Epps emerges mostly unscathed, and Dutton gives an excellent performance; he's as able before the camera as he is inept behind it.

The worst horror sequel of this or many another summer.

Proves two things irrefutably. First, Fishburne doesn't get enough work that tests his acting abilities… Second, Luke's breakout performance in "Fisher" was no fluke.

Arnold Schwarzenegger, move over: Your dramatic replacement has arrived.

It's hard to fault a script that keeps finding new dilemmas for characters and rewards attentive viewers with in-jokes.

What starts as a cute premise crashes faster than a skateboard with an oak branch shoved between its wheels.

Diary rather sloppily blends melodrama and spiritual uplift with crass comedy, sometimes in the same scene.

Writer Simon Fuchs begins with a reasonable idea – we’re all likely to be curious about the origins of Peter Pan – and does unreasonable things ever after.

I also wondered how the movie got the title Cradle 2 the Grave. Nobody used the phrase; it didn't apply to any characters; it didn't even turn up in a song. Maybe the filmmakers were saving "Rotten 2 the Core" for the sequel.

This isn't nitpicking. Every bit of the tale is as full of holes as a wool sweater at a moth convention, and Shyamalan telegraphs each potential surprise.

Partly a travelogue for the Greek islands, partly a simplistic love story, and generally a rehash of the Oscar-winning "Mediterraneo," as if we needed even the first one.

The yarn itself is a winning one.

Formulaic, yes. Settled with as many reconciliations and promises of happiness as “A Christmas Carol,” absolutely. But a familiar pleasure, nonetheless.

Williamson deals mostly in cliches, as if high schoolers weren't smart enough to appreciate anything subtler.

This giddy summer extravaganza does deliver aerial thrills with eye-dazzling visuals and ear-smacking (though beautifully designed) sound.

When George Lucas last pulled off an original idea for a feature film, Bill Clinton was still thought of by many voters as overweight and chaste.

Director Doug Liman and a trio of writers eventually forget the rules they set up and hurl combatants to places they could never have seen or even known about: Who'd willingly project himself into the middle of a Chechnyan war zone?

I took a 12-year-old along to Scooby Doo just in case I didn't get it. Our verdict: one paw up, one paw down.

Far be it from me to spoil the secret, but I will say this: The last reel should've been sent straight to the city dump.

Interesting and idiotic elements almost exactly balance each other.

Self-respecting filmgoers will find this a "Walk" to dismember.

Universal Studios has unloaded its entire monster catalog in this movie, which is aimed at people with the attention span of a kindergartner. Shreds of coherence and character have been sacrificed to fangs and fisticuffs at every chance.

It starts as enjoyable B-movie pulp, degenerates to camp, then turns into laughable lunacy.

Kids might get a charge out of the mayhem. I got the vapors.

The dialogue in Craig Mazin’s script crackles at its best, and the supporting characters (led by Robert Patrick as a grizzled skip chaser) have bizarrely funny moments.

It falls back on straightforward horror tactics, executed competently but without flair. It takes liberties with the second half of the book, including one big change that will leave fans of the novel growling with disbelief and disapproval.

Writer-director Reverge Anselmo has created a movie of ineptness so perfect and unified as to boggle the mind.

If we can’t believe these characters could really be friends, we can live for 101 minutes in a world where they do.