The players appear to be having a good time, though the situation is too sitcom-familiar to be funny.

The first-time director, Harold Ramis, can't hold it together: the picture lurches from style to style (including some ill-placed whimsy with a gopher puppet) and collapses somewhere between sitcom and sketch farce. Male bonding remains the highest value of the Animal House comedies: women are trashed with a fierceness out of Mickey Spillane.

Aside from a few good zingers the humor is crude and homophobic, and you could drive an ATV through the holes in the plot.

Another flabby big-screen sitcom from "Happy Days" creator Garry Marshall.

More of the abundant sight gags and slips of the tongue originate in bathrooms and bedrooms than are actually set there.

Dismal Stanley Kramer morality play about a middle-class couple facing the prospect of their daughter's marriage to a black man (Sidney Poitier). A disaster on all counts.

January Jones shoulders the thankless part of Cage's often imperiled wife.

Thomas is a couch potato as well as a recluse, and a terminal bore to boot. The women, real and simulated, are only slightly more interesting, and then only when they talk back.

Visual-effects wizards Greg and Colin Strause directed, showing more affinity for the city's steel and glass than for any of the characters.

Unlike Michael Jordan, this 45-minute large-format movie demonstrates mostly unrealized potential.

Initially tolerable but increasingly stupid thriller.

It's astounding to see Arthur Penn's name attached to this piece of cheese.

This awful sequel dispenses with any such pretense, its cartoonish characters running an endless gauntlet of hypergruesome violence.

It's grave, lumbering, arrhythmic, and bloated, an emotional hogwallow of catchpenny insights and easy sentimentality...In short, a real bagful.

The whole thing is pretty stupid, but Angus Macfadyen is watchable as the villain.

Sorry deep-sea adventure.

The film reveals its true colors at the end, with a plug for the New Age dude ranch the entrepreneurial couple has since established in Texas.

The message must have got lost somewhere in the plot twists of this would-be topical thriller about the power of hearsay on a college campus.

As an actor Austin is still a lightweight, but Rick Hoffman (Hostel) fleshes out a recognizable character.

It settles uneasily on the back of a verbal comic like Hanks—the movie keeps setting up gags that never quite materialize, and Hanks, unable to fill out his underwritten part with slapstick, is left stranded. Without any big laughs to even out the film's tone, the balance gradually shifts to the grim paranoia of the basic conception, and the movie that emerges seems oddly bleak and melancholic.

Caruso and Spielberg probably thought they were reviving the paranoid style of 70s political thrillers, but their story is so implausible it barely provokes a tremor.

Travels fast and straight down a linear plot, and the ceaseless rush quickly becomes monotonous.

The special effects are better and the dialogue slightly more humorous than in the first movie, but the anti-Arab subtext is repugnant.

An almost comically lurid tale of a little boy abused by his malignant hooker mother, malignant fundamentalist grandfather, and malignant surrogate dads.

Inexplicably, Butler continues to get work in romantic comedies despite his limited range and boorish persona.

Excruciatingly narcissistic.

Even the revelation of what the fifth element is at the end is disingenuous--in fact, the archness of this whole project is repellent.

Shelved for over a year, this incompetent mystery thriller stops periodically so some character or other can deliver an expository speech and pull the plot back on track, but by the end the story has turned into a hair ball.