Too bad the acting is uneven. And the ineptly done English subtitles will have you laughing in all the wrong places.

Salomon directed the silly but diverting action yarn, which benefits from the talents of Freeman, Quaid, Driver, and White.

I must report that Reservoir Dogs has little of intelligence to say - except for a few implicit comments on the nature of loyalty and betrayal - and that it's violent to the ponit of sadism. [5 Oct 1992]

More sugary than satisfying.

The story has possibilities, but you'll spot the big plot twists long before they happen, and the acting by Judd and Cavaziel is strictly by the numbers.

There are some novelties, like views of people surfing down sand dunes, but there's also far too much self-congratulation by surfers. Don't step into this not-so-new wave unless you're a die-hard surfing buff.

Informative, but very slow going.

The action is fast, furious, and occasionally quite funny.

There are a few good laughs, but not nearly enough clever ideas to keep things hopping for two hours.

I don't mean to imply that this film is any good or that it contains an ounce of genuine insight. But as a template for the big-baby genre, it's invaluable.

Directed by Philip Kaufman, who pays equal attention to the literary ideas and sexual preoccupations of the characters, but generates little new understanding of either. [05 Oct 1990, p.12]

The more the picture reveals, the less interesting it gets, transforming its hero from an intriguing mystery man into a standard-issue screen vigilante -- and steadily upping the violence, complete with harrowing torture scenes, in a lame effort to keep our juices flowing.

Potter's trademark devices are all present, including the way characters burst into songs lip-synced to vintage recordings on the sound track.

Based flimsily on a minor F. Scott Fitzgerald story, it's an anecdote stretched to would-be epic proportions.

There's a little humor, a little suspense, and not a hint of reality. You'll tune out quickly, unless you're 11.

The story's can-do attitude and moments of soaring music make it a must-see for moviegoers seeking positive visions on the screen.

Kevin Kline has some amusing moments, but Meg Ryan's acting runs out of energy, and Lawrence Kasdan's directing is too laid-back to help her out. [7 Jul 1995, p.13]

Less a heart-stirring historical study than a nostalgic fantasy, built on a foundation no firmer than Cruise's superstar persona.

Takes a humane look at an episode in recent history that's received little attention.

I know we’re supposed to think that Besson’s daffy cinematic calisthenics are entertaining because at least they are not boring. But I was bored. It didn’t help that Morgan Freeman shows up as a brainy scientist explaining everything to us in his deepest intonations. When was the last time Freeman, a great actor, really acted?

The message is plain: Men, especially rich men, have all the power. So be sure to do what they tell you, and maybe they'll treat you nicely… It's not one I like to hear. [27 Apr 1990, Arts, p.10]

This exceedingly romantic comedy begins with flair but lapses into clichés long before the sentimental (and predictable) finale.

There's something relentlessly superficial about the movie, and in one area that cries out for sensitivity - the treatment of racial differences among the characters - it falls down badly. [22 Aug 1990, Arts, p.11]

Kevin Lima's feature-length cartoon has some funny moments, but why couldn't the gang at Walt Disney Pictures provide something for girls and moms to identify with, too? [05 May 1995, p.13]

The only real acting in this movie comes from Janet McTeer and Charles Dance as Will’s aggrieved parents. They bring some ballast to this blubberfest.

The dramatic situations aren't intense or knotty enough to match the moral issues behind them, however.

The last scenes etch one of the most revealing depictions of capital punishment ever put on the wide screen.

Ultimately more exasperating than rewarding.

There is nothing magical about seeing one’s umpteenth car chase. Mark Ruffalo plays the weirdly scruffy FBI agent on the case, while Morgan Freeman, in super-slow mode, plays a famous magic debunker. He’d make the ideal critic for this movie.

The meandering story doesn't gather much momentum and Vittorio Storaro's camera work is less awesome than usual.

Nicholson's over-the-top acting gives an entertaining edge to the plot's feel-good manipulations.

Diane Keaton directed this ragged but lively comedy-drama from Richard LaGravenese's imaginative screenplay.

The pace is a little too languid, and the vulgarity a little too frequent, for the movie to work as intended.

For most of its two-hour running time it simply flings a barrage of horrors at the audience, enhanced with the most imaginative science-fiction atmospherics this side of "Dark City," which incidentally was a far more original picture.

