]

Tadpole was shot on digital video, and the images often look smeary and blurry, to the point of distraction. Then again, in a better movie, you might not have noticed.

While the scope of the movie is bigger, its impact is smaller. "Blue Valentine" was a precise, heartrending portrait of a marriage coming apart at the seams. The theme of his new movie is a lot harder to discern.

Chasing Madoff is as much a journalistic exposé of Madoff as it is a love letter to Markopolos, shot in the style of "Natural Born Killers" by a director terrified of boring his audience. In Proserman, the documentary genre finds its own Michael Bay.

Next time Damon will have to find a worthier vehicle. As the intended start of a franchise, The Bourne Identity is a bit of a bust.

A big part of the problem comes in the casting. Guy Pearce and Katie Holmes - the kind of odd pairing of actors that comes only after your first and second choices have passed - are unconvincing and curiously unsympathetic as the architect Alex and his girlfriend.

Seems to vanish from memory even as you're watching it. The movie is an exercise in minimalist storytelling.

What ensues is an uneasy mix of farcical slapstick and comedy of errors with a violent, blood-soaked tale of inner-city crime.

[A] visually stunning, technically impressive and crushingly dumb and overlong picture.

Even within the context of the superhero universe, the Silver Surfer initially makes for -- let's face it -- a somewhat silly-looking creation.

None of the actors is able to do much with their characters, because they are all playing game pieces on a schematic board. Rendition has passion to spare, but it is saddled with a story designed exclusively to drive home the filmmakers' message.

But this serious film feels strangely unfinished, as if it hadn't been fully thought out. [18 Feb 1994, p.G5]

All this has nothing to do with the movie's dragged-out and contrived plot, which unfolds predictably and much too slowly. Still, the performances are quite good, except for Jeanne Tripplehorn (Basic Instinct ) as Sam's girlfriend, an eccentric performance artist; she grates on your nerves the minute she's onscreen and grows more aggravating from there. [4 May 1993, p.E5]

You end up feeling sorry for all the actors forced to humiliate themselves, except for McConaughey, whose portrayal of sadistic, manipulative evil is mesmerizing, in part because it was so unexpected. He continues to surprise. Friedkin, sadly, continues to coast.

An earnest and well-meaning but disappointing failure.

Casino Jack fails at its most critical mission: Laying out in clear detail exactly how and when Abramoff broke the law.

A drama about dysfunction, spelling bees, mental illness, Hare Krishnas and kaballah. The movie is just as unwieldy as it sounds, except that it also stars Richard Gere.

The Vanishing hooks you and doesn't let go for a good while, but it settles into formulaic, stalk-and-slash antics in its last 15 minutes. Which makes its failure hurt even more. [05 Feb 1993, p.G5]

After an hour of being stranded among these restless soldiers and their increasingly aggressive locker-room antics, you, too, will be longing for combat -- for anything -- to happen.

There are so many romantic-comedy cliches crammed into Valentine's Day that watching it feels like surfing through the channels of an all-chick-flick cable service.

The movie still feels strangely inert; it's an adventure in which nothing ever really seems to happen.

Dismayingly predictable and rote, a simple premise played out in the most obvious way possible.

By the time the film's climactic 15 minutes rolled around, viewers at a preview were laughing as if they were watching "Knocked Up." For a horror picture, such a reaction is the equivalent of a stake through the heart.

Bordello of Blood isn't quite awful, but there's nothing in it better than its catchy title. [19 Aug 1996, p.2C]

Mr. Holland's Opus is compulsively watchable: Eager to please and never very challenging, it's the kind of movie you might stumble across while channel surfing and watch to the end. Almost despite itself, the movie also manages to celebrate the heroism of the teaching profession with surprisingly moving power. If only it had done it with more grace and less schmaltz. [19 Jan 1996, p.4G]

Watching an army of apes riding horses heading into battle is undeniably cool, but that’s the only thing the movie gives you: Neat eye candy. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is written at a level so low, even 8- year-olds will find it lacking.

Killer Elite is too formulaic to overcome a been-there, done-that feel.

