It's just the most inept filmmaking you can catch in theatres right now, or probably all year long.

It all falls apart at the end, however, and in such a loud and abrasive way that it makes Brian De Palma's "Raising Cain" look like a model of restraint.

Have we such short memories that we have already forgotten last year's feeble "Johnson Family Vacation?"

But for all the film's griminess and doom, bad behavior and bad luck, it's hope that engines Head-On.

It's never wise to try to one-up a classic.

The script is really the heart of the problem.

Not stupid enough to qualify as good, dumb fun.

Simply put, no matter what this zebra thinks of himself, Stripes is no thoroughbred.

This kindly and spirited film doesn't exactly break the mold of the heartwarming, humanistic boarding-school dramedy.

Remarkable and enlightening.

There's not much more to this poorly scripted thriller than exactly one well-done shock moment and Michael Keaton's eyebrows, but, to be fair, Keaton's brows have carried three Tim Burton films nearly on their own, so don't let this dissuade you from seeing the film.

The result is a riveting, eco-wise epic that'll do fans of both Ralph Nader and Katsuhiro Otomo proud.

Penn's Bicke is often so pitiable it's hard not to want to look away – but what else to expect from perhaps our most compulsively watchable contemporary actor?

William Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice may help in bringing some of the Bard's language to life, but this rendition is hardly a freshman course.

Grace and Johannson's courtship has all the heat of a wet wipe and, worse yet, leaves Quaid offscreen for long stretches.

The movie is toothless and uninspired, and as directed by veteran filmmaker Joel Zwick (My Big Fat Greek Wedding), the film is a disgracefully shoddy affair.

Eurotrash for the new millennium.

You can tell that everyone's whole heart is in this project, you just wish that a little more of the heart was conveyed on the screen.

One need not necessarily appreciate Darger's art to enjoy Yu's sympathetic, intimate, and often breathtaking journey into the workings of his mind.

One can't help but wonder how much better this film would have played straight, without its characters in seemingly constant song. God help us if there's a film version of "Cats" in the works.

The abundance of talent gathered for Meet the Fockers is sadly shortchanged by the unimaginative script and directorial laissez faire. It’s more like the audience has been snookered rather than Fockered.

Scrappy, powerful, and shocking.

Weaver and Hirsch's flawless performances elevate the film above and beyond the ranks of "Ordinary People" pastiches, and in the end it stands on its own merits.

Much more "Splish" than "Splash."

By the end, though, it's all too much what it seems, a literalist adventure with a socko "Twilight Zone" twist that's finally too little, too late.

Understandably, a filmmaker tackling the retelling of a national hero must do so with great delicacy, but The Sea Inside presents not so much a hero as a saint in Sampredo.

It's unclear what Brooks is trying to say about our melting-pot culture, if anything.

It’s bravura, classic Hollywood filmmaking, and you like to think that Hughes himself would have viewed it, if not appreciatively, then at least with a sense of kinship.