Pixels is a blast of energetic fun.

An insubstantial addition to the cycle. It looks cheap and feels slapped together.

This otherwise predictable romantic comedy does have several genuinely funny scenes, thanks to Monica Potter's comic delivery and charm.

Rosenbush strives for a difficult blend of spoof and sincerity with Zen Noir. In the spirit of rebirth, let's assume that the next time he makes it, it'll turn out fine.

I've had the unique pleasure of reviewing almost all of Duff's movies, and if there's one thing to say about the girl, she's consistent: nice, sweet, blond, inoffensive and uninspiring.

Nice to look at but too calculated and clichéd to resonate beyond its surface slickness.

Accomplishes something I would have thought impossible. It made me appreciate its 1994 predecessor, "The Flintstones."

The cinematic Garfield: The Movie feels like an 82-minute commercial for Garfield, The Brand rather than cinematic dumb fun.

With its general spirit of tabloid scandalmongering and frequent cutaways to an oddly enhanced Melanie Griffith in scanty panties, the point of reference seems less Victorian fiction than Victoria's Secret.

The Happytime Murders is a one-joke movie, minus one joke. The year may cough up a worse film, but probably not a more joyless, witless one, raunchy or otherwise.

For years I've criticized Murphy for not working with the best directors or powerful female co-stars. But he does that here, and his movie is still a clunker. Relatives are listed in the credits; maybe he needs to stop trying to completely control the films he makes. Either that or it's time for another stand-up concert film. [27 Oct 1995, p.B]

Won't make your day, but it won't kill it either.

I enjoyed these characters more when they were rich, rather than obscenely rich, when their self-involvement and life crises had one foot on planet Earth -- and when they weren't all gussied up like Mae West in "Sextette."

It's not just the sound of crickets you hear watching this movie. It's the sound of dead crickets.

Sometimes funny, often strained comedy.

A real sentimental journey -- and luckily they've got both the right director (Darabont) and the right actor to squeeze our heartstrings.

Therese's story would work better as a marionette show than on the big screen. The camera is best at picking up subtleties, and there are simply none here.

Spears delivers a performance with the same sincerity she invests into a Pepsi commercial, only this film contains twice the sugary calories.

The "Showgirls" of superhero movies. This is not a compliment. A vacuous lingerie show posing as feminism, it's the biggest movie hairball this side of "Garfield."

Macy's character finds romance with the Madrid, N. M., diner owner played by Marisa Tomei. They're the only two people on screen who relate in any way. But there's no movie here. There is only a tired "City Slickers"-inspired idea for a movie.

The rhythmic assurance of truly bracing screen action, even if it's just a bunch of metal beating up a bunch of other metal, or clobbering humans, never gains traction. The cross-cutting suggests the editors took care of things via group text.

There is some directorial skill here--Argento should be congratulated for a few interesting storytelling choices--but the end result feels grimy and strangely pathetic.

This is “True Lies” without the striptease or the Arab-maiming.

Let's face it, the bottom line on a disaster film is how special are its special effects. With Meteor, the answer is not very. [22 Oct 1979, p.6]

Meant to be appreciated solely for its gleaming surfaces.

It's a high-powered cast, but it has painfully little to work with, apart from widely varying humor.

Only Biel and Greer lift it above the level of bleh.

A fatally compromised, half-realized execution. [ 10 Jul 1992]

Riddled with comic potholes.

A grotesque slumgullion of kung fu, studio schlock and pseudo-Dumas swashbuckling that leaves you longing for Doug Fairbanks --or even Don Ameche and The Ritz Brothers.

With his brazen gifts for mimicry, Eddie Murphy may now be the Peter Sellers of blockbuster toilet comedy movies.

Jack Bender's direction, with the help of a driving score by Cory Lerios and John D'Andrea, manages to keep the level of suspense high even in the film's least convincing moments. [03 Sep 1991, p.5C]

A lame duck.

Why Paltrow, who was accepting a best actress Oscar four years ago, would take this clumsily written role is anyone's guess.

Falls prey to the all-too-contemporary problem of complicating the tale until the ending is not only obvious, but prayed for between yawns. [9 February 1999, Tempo, p.2]

The sole memorable scene involving a little Focker in Little Fockers, though memorable doesn't mean amusing, involves Ben Stiller's male-nurse character administering a needle full of adrenaline to his dyspeptic and unhappily aroused father-in-law Jack Byrnes, played by Robert De Niro.

