When a human joke like Tony Robbins is the only one who comes away from your movie smelling like a rose, there's a real problem in Farrellyland.

A clever idea that never stretches beyond just that -- a caterpillar that never blooms into a butterfly.

This is what great dialogue -- and by extension great movies -- is made of.

It's likely there's going to be some “viewer disturbance” going on after audiences catch a whiff of this routine and thrill-less suspenser.

The spirited interplay between Goodman and Crystal is both wacky and, dare I say, charming.

A film that wants you to get happy.

A “thrill ride” movie with all the predictability, brevity, and industrial efficiency that cliché implies.

Never mind the fact that romantic comedies about gay African-American and Latino men aren't exactly plentiful, let alone ones this good-natured.

It's the best-looking film of the year, hands down, and Thornton is dazzling, a dull diamond in the gutter rough.

Instantly forgettable.

While nowhere near as mawkish at the abysmal "Pay It Forward," K-PAX nevertheless seems somehow unfocused and meandering; it's Spacey-light.

This family melodrama is as subtle as a load of bricks and occasionally as painful, but it offers two of the most finely tuned acting performances yet this year.

Little more than a constant and occasionally pretty imaginative sex show.

Sad, sorry remake.

So much here is equally befuddling and beguiling; I caught myself leaning in toward the screen repeatedly, trying to somehow get closer to the gorgeous impenetrability of the story, of the boy.

Dogg has the makings of a genuinely great actor. When he's on screen the film crackles, and even when he's not it's a trippy, funhouse ride.

A provocative documentary that shines light on a little-explored dimension of the international debate regarding homosexuality and religion: that of gays and lesbians who also wish to belong to the Orthodox and Hassidic Jewish communities.

A movie worth viewing. Besides, it's the only movie to boast NYC millionaire mayor-elect Michael Bloomberg as its executive producer.

An article of faith for girls who just wanna have fun; only problem is that the movie doesn't go all the way.

Ruffalo, actually, who was so perfect in the little-seen "You Can Count On Me," is the only real reason to sit through The Last Castle.

A visual tour-de-force; it's just that there's not much else to sink your teeth into once the pretty colors fade from view.

Well worth seeing if you have even the slightest interest in guns and sex and the interplay between the two (and who doesn't?), Burnt Money also has, you'll forgive the pun, style to burn.

The pictures are gorgeous, and the words, well, if you listen hard enough, the words say exactly what one needs to hear: that is, to wake up and live.

Pulls out every stop to fool the eye.

The splendid performance by Sobieski, who ends her long run as industry-mag buzz princess and arrives as a full-fledged star.

The only actors who walk away unscathed are Kattan -- the best thing in a very bad movie -- and former cover girl Shaw.

Relax, sit tight, and enjoy the ride.

A must for any Deadhead and of genuine interest to any music fan, even if its documentary chops hit a few sour notes.