Feels so slight and trivial, like a cute but small idea blown up to proportions it does not merit. A surprisingly unfunny, belabored and unimaginative comedy, Bee Movie is a huge disappointment considering the extent of Seinfeld's participation.

In Happy Tears, Posey lands a juicy starring role designed to showcase her eccentric energy, and she's so delighted by the opportunity that her happiness infuses the movie: She keeps the first half of Happy Tears aloft on a cloud of endearing tics and mannerisms.

The main problem with Iron Man 2 lies in the script.

It's a clammy, depressing movie, but not a very illuminating one.

The movie fails utterly at coming up with a story that merits all the eye candy.

The actors are talented enough to carry the movie, but they fade into the background once things grow dire, and the special effects take over. There's no sense of wonder or awe.

Palo Alto is a pale imitation of the early novels of Bret Easton Ellis, who wrote about young ennui and misdirection from the inside out.

It plunges so deep, in fact, that the film winds up bordering on the unwatchable.

It does boast loads of cool gadgetry and some impressive special effects. It's not much, but at least the movie always gives you something to look at.

Ardor is never boring, but it’s never all that engaging, either. Here is a movie that ends with a can’t-miss scenario — a siege on a farmhouse in which the heroes are vastly outnumbered and outgunned — yet still fails to ever quicken your pulse.

Criminal is happy to reprise Fabian Bielinsky's original note for note, and it's a listless, dutiful affair -- a cover version played out of obligation, not inspiration.

Just plain silly.

Brothers is a collection of strong moments that don't add up to anything. The movie is all build-up.

The whole of Prometheus - which was written by Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof, and rips off everything from "2001: A Space Odyssey" to "Event Horizon" - feels derivative and passé: The film is a shiny, high-tech relic.

The best stuff in Human Nature comes early, while the movie is still spry and daring --Then the film runs out of ideas, repetition sets in and so does boredom.

It's like a tantalizing CliffsNotes version of what could have been.

Nostalgia is part of the modest charm of this disposable but inoffensive picture. Old Dogs makes old dogs out of all of us.

The bulk of Religulous is a passionate but misguided attempt by Maher to stimulate the 16 percent of the American population who deem themselves non-religious into standing up and being counted.

Evil Dead is just a well-made gross-out, and it's kind of a bummer.

One of the problems with director Mike Flanagan’s occasionally involving but ultimately dull thriller is that the whole movie hinges on a reflective piece of glass.

If you go in expecting a serious, no-nonsense chiller in the Alien vein, you'll come away disappointed. Despite its big-name cast and dead-serious tone, Species is a spiritual throwback to 1950s cheesy sci-fi flicks like It Came From Outer Space and It Conquered the World. [07 July 1995, p.4G]

The most timid in the series. There's no invention in it, no sense of discovery. Only the impressively orchestrated action sequences feel fresh.

The movie is practically incomprehensible.

Nine isn't so much a movie as it is a collection of standalone musical numbers, strung together by the thinnest of plots.

A slight, not entirely engaging mystery with slight overtones about the dangers of racial profiling that, unlike "Clockers," treats its urban-plight theme as a backdrop, instead of its main subject.

It looks fantastic, but it's also hard to sit through, because by that point The Bourne Legacy has repeatedly proven there are no surprises to be had here, no more fresh stories to be mined from this well. The stunts look exhausting, though. No wonder Damon bailed.

Edge of Tomorrow isn’t good, but it’s also forgivable. Just please stop the "Top Gun 2" rumors, Tom. Please.

Aggressively bland coming-of-age story.

The movie is oddly impersonal - you remember the concept more than the story - and feels like something that was made simply for the opportunity to pair Streep and Jones for the first time.

The performances in Bandslam are uniformly strong -- good enough to make you wish this bunch of charismatic, talented kids had been given better material.

Charlie St. Cloud is primarily a vehicle to prove the actor can do more than dance and sing. It's more of a demo reel for Efron than a movie. His predominant fan base, though, won't mind a bit.

It's an obviously personal work, and that's both its primary strength and weakness: The movie has a distinct, carefully detailed sense of place and time, but it's also not as involving as Altman seems to think it is. It's thick on atmosphere, but short on plot. [16 Aug 1996, p.6G]