It's just too bad that you can see everything coming from a mile away.

The result is an out-of-control, lost-in-the-funhouse experience.

Smith and Lawrence have great comic energy and for at least half an hour are sublimely enjoyable -- until the movie's spirit of bloated gargantuanism takes over. [7 April 1995, p.5]

Four Christmases works because of some genuinely funny setups, a pace that never dwells on one gag (or even one family) too long and a careful mix of slapstick and bawdy humor. But mostly, the film works because of the astonishing acting talent the filmmakers brought together to make it.

When Crews is onscreen, White Chicks is a film that fears nothing and no one. When he's not, it's a film too tentative and soft-hearted to scale the farcical heights to which it aspires.

Barf-bag baroque.

The movie's one bright spot is Gonzalez, a refreshingly natural young actor who needs to get out of B-movies.

As earnest as the performances are, something seems to be lost in the translation.

To be fair, Friedkin does amp up the tension when called for. If only it were all for some purpose, or in service to a story that actually went somewhere.

Tries to rock our world, but it regresses to a single-celled B-movie.

An overly gimmicky and fatally repetitive terrorist thriller that quickly wears out its welcome.

Was the Swedish director, Mikael Hafstrom, taking revenge on the American star system?

Nightwatch is passable stuff for undiscriminating fans of the ickier-the-better genre; for the rest of us, it offers nothing new. [17 Apr 1998]

In Schumacher's relentlessly arrhythmic and tone-deaf film, Gerard Butler plays the title role as if he were just plucked out of Monty Python's lumberjack chorus.

A raunchy, remorseless "Curious George."

The weirdly exhilarating thing about Wicker Park is the reckless abandon with which it embraces the convenience of coincidence, and then the extreme measures it takes to reassure the audience that it's not a movie about coincidence at all.

Blessedly unimportant, Fantastic Four cruises along on modest yet genuine comic-book pleasures.

Smashingly stupid.

The movie is a monument to egomania - and I don't mean Alexander's.

No visual style, amateur effects.

Not enough to keep Clockstoppers from turning viewers into clock-watchers.

Anna Faris, her deadpan comic timing still a joy to watch, returns as Cindy Campbell, one of two main holdovers from the first three movies.

A wholesome, headlong extravaganza - a sort of North by Northeast sans high style and erotic innuendo.

More of a sales pitch than a movie.

There's an honesty to the film that elevates it a cut above standard slasher fare.

Jack Frost can't possibly straddle its emotional shifts between morbidity and sheer nonsense. [11 Dec 1998]

Double Dragon may have its merits as a computerized contest of wits and strategy, but the movie is a stinker, directed with apathy (by newcomer Jim Yukich) and "written" by committee from any number of recycled movie plots. [05 Nov 1994]

Passed my popcorn-movie test. Using the vast, expensive technology of a big studio production, it roused enough cheap energy to drive me to eat a bag of popcorn fit for a circus animal and wash it down with a quart of Diet Coke.