Robert K. Elder

It's one thing for a script to set the framework for an action film -- it's quite another when the script gets in the way.

McKee, like Amenabar, knows how to position his film against type -- which ultimately makes May a refreshing, macabre tale.

Ends up a few frames short of the perfect horror film, but very few.

Gets under your skin with laughs that are fast, slick and slippery and with visuals as vivid as anything this side of Demerol.

Commits the cardinal sin of not being quite as funny as its star.

Unlike the intrigue and winding switchback of moral mysteries that defined "L.A. Confidential," Dark Blue travels on flat, predictable terrain.

There's much to love about this "Rocky" on horseback, and those laughable blemishes just fold into jokes that Helgeland likely intends audiences to laugh at.

Stands a triumph of stunts over plot, of style over substance--of the wool we pull over our own eyes. It's brainless, high-speed, popcorn fun.

Twohy pulls all the strings to create an inventive genre piece.

About overcoming adversity and one's innermost fears. On this count, Paxton hits the ball squarely in capturing the psychology of his characters, but hooks it into the sand trap of effects and thematic overselling.

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

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.

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

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

Breaks through as a delightful, surprisingly fresh comedy.

The movie's computer-generated castles, magic visuals and sloppy effects echo a low-budget fantasy movie on cable. It's glossy, shiny candy that tastes oddly familiar yet lacks sugary punch.

As an intentionally campy film, Girls Will Be Girls dips a cinematic toe into shark-infested waters. Not only must it operate on several levels-making us care for deeply flawed characters and laugh at their bitter lashings-it also has to carry a cohesive story arc. On this count, Girls Will Be Girls fizzles a bit.

Sky Blue slows things down, creating a ponderous, almost languid movie-going experience.

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

What makes XX/XY so engaging; it attempts to define love through broken characters who know neither themselves nor the meaning of love.

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.

Stands as a successful cinematic experiment and a gripping -- though a little too long -- study of humanity's most primitive instincts.

Whatever the film lacks in presentation, it makes up for in laughs and ensemble performances that sing.

Viewed through the right lens, "My Date…" succeeds as a warm, heartfelt story about childhood crushes and the pursuit of lifelong dreams. (Through another, it's downright unnerving.)

An old-fashioned comedy. And in this case, "old-fashioned" means tired, out of date and so abominably blah that you'll fall asleep in your popcorn.

Muddles through as a film so uninterested in character, it doesn't bother assigning names to them.

Oscillates between pragmatist genius and B-movie mediocrity.

It's a compelling drama, if only a little hollow. For my money, Pacino's bark is ultimately better than Two For the Money's bite.

A talented craftsman of dark raillery, Day and his fixation on Hollywood melodrama are indulged to delicious effect in his sophomore effort.

A confusing and not entirely believable ending clouds the issue, though, burying some fine performances and cinematography under an avalanche of gore and plot twists.

The notion that stories are the lies that tell the truth isn't new -- even Shakespeare knew that -- but the central conceit of "let's save lives by putting on a play" seems not only artificial, but also hollow.

A master of atmosphere, Japanese director Takashi Shimizu leads his audience along on a celluloid leash to his pitch-black attic of horror, inviting each hair on the back of your neck to stand up.

Plays like an amateur debut effort written over a weekend during which its writer wasn't entirely sober.

Plot doesn't matter much here, as Scary Movie 3 exists solely to reference and lampoon other movies, in this case "The Ring," "Signs " and "8 Mile."

Exploits the epidemic of kidnapping in Venezuela without offering solutions or insight--only sophomoric platitudes. Jakubowicz's talents as a filmmaker are many, but crafting an articulate, well-examined social theory isn't among them.

Is it a political movie? Yes. A movie with strong ideas and issues? Yes. But propaganda with its heart in the right place is still propaganda, and seldom easy to watch.

This sequel succeeds as a slightly convoluted, paint-by-the-numbers buddy/action comedy with fast, funny banter and well-choreographed fight scenes.

For all the whiz-bang visuals, however, "Little" could use a little consistency in tone.

Black delivers the best line (“Do you want me to get naked and start the revolution?”), and Lithgow scores a giggle for calling his ex-wife “coyote ugly” to her face, but neither of them can disguise this lemon.

Suit #3: But what will we call the sequel? Suit #1: "XXXX"? Suit #2: Brilliant!

Bobby Long can enchant you. It's a film that feels lived in, confident despite its conventions.

Hits more laughs than it misses and its characters are likable, empathetic people.

While sci-fi conceits still permeate the plot (alien DNA, rogue scientists), attention to personal detail float world-weary, superbly-drawn protagonists in a rare movie-a character-driven animated film.

Hotel might be best described as the art-house version of "Cannonball Run."

A train wreck you can't help but watch.

The beautifully shot but dramatically strained I Am David falls prey to the defect of all poor road movies: In gluing together unbelievable but convenient episodes with sugary sentimentality, it loses most of its credibility.

Call it a weepy for the gay community:The Trip is an oddly marketed, oddly titled romance. Yes, there is a trip, but it takes place during the last 15 minutes of the film and seems almost tangential.

It's a dense, winding tale with all of Sayles' razor-sharp dialogue and intrigue. But instead of tracing character paths, Sayles sacrifices solid storytelling in favor of forwarding a political (and environmental) ideology.

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.

Sonnenfeld mishandles the broad part of the comedic formula, preferring repetition to thematic development.

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.

Wan's tense, grisly cinematic morsel won't go down easy. But once it hits bottom, Saw is oddly satisfying, though the gag reflex never entirely goes away.