Dugan can`t find a tone that allows him to preserve the shock of the gags while minimalizing their physical painfulness.

Who's That Girl? is sunny and harmless. Perhaps it's indicative that feminist hostility is taking a milder turn. Or perhaps the genre has gone Hollywood. [09 Aug 1987, p.6C]

From Miles Teller to Kate Mara to Reg E. Cathey, everyone on screen in Fantastic Four speaks in a flat, earnest monotone with a determinedly low-keyed air bordering on openly not giving a rip.

A neo-noir movie nightmare gone sadly wrong.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't laugh at some of this--though it's not as funny as Laurel and Hardy as toddlers in "Brats." But I wanted to slap myself whenever I did.

Formulaic romantic junk.

In A Thousand Words the camera stays about two inches from Murphy's hyperactive face, and you start to see the strain and desperation in the actor's eyes.

The problems begin and end with the script, credited to three writers. “Dolittle” turns its title character into an eccentric and wearying blur of tics, tacked onto a character who comports himself like a bullying, egocentric A-lister rather than someone who, you know, actually enjoys the company of animals.

A cranky failure with brilliant moments.

An abysmal, embarrassing sequel to the adult-talking baby movies. [5 Nov 1993, p.C]

Millennium is a throwback to 1950s, B-grade science fiction movies in which the love story and the concepts had to cover for special effects that weren't too special. [30 Aug 1989, p.3C]

It plays like a bland, third-season Marvel series as watched on a 12-year-old TV set playing in the wrong dramatic aspect ratio, which I realize isn’t a real thing. But now it is.

By making concessions for a possible sequel, Dracula 2000 wilts when compared in the light with other Dracula films.

An unabashedly bad movie full of cliches, claptrap, fairly good rock 'n' roll and stomach-turning gross-out gags.

There hasn`t been a movie quite like Police Academy 4 since, well . . . "Police Academy 3." Make that exactly like, because here are the same characters, the same situations and the same jokes (most of them focused on damage suffered in the genital region) that have served the series since its inauspicious debut in 1984.

This is what happens when someone doesn't make a sequel to a hit movie fast enough. Someone else, with a lot of brass, makes a ripoff that is even less satisfying. [19 Aug 1988, p.A]

Once the credits are done rolling it's a dour, enervated mystery, selling the old cat-and-mouse games.

While entertaining and often genuinely frightening, thanks to a remorsefully blue cast to the cinematography, this thick stew can be tough to swallow under Tony Maylam's bumpy direction. [3 May 1992, p.C7]

It's crazy, dangerous and sometimes gorgeous: a feast of nuttiness that takes you, for a while, over the edge.

The movie itself has no edge. It barely has a movie.

The result just might be the most hypocritical feature in the history of film as well as the history of hypocrisy, and along with serving beer, I hope they show I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell in hell.

Phantoms may have sold like hotcakes as a book. But this movie version is a grotesque fiasco, a confoundingly senseless story told with unexciting visuals, cliched dialogue and ear-bashing sounds... Watching it is a truly hellish experience. [23 Jan 1998]

The shadow of Gena Rowlands looms over this picture like a cinematic eclipse. [25 January 1999, Tempo, p.5]

It's rather sweet to think of Filth and Wisdom as Madonna's reconnection to her own boho Manhattan striver self a generation ago, and I did enjoy the last five minutes or so, when the movie essentially stopped and Hutz's band, Gogol Bordello, took over.

About as interesting as watching paint dry.

A limp retelling of the werewolf legend that is about as frightening as a rubbery Richard Nixon mask.

The main problem with the movie is the by now shopworn nature of its setting. Been there, snipped it. Though dating from venerable material, The Salon turns out to be one haircut too many.

Their (The Brothers Strause) effects are pretty good, on a fairly limited budget. And that's about all you can say for Skyline.

Rambo lumbers to the finish line in the flaccid fifth installment, which is a Frankenstein’s monster of badly photocopied references to the previous movies, limply strung together with the laziest of screenplays.

Teen Wolf is a clever and inventive film, a soft and contemporary retelling of the familiar werewolf tale.

An almost terminally sappy youth romance.

Hits the ground running and never lets up.

