The result is a movie that's both clever and stupid - an interesting feat.

It's mostly harmless dum-dum stuff, though.

The film's a minuet fetishistically repeated until either the audience or the lovers go crazy. I'd say it was a tie.

Horror movie Rule #1: The only way to kill a zombie is to shoot it in the brain. George Romero himself laid this maxim down with his first film, the endlessly influential 1968 gutter classic "Night of the Living Dead." Forty years later, with George A. Romero's Diary of the Dead, the venerable filmmaker has done something almost as startling: He has put brains back into the zombie genre.

It really only comes alive in its shots of people in the neighborhood sitting around their television sets. What we're really talking about here is a problem in scope. In Hamburger's film, the world is no bigger than a cup.

Maybe writer-director Adam Brooks has made a fluffy Woody Allen pastiche here, but it's arguably more pleasing than anything Allen himself has done lately.

But what can you do with Hayden Christensen? He's as close as we have to an android actor. It's all a chore for him. He never looks sufficiently scared, impressed, or surprised by any of this.

It's a good movie for its type, but it rarely stops to let us marvel at the world it creates.

The current, much better Canadian movie "How She Move" has a more realistic grip on the racial politics of hip-hop-dance.

It's a small, profoundly satisfying movie that keeps echoing long after it's over.

A tedious adventure-romance.

You've seen dozens of movies like this on cable in the wee hours.

Fiennes's energy gets the film over the finish line.

The movie's amiable, impulsive, intense, and scattershot, and since those are qualities associated with Vaughn himself, in the end it's a fair representation.

This is one of those your-roots-are-showing family circuses where just about everybody seems like a clown.

Warmly shot (by Yves Sehnaoui) and comes with a strong, burbling soundtrack of Arab pop; it slides down easily and occasionally too easily.

Their movie is watchable - never more gratuitously so than when Alba is filmed showering and slipping into a tank top. But we've been here before, no?

She has boundless energy, a wardrobe that won't quit, and enough real teenager in her to come across as more than a mere Disney creation.

Over Her Dead Body is to romantic comedy what Spam is to meat. But at least with Spam, you get cool packaging.

There's an honest, unfiltered quality to what you see and hear.

By far the funniest part of Strange Wilderness is the trailer for "Harold & Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay" that's running before it.

This is the epidemic from love's point of view, a story as much about how the disease can ravage the heart as it does the body. It is also Téchiné's best film since 1998's superb "Alice et Martin," and 1994's even better "Wild Reeds."

Rambo isn't dull. It is, however, often murkily directed, a real shortcoming in an action movie. In the big rescue-the-prisoners sequence, it's very hard to keep track of who is doing what to whom where.

When the cast starts clomping atop a car, their synchronized bodies joining with the booming cross-rhythms, we're sold.

The best thing in Meet the Spartans is the swift kick in the bombast it delivers to the oh-no-not-us homoeroticism of "300."

It's a warmed-over suspense thriller that's more disturbing than it is surprising or scary.

Writer-director Cristian Mungiu confirms the Romanian cinema renaissance while creating a paradoxical marvel: a bleak tale of illegal abortion that powerfully affirms one's faith in people.

They may not be as cool as Bono's fly shades, but the plastic yellow glasses required for viewing U23D supply an amazing fly-on-the-amp view of the Irish rockers in their natural habitat.