Isn't without charm, or laughs. Director Shawn Levy's film features some of the best child actor casting since "The Little Rascals."

As it turns out, "Liberty," a likable, light-as-air road comedy, is a much better movie than its sour-pun title.

While some pedestrian camerawork and spotty acting from supporting players deflate Love Object, it has enough juice - and a surprising twist - to keep fans of the slow-burn horror genre enthralled.

It's a pitch-black, Grimm Brothers-style fable that enchants, frustrates and ultimately dares you to love it. Even if you don't, you'll be riveted.

It's perhaps the first animated kids' film that can claim to be "based on a true story."

Like all B-movies (or in this case, pseudo B-movies), "Skeleton" contains sparkling moments of promise and camp performance.

Finally, a teen sex comedy that's funnier than both its trailer and its outtakes. More important, Eurotrip -- with its laser-guided sex toys and infectious theme song, "Scotty Doesn't Know" -- just might be the best comedy so far this year.

It's Ferrell who is the vehicle, a mow-you-down comic engine, and everyone else is just along for the ride in this marginally effective, starkly unoriginal family comedy.

Sports movies are never easy to pull off, but Skolnick does a fine job of balancing the drama with the on-field action.

Released in theaters five years after its 1999 Sundance Film Festival premiere, Kalem's film is too precious, too self-conscious and far too enamored with itself to ever have any kind of genuine emotional truth.

It makes you sweat, laugh, squirm and self explore like few films -- fictional or documentary -- can.

Ends strong, in an ultimately smoother, smarter sequel.

This low-budget comedy will most likely try the patience of a paying audience with its uneven pacing, wavering tone and poor production quality.

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

Writer-director Peter Sehr displays obvious directing talent, especially in his use of nonlinear love scenes. He shows the coupling, the approach and release all at once, out of order, mixing the entire seduction ritual into one fluid montage.

Splashes its drama all over the screen, subjecting its audience and characters to action that feels not only manufactured, but also so false you can see the filmmakers' puppet strings.

Has one other thing in common with "The Matrix Reloaded" -- too much story, too many angles.

Like all horror films, High Tension builds to a final, sobering flash of chaos that settles all scores. Some viewers will hate Aja's movie for its end-game reveal; others will love it for the very same reason.

Were it not for young star Amanda Bynes' energetic good nature in the face of drab dialogue and wooden stereotypes, What a Girl Wants might have been a career-ending movie violation rather than just an embarrassing fender-bender.

Action films can't be this consistently absurd, can't paint their heroes into such dangerous corners, from which only cocktails of luck and divine intervention can save them, over and over. It's a bad-faith bargain with the audience and bad storytelling.

Sacrificing content for style, Caruso gives us a lot to look at but little to ponder.

Gratuitous gore and young, nubile flesh bind together a cardboard plot.

Whatever is lost in translation can't keep Appleseed from feeling a decade late--and its animation from looking like a relic on arrival.

He's endearing and affable when finding humor and even introspective life lessons after arrests, drug use and a near-death experience.

First-time director Paul Hunter delivers a quick-cut, loud movie that betrays his MTV roots -- but then again, the script never demands that he do much more than exactly that.

With Clockstoppers, Frakes hobbles along with a high-concept film that doesn't live up to its potential.

Marisa Tomei turns in a blitzkrieg performance.

Seems a little lightweight, even for a kids' movie.

Sizzles for a half-hour, then fizzles.

Has no pretensions about sneaking up on you -- it simply charges, motor humming and blades flying, carving the spot where masochism and entertainment meet.

Caruso, who showed flair in the Val Kilmer vehicle "The Salton Sea," has a penchant for the dark side. In this case, it's the plodding, predictable ZIP code of the dark side.

While Reyes seeks his own ambitious style, he can't quite step out from under De Palma's shadow and thematic choices. Everything from the voiceover narration to the final frame in Empire looks and feels like a low-budget hybrid of "Scarface" or "Carlito's Way."

Although his is not a perfect film, Tollin employs his soap-opera dialogue and aim-for-the-solar-plexus message quite unapologetically.

Captures a breathtaking exotic landscape cluttered only by the smugness of its characters.

A magic-meets-macho cop movie that's more gimmick than actual movie.

Even as slapstick, it's a major snoozefest.

Thankfully, Reynolds (bearded, looking a bit like Jason Lee) adds some scrappiness and humor to a series that might otherwise have collapsed under self-parody.

Succeeds as a guilty pleasure, a monster mash that clobbers the recent lackluster sequels plaguing both legacies. If only that were a higher compliment.

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.

Perhaps Figgis proves his unconventionality with Cold Creek Manor after all, creating a thriller without resorting to the genre's usual bag of tricks.

When a movie keeps repeating its title, you know it's a stinker.

Like too many sports-related movies, this one falls back on that One Big Game, the final score that will set everything right.

Though trailers for Little Black Book try to sell it as a zany romantic comedy, don't judge this book by its cover. Those who stick with it will be surprised and maybe even laugh in between a tear or two.

By forcing definition on Flux, the filmmakers rob her of any allure. What do they offer instead? Clumsy exposition, bland PG-13 gunfights and subpar computer animation.

Serves as both an homage to and shameless thief of its influences. The result: a sprawling, deformed, undisciplined piece of cinema that hobbles along on weak, genre-splicing tactics.

Plays so flat, so to close its "movie message" formula, that it seems as if we've seen this movie before.