For the most part, it's uninspired, not much to look at and laugh-free.

About as clunky as a movie gets. It lurches from scene to scene with no sense of narrative grace, gives its roster of prominent actors nothing to work with and screeches to a halt with all the grace of a sprinter whose shoelaces have been tied together.

The Loss of Sexual Innocence is belabored, pretentious and often willfully opaque. [25 Jun 1999]

It seems that in the movies, at least, there is a limit to how far low expectations can take you.

Knowing offers mumbo jumbo on an apocalyptic scale.

It's hard to go wrong with a movie full of talking dogs. But the makers of Beverly Hills Chihuahua sure try.

What it does have is the laughs.

The pleasures of this slight caper film are strictly small-screen, as three talented actresses walk through quaint roles before they hurry on to the next project.

If John Witherspoon is among the funniest men in America, as many of his fellow comics say, why is he so painful to watch here?

Gives aficionados what they want and is surprisingly kid-friendly.

Candyman: Farewell to the Flesh is a just-better-than-routine horror sequel that watches in chilly admiration as some sort of apparition steps out of mirrors and performs atrocities on the unwary. [17 Mar 1995]

Fans should be satisfied, but it's hard to imagine anyone else will be much interested in TMNT.

Movie lite, a clueless, formulaic paint-by-numbers comedy.

Unless you think "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" was the height of genius, there's little reason to sit though another version.

Torque isn't a movie, it's an 81-minute soda commercial.

The movie could use less romantic boo-hoo-hoo and more Bunuel: It's engaging whenever Bunuel acts as ringleader or troublemaker, even when he's blustery and piggish.

Borders on poppycock.

Lovely to look at and listen to but doesn't reward any closer study.

Meet the Fockers? Avoid them would be a better suggestion.

If only La Mujer de mi Hermano had a dollop of humor and at least one character worth rooting for.

The movie is so confused about itself that it comes across as toneless, a bunch of characters wandering around in a story no one is controlling.

The secret reptile part of you yearns to see Berenger's laconic Shale enforce classroom discipline with his Uzi and back up the no-talking rule with a Claymore mine. But no. Rather, Shale tumbles quickly enough to the fact that more than routine violence is afflicting the school, that there is, in fact, a conspiracy.

In Stay, the director, Marc Forster, fresh from "Finding Neverland," turns Manhattan into a nightmarish dreamscape and his characters into self-destructive ghosts.

What's more annoying than the screenplay's relentless assaultiveness is its odd, sordid cuteness.

If only it had some funny lines, a focused plot and an idea that stretched beyond the initial setup.

Sahara doesn't waste time on introductions. It wastes time in other ways.

A bawdy, brainy sex comedy geared toward smart people with a sophomoric streak.