Maybe Georgia Rule should be required viewing for Paris Hilton during her term in the slammer. But not for us.

A whopper this isn't. It's not even a Whopper Junior. It's the paper the Whopper Junior came in.

Williams' grimace is starting to look desperate. Then again, no one comes off well in director Ken Kwapis' handling of this greasy screenplay.

A comedy murder mystery gone seriously astray, boasts an immensely talented cast .

Not only does American Outlaws distort history, but the filmmakers have created a dull, one-dimensional pop icon out of James' complex character and legend.

Whereas Clint Eastwood simply would have squinted at Robinson, Stallone takes a more violent approach. Maybe that's the difference between actors--Eastwood can be droll; Stallone more often crosses the border to primeval.

Playing the title role as well as the Dream role, real-life Elvis tribute artist Blake Rayne is more convincing when he's singing than when he isn't. But he has little to explore beyond bashful smiles.

The situations and jokes are as predictable and as lowbrow as the endless pratfalls the boys take in their high heels.

Mayall`s hyper portrayal of Fred, while psychologically sound, is dramatically torture.

All too obvious, all too easy, the sort of tongue-in-chic L.A. comedy that mistakes glibness for high style, heartfelt pop choruses for wisdom.

Of all the teen performers out there, Duff has to be the blandest (especially since the Olsens hit the skids).

Certain scenes in When in Rome signify nothing less than the death of screen slapstick, but I’m hoping it’s one of those fake-out movie deaths where it’s not really dead, not forever.

Some actors steal scenes. Tom Green just gives them a bad odor. This self-infatuated goofball is far from the only thing wrong with the clumsy comedy.

Surprising less moldy and trite than the last two.

Sadly, the concept of dialogue is totally lost on the makers of Venom, a laughably bad example of teen-scream movies.

Not as worthless as you may have heard. [10 Sept 1993]

A sappy, often absurd disappointment, another would-be inspirational romance that, like Costner's overwrought "Message in a Bottle," is impossible to swallow.

Jason X conjures up more giggles than scares, assuming you make it through the first 15 minutes.

A major problem is that "Encino Man" clings to a shopworn coming-of-age formula instead of taking advantage of the far more original idea that sets it in motion. Dave's story is constantly overshadowed by the potentially much more entertaining spectacle of the caveboy's adjustment to contemporary life. The subtext has pretty much gobbled up the movie's center, leaving it severely out of whack. [22 May 1992, p.B2]

That`s right, Fever Pitch receives ''zero stars,'' a rating given infrequently and most often to a film that is morally offensive. There`s no other way to describe Fever Pitch, which, aside from its multitude of filmmaking sins, has the gall to do a complete turnabout with its ending, twisting a supposedly antigambling, message movie into nothing less than a promotional film for casino betting, feeding off the chronic gambler`s pathetic hope to ''get even'' through one more toss of the dice.

For those who recall those old Classics Illustrated comics of the 1940s and ’50s--and even for those who don’t--there’s an endearing, earnest quality to The Ten Commandments that transcends its star-studded cast and computer-generated animation.

Part gambling heist, part graphic novel, part metaphysical mumbo jumbo, Revolver is a mess of many colors, few of them satisfying.

The film's big lap-dance sequence is impressive, however, if only for the sheer athleticism of Elizabeth Berkley's contortion. Later, when she pulls the same stunt in a swimming pool, we recognize the show for what it is--a male fantasy film in which the women are little more than rag dolls. [22 Sept 1995]

We've since seen plenty of self-satisfied smart alecks, and Freddy, as written and played, brings nothing new to the party.

One of those movies that starts like a house afire, catches you firmly in its narrative grip and then suddenly blows itself out, not really going out with a whimper but with a big, bad, ludicrous bang.

The biggest script flaw is the curious lack of cause and effect in the relationship between Jack and Ed.

Call it "Clash of the Whitans," and call it a folly that doesn't have the energy or delirium to qualify as entertaining crap. It's just crap.

Many will find Apollo 18 silly and derivative. It is. Yet it's also a break from the usual hyperbolic, down-your-throat brand of silly and derivative scare movies.

So laden with forced plot twists that it will never be able to recover.

Most of the problem with this movie is that Ernest is too much of a cartoon to carry such exposure, particularly since he hogs most of the scenes. The other characters, even the children, behave like cardboard props.