Superior family fare.

Spending more time with Downey's character would have benefited this movie no end.

Intermittently fresh and amusing in a low-down yet schmaltzy way.

The film ultimately is a letdown, leaving too many questions unanswered and ending in a gesture that doesn't really solve anything.

Has a sweetness to it that's irresistible, and its techno, trance and jungle soundtrack is as infectious and hypnotic as a contact high.

As with so many recent literary adaptations, it was the writing that was the art, not its infrastructure of plot and character.

As the sequence builds, it accretes so many heroic and nightmarish associations it plays like a prelude to apocalypse, which of course will come in Episode III. Attack of the Clones is part soda pop, part witches' brew - and all visual ambrosia.

Memoirs of a Geisha was never primed to be a film that burns down the house.

Intelligent and robust contempt has become so rare in movies that the first half of Art School Confidential is intermittently exhilarating.

A pastiche of sadistic horror-movie cliches with minor traces of wit but major overflows of perversity.

It's disconcerting to see Ferrell, a master of macho psychosis, adopt the stop-and-go dithering of Woody Allen-style neurosis.

Taken together, the sum of so many parts is too schizophrenic to be wholeheartedly embraced -- the movie is played for parody, but with a veneer of respectability that leaves the whole endeavor betwixt and between.

The low points in this movie aren't just catastrophic: they're bewildering.

You never get the sense that the director, Peter Segal, knows where the funny is, whether in his star or in the story.

The real strength of Return to Me is Hunt, who knows just when to retreat from the film's overriding sweetness and inject a cynical moment or two.

A visionary sort of horror movie should ponder three words: "Bram Stoker's Dracula."

The Bread, My Sweet is not for the cynical, who will doubtlessly find themselves gasping for air before the film's over and demanding a reality check of anyone who actually likes it. Their loss.

The film's impact and poignancy are undeniable.

In a cinematic landscape where truly original ideas are rarer than floating food, recklessness like this deserves to be appreciated. Not understood, but appreciated.

Tear-inducing feel-gooder that only a curmudgeon could find fault with.

The desert is clean in Gerry, but it's also empty.

This film isn't the most awful comedy of the year (that would be Bride Wars or New in Town), but it may have the grossest antihero.

Rock Star neither touches a raw nerve nor garners any resonance as a period piece. You'd be better off renting "This is Spinal Tap."

Jerry Seinfeld's foray into feature animation will delight young kids and leave their elders alternately amused and bemused.

Whatever spark the newer Precinct 13 has comes from its supporting players.

A mangy-looking mongrel with a lot of familiar markings and a little more on the ball than you'd expect at first glance.

Stars Juliette Binoche and Jean Reno give Jet Lag everything they've got. Too bad the movie doesn't better reward their effort.

What the film needs is more heart, humor and maybe some honest-to-goodness humility, not energy. And unfortunately, that's about all Gooding seems able to bring to it.