Robert K. Elder

Might be justified as "mindless fun" if it weren't for the acute lack of fun in its 93 minutes.

Jakes' characters are points to be made, flesh and blood cautionary tales that don't particularly feel human. His dialogue, even in the mouths of Michelle and her troubled mother, sounds as if it comes straight from the pulpit.

Worst of all, though, is the movie's moral maneuvering.

So dark and dirge-like are its first 85 minutes that a few uplifting minutes at the end can't dissipate the somber cloud Noel summons.

Tries hard to be sweet but plays like "Pollyanna" with fleas.

Against "Whale Rider's" well-acted, intimate story, Gordon's film feels like an endless spiral of sub-par soap-opera acting, mired in trite, predictable dialogue.

If "Mean Girls" was Lohan's debutante ball, "Herbie" sits her back at the kiddie table. She's matured, and no longer fits in the Disney mold.

If only they didn't cannibalize their source material so much, then take an extreme rule reversal just before the end credits, they might have achieved something original, rather than just a fan-fiction derivation of George A. Romero's canon.

Evil isn't this boring.

Bad decision after bad decision occurs over 93 minutes.

Even as slapstick, it's a major snoozefest.

Though The Kid & I falters as both a comedy and an After School Special, it works as a rather touching episode of "This is Your Life," with a parade of cameos from Arnold's career that'll coax a sniffle or two from his family.

Knoxville, Jed Rees and Bill Chott act daffy and more impaired than their counterparts, and that never sat right with me. This may not be the equivalent of acting in blackface, but it's awfully close.

Anytime Jaa isn't on screen, The Protector sputters.

It's tempting to call traveling on Juwanna Mann, except it never goes anywhere. This film fouls out.

Amiable Gooding still smiles through it all, weathering the cold, physical abuse and implied racism, doing his best to make his audience believe that Snow Dogs isn't offensive mush. But he can't bring it off.

A pair of decent performances does not a movie make, however, as Mazur and Giovinazzo are surrounded by fourth-tier actors (Ventresca and Steven Bauer) and spotty directing of a mediocre script.

Commits the cardinal sin of all bad IMAX films: It favors visuals over narrative, glitter over substance.

Against the rest of his dramatically flimsy crew, Snipes' sunglasses-at-midnight strut conveys an almost lifelike sheen. Almost. He's more alive than the movie, which is dead on arrival.

Plagued by continuity problems, ham-fisted storytelling and a problematic voiceover by Da Brat, Civil Brand feels less like a prison movie than a prison sentence.

Limps along on a squirm-inducing fish-out-of-water formula that goes nowhere and goes there very, very slowly.

Slow and dragging, Pootie Tang is worse than a below-average sketch-to-screen Saturday Night Live film.

Not only does American Outlaws distort history, but the filmmakers have created a dull, one-dimensional pop icon out of James' complex character and legend.

Worth your time and money? Fuhgeddaboutit.

Jason X conjures up more giggles than scares, assuming you make it through the first 15 minutes.

If "American Beauty" were a bland comedy, it would be Joe Somebody.

As scary and minor-chord heavy as FearDotCom can be, there's no big payoff, no logical resolution.

Offers the most onscreen explosions in recent memory. It's almost pornography for arsonists.