The movie's fun, a lot of it having nothing to do with its specific subject.

I laughed three or four times, mostly at verbal byplay since director MacFarlane struggles when it comes to timing, filming and cutting sight gags.

The Theory of Flight is built from the kind of material that either soars or crashes with audiences. And here, it doesn't quite hold together. But if the film, as a whole, never takes flight, the actors do. Watching them bicker and sail up is so delightful, you only wish their vehicle could keep them aloft longer.

As directed by Ronny Yu, Bride of Chucky shows flashes of visual inspiration, and the script by Don Mancini is laced with tiny nuggets of humor. But overall, Chucky seems to be coming apart at the seams.

The generic bulk of Divergent hits its marks and moves on.

A genial "Hangover" for the AARP set, Last Vegas is roughly what you'd expect, or fear, but a little better.

Writer-director Silver, who trained in documentaries, appears flummoxed by the challenges of getting the audience inside the heads of these young men.

Only resonates when he (Brooks) strips it all away and focuses on parent and child.

Fairly entertaining and often exciting, expertly done in a way, but not especially engaging or new, and not as emotionally involving as its title suggests.

Neither sinful nor particularly bad, the movie nonetheless diverts us when it should transport us. Its heroes' hearts may lie out at sea, but its soul never leaves dry land.

The movie's sole selling point turns out to be its sweetness. Sandler, Segal and writer George Wing obviously like all of the characters despite the constant ribbing, and Sandler and Barrymore are as cuddly as a pair of love-struck walruses. But only a sucker would get too close.

The movie moves predictably to its feel-good finale.

Is it a political movie? Yes. A movie with strong ideas and issues? Yes. But propaganda with its heart in the right place is still propaganda, and seldom easy to watch.

All that — and yet, dull. Why?

It's not classic horror, but it'll do. [13 Jan 1995, p.18]

It's a scramble, marked by the unruly variety of visual strategies Lee prefers.

One of those movies that promises much but doesn't deliver. Despite a lot of misplaced talent, this movie is as silly and forced as its title.

Underwater never quite breaches the surface from good to great, though this well-appointed creature feature proves to be an excellent showcase for Stewart’s screen presence.

Usually what you're laughing at is ugliness, and that leaves a foul taste long before the 85 minutes have expired.

The problem is that the movie is, in comedy parlance, a "bit fest" -- it tries to generate its humor with a barrage of bits, or external gags, rather than letting it emerge organically from the deepening interaction between its two leads.

It's a raw and raucous rock story that, for once, gets the big picture and the small details right.

This sequel succeeds as a slightly convoluted, paint-by-the-numbers buddy/action comedy with fast, funny banter and well-choreographed fight scenes.

Caddyshack has a low-budget look that warmly welcomes the all-important teenage audience. It looks like a film they could have made. And everyone associated with the film—in front of and behind the camera—is aware that he or she is making a frivolous film...That's why Rodney Dangerfield's cornball jokes and spritzing barbs are so perfectly right for the film. These are throwaway jokes for a most disposable motion picture, the kind of film that drive-ins were designed to play.

The Baby-sitters Club movie, written by Dalene Young and directed by Melanie Mayron, winds up seeming just as packaged and programmed as many of its summer competitors. The books, however obvious, don't talk down to their youthful readers. But the movie does. [18 Aug 1995, p.F]

This one's likely to vex both history buffs and those who require some drama with their drama.

The Lara Croft reboot Tomb Raider isn’t half bad for an hour. Then there’s another hour. That hour is quite bad.

A lot of nostalgia movies are so in love with their period details that they squander plot and character time on lingering shots of antique cars and storefronts. They wear their vintage with the self-conscious smirk of a 40-year-old stepping out in her prom dress. It's a hoot, of course, but it doesn't guarantee a good time. [25 Sep 1987, p.L]

For all the whiz-bang visuals, however, "Little" could use a little consistency in tone.