Written and directed by Sidney Lumet, who pushes the material so hard it loses credibility and even entertainment value after a while. [27 Apr 1990, p.10]

The film is almost three hours long and precious little of it feels new – not from Scorsese or from anybody else.

Wants to appear bold and liberated, but it seems awfully solemn about the subculture it explores.

The film would work better if its story unfolded more swiftly and if its twists were more unexpected. The acting is solid, though.

Any resemblance (except qualitatively) to "An Officer and A Gentleman" is strictly unaccidental.

Along with the lapses of taste that have become standard in pictures aimed at teen audiences, filmmaker John Hughes offers moments of wit and warmth.

The writer-director Andrew Niccol is best known for writing "The Truman Show," another movie that got carried away by doomsday deep-think. The deep-think here is even sillier.

The package would be more enticing if it didn't fall so squarely into overused Hollywood formulas.

A creaky and slow-going morality play.

The action, directed by Shane Black, ranges from passable to interminable. The plot goes from clang to bang. Downey Jr. is still the best thing about this series.

This comedy is as down-and-dirty as you'd expect from the Farrelly team...but more than one sequence manages to be hilarious on its own outrageously crass terms.

The performances are stronger than the movie itself. Jodie Foster shows continued growth as an actress, and her girlfriends are skillfully portrayed. [21 Mar 1980, p.15]

Polson's well-filmed thriller swims down the usual lanes for this sort of story, and everyone looks way too old for senior year; but many of the suspense scenes work fine, and Bradford is terrific as the endangered hero.

The River doesn't live up to its ambitions. [03 Jan 1985, p.27]

Mostly just another exercise in snappy editing and over-the-top mayhem that will leave most grown-up movie- goers cold.

Moderately amusing sequel, which is best when it relies on dead-pan acting by the stars, worst when it drags in summer-movie stupidities like an incessantly talking dog.

In all, the film is a striking, if flawed, achievement by a talented actor who may become an important director if he sticks to the genre that suits him best.

The story is as simple as the average football cheer, but the dialogue has amusing echoes of "Clueless," and Dunst and Bradford make a mighty cute couple.

It's always hard to predict what Winterbottom will try next, but this experiment isn't worth repeating, the lively concert scenes notwithstanding. Be forewarned that the sexual scenes aren't simulated.

Young viewers may guffaw, but seasoned fans of "There's Something About Mary" will be disappointed.

Stone may think he's made a movie about the toxicity of the Bush presidency, but what we have instead is a cautionary tale of a decidedly lower order. As far as I can make out, the real message of W. is: Don't vote for anybody who talks with his mouth full of food.

All the old cliches, including the offensive ones, are trotted out in this revisionist yet trite Australian western about a legendary bad guy and his young sidekick.

Socially committed realism and screwball comedy don't mix easily. That's the main reason that Teachers is a mess. [02 Nov 1984, p.25]

Something happens to Robin Williams in serious roles. He becomes so drab that it's almost as if he's trying to efface himself from the screen.

Director Gavin O’Connor and screenwriter Bill Dubuque have made a textbook example of the "what were they thinking?" movie genre. Judging from the befogged look on some of the actors’ faces, they must have been wondering the same thing.

Is it possible to truly start life all over again? Arthur Newman might have been better if it had not started at all.

Eureka is vintage Roeg in its sweep, its bravado, and its explosive visual style. It's also a murky stew of half-baked story ideas, overcooked sex, and nasty violence, inhabited by characters who'd be tedious even if they didn't talk, talk, talk through one self-indulgent scene after another. [11 Sep 1985, p.23]

The honey runs thick in The Secret Life of Bees, and so does the treacle. The cloying dullness sets in early, although not from the first frame.

Eastwood and Morgan are not con artists, but their awe here is so unblinking that their film comes across as a transcendent con job.

It’s like an over-the-hill gang variant on “The Dirty Dozen,” except not as much fun as that sounds.

Is Malick deliberately courting self-parody here? Probably not. That would imply he had a sense of humor.

It seems a bit cruel to cast Garner, who exudes charm, in such a charmless role.

