Ultimately the movie is alluring and respectful--its sadness may be what saves it from becoming sensationalist or trite.

If your kids are fans there's probably no escaping this installment.

This teen romance doesn't have a single authentic moment.

Their splashy gore is more convincing than this incompetent horror-comedy's attempt to mock bourgeois high school dissoluteness without appearing judgmental.

13 (Tzameti) might seem allegorical, but it’s too cynically concerned with what works as entertainment to offer larger truths about human existence.

But the big scare scenes seem particularly isolated here, supported by neither the flat characters nor the vague plot.

Director Kurt Wimmer has an eye for jackboot chic (Equilibrium), and the images here have been digitally polished so that the characters' skin is smoother than porcelain. It's a cool effect--I spent most of this interminable actioner wondering if one could bounce a quarter off Jovovich's bare midriff.

Even the most shocking elements of the story are made bland by childish overkill.

Not a movie, just one gigantic commercial for Hasbro.

With artifice as layered as the tiers of a marzipan cake, this resembles nothing so much as a stale Rock Hudson-Doris Day comedy.

Verde is too blankly amoral to sustain interest, but the film has isolated moments of haunting poetry.

As effective as MacDowell was in sex, lies, and videotape, she's clearly no match for the talented Depardieu; perhaps she'd seem less out of her depth if the script wasn't so implausible and threadbare.

Insipid, TV-bland drama.

The story, which is even dumber than it sounds, is told in flashback.

As a drama this is rote, as a musical it's uninspired, and as a comedy it's adolescent; ultimately it's a mess, unsure what it wants to be.

Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis must have a soft spot for the disabled kids of billionaires, because both have cameos near the end of this vulgar and dreadfully dopey enterprise; more impressively savvy is director Penelope Spheeris, who plays herself directing the movie-within-a-movie and manages to seem superfluous in both roles.

Despite the resourcefulness of the two leads, the movie finally registers as much ado about very little.

Armitage adds a slick veneer of one-liners and slapstick to Leonard's novel, but the story has been so spun around that it barely knows how to end.

Unbearably twee mockumentary.

Jackman and McGregor throw their best American accents behind the effort, but Michelle Williams seems fairly bored as the sex-club partner who wins McGregor's heart. I'm with her.

If DiCillo had been going anywhere with this, I'd have gladly followed. But setting up petty ironies and pathetic references to Woody Allen seems to be his only goal.

How long do you have to be gone to make a triumphant return to the screen, and how triumphant can your return be when all three movies are duds?

For the first 100 minutes or so I found this hokey but serviceable; after that my watch became more meaningful than anything I could locate on-screen.

This Spanish comedy showcases a gallery of popular actresses, but writer-director Manuel Gomez Pereira gives them nothing to work with aside from tiresome romantic complications.

Pretentious and dull, this Uruguayan exercise in magical realism takes place during the annual carnival in Montevideo.

I've observed this Seth Rogen comedy, and I can report that it's not very good.

The film exudes complacency and self-congratulation; it is a very cowardly, craven piece of ersatz art.

Despite the syncopated score and subtitled patois, this is just another "Scarface" knockoff, with the usual array of bling, booty, and ballistics.