The story is harmless enough, with its bloodless violence and happy resolutions. The images are a bland mixture of cliches lifted from Tolkien and "Star Wars," among other sources, served up in wretched TV-style animation. Little children may like it, but they won't be richer for it. [06 Jun 1985, p.31]

Surprisingly, this is the work of director Martin Ritt and Sally Field, the star whose Norma Rae combined sharp drama with keen social awareness. Their new film is the junky underside of that good movie. [26 Mar 1981, p.19]

Oldman makes a four-course dinner out of the scenery with enough slash and burn to leave you wondering if he is vying with Nicolas Cage for the title of filmdom's biggest hambone.

If you go to Burlesque expecting a campy hoot on the order of "Showgirls," you may be in for a disappointment. It's not quite awful enough, although it's plenty bad.

Wilson does his callow good-guy routine (if you close your eyes you'd swear he was his brother, Owen) and Thurman looks as if she'd rather be stalking prey in "Kill Bill."

Morgan is a wonderful writer when he's working from the headlines, but his "personal" movies, like "Hereafter" and this one, release a bleary, pseudo-profound aspect of his talent that's best left in the dark.

The jokes mostly fall flat and the dramatic scenes fall even flatter.

If you have claustrophobia and/or fear insects, the last film you should see is Bug. I'm not sure it's worth a trip even if you don't suffer from those maladies.

Sadly, it lacks the classic awfulness that might have lifted it into the pantheon of Truly Bad Movies. Instead, what we have here is a garden variety bad movie, of which there have been all too many lately.

Potty jokes and bawdy gross-outs predominate, and the few good laughs are swamped by the overall laughlessness.

The opening action sequence, unrelated to the main story, is nicely done, but after that it's all downhill.

The Golden Compass is a blatant attempt to duplicate the success of the "Harry Potter" franchise. The only thing missing is richly imagined characters, a comprehensible story line, good acting, and satisfying special effects.

It occurred to me that Emmerich and Co. might be playing this whole thing for laughs. It probably occurred to them, too.

This thinly autobiographical gangsta odyssey never achieves liftoff, and Jackson is unconvincing.

Given the fact that Life was co-written by Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, who co-wrote the wacked-out “Zombieland” and “Deadpool,” the film’s glum earnestness is doubly disappointing.

Normally I'd watch Helen Mirren in anything, even if she was just putting out the laundry or reading the phone book. But, given the roteness of her line readings here, it might have been better if the phone book rather than Shakespeare was her text.

If you're the kind of moviegoer who likes puzzling out the plots of insoluble movies, then by all means rush to see Stay, a great big blurry mess.

The flashback sequences sometimes come across like "'For Whom the Bell Tolls' for Dummies."

Foster seems blinkered and tone-deaf to what's actually appearing onscreen.

Country Strong is the latest and, in many ways, the least impressive entrant in the achy-breaky sweepstakes.

Writer-director Massy Tadjedin cuts back and forth between these twin temptations. Will Michael succumb and prove Joanna correct in her suspicions? Will Alex's French accent conquer all? Do you care? I didn't.

Both as a writer and as a man, Salinger was nothing if not unconventional. Rebel in the Rye is so tasteful that it practically slides off the screen.

It would take a lot more than holy water to rescue Season of the Witch from mediocrity.

This is certainly the grubbiest Holmes in movie history.

The novelist Cormac McCarthy was served well by the Coen Brothers' adaptation of his novel "No Country for Old Men" but comes a cropper in The Road, a lugubrious trek through postapocalyptic debris.

Given the decibel level of this movie, it's a miracle that these guys were able to give creditable performances. To give you an idea of the magnitude of the achievement: Imagine delivering a stirring rendition of the Gettysburg Address while standing under Niagara Falls.

His drug-smuggling underworld, specifically the Amsterdam-New York connection, is likewise drably depicted. Is this because director Kevin Asch and screenwriter Antonio Macia deliberately played it down, or are they just incompetent? I’ll be charitable and vote for the former, but sometimes sensationalism is preferable to being altogether unsensational.

Morning Glory isn't targeting the dumbing down of TV news. It's pandering to the audience that craves the dumbness.

It's fun to see Val Kilmer assume a sort of Young Republican look after his hippie shenanigans in "The Doors," and the story raises some important issues. But there's little else to praise in this pretentious and overlong drama. It was directed by Michael Apted, who should stick to documentaries like his recent and superb "35 Up." [3 Apr 1992, p.12]

Draggy pastiche of tired gags and half-baked homilies.

There's enough family dysfunction here to fill out a dozen soppy soap operas.

Too many different stories are vying for attention here, and none of them are very good.