The voice acting is adequate, but it fails to convey the diversity or personality of "Chicken Run" or "Shrek."

Tremendously funny and entertaining.

A problem with Park's naturalistic worldview is that it's hard to find anyone to root for. The movie is beautiful to look at, but hideous in its narrative.

If you love Kawasakis, Hondas, and Yamahas, and don't mind tin-eared writing, get down to the multiplex.

Ultimately, the filmmakers build toward a reasonably satisfying "Twilight Zone" climax, only they crawl toward the ho-hum ending; the movie appears to have been written and edited in a swamp too.

Definitely merits its R rating with a fearless approach that will earn genuine laughs as it turns a few stomachs. Yes, a Rob Schneider movie that's funny. Strange but true.

The movie's not great, but Mom might like it.

When it comes to World War II movies, you may never have seen one like this before -- if only because it's like three different movies at the same time.

The best you can say of Asylum is that it plays like a topless "Twilight Zone."

Herzog is primarily interested in Treadwell the filmmaker, but you'll likely be fascinated with him as a human being.

A film that aspires to join the company of its predecessors--smart, funny satires that skewered the hypocrisy and cruelty of high school life. But it won't. For starters, Pretty Persuasion commits a fatal error: It forgets to side with the students.

It's arguably more "artful" to move at a snail's pace, but at the risk of tedium?

The movie's so unfunny, it almost appears to be that way on purpose, kind of like an Ingmar Bergman film.

If you're shopping for neatly tied bundles of plot and the rigid arcs of "character development" common to mainstream movies, look elsewhere. Whether he's playing on the road or at home, Jarmusch always throws a lot of off-speed stuff, and that's his glory.

It's the best thing Wong has done in years--perhaps ever.

Uou may choose to read My Date with Drew several different ways -- as endearing or frightening, as bleak or expectant, as the optimistic daydream of the naïve Everyman or the beginning of a problem that could only lead to a restraining order.

Little Ralph comes off like "Billy Elliot" on steroids. Still, this an energetic movie that can be truly hilarious in spots, and it captures perfectly the oppressive atmosphere of a Catholic boys' school in the ’50s.

It's a skillfully made film, but not especially fun to watch, and the apparent thesis that poverty justifies such acts doesn't quite wash.

Either a bit more humor or a bit more heart could exponentially improve things.

Combining the tragic and the comic, this drama is amateurish in places, but it's a triumph of atmosphere (the makers are both North Carolinians) and the acting is first-rate.

The movie does find fresh ways to tweak the formula, making it more than the sum of its broad strokes.

The supporting cast is strong, featuring Dave Foley, Kevin McDonald, Bruce Campbell, Lynda Carter, and Cloris Leachman.

If the Navy is looking for splashy recruiting tools, it could do worse than Stealth, a zillion-dollar action movie stuffed with futuristic jet fighters, glamorous carrier pilots and an overload of explosive, mostly digital derring-do.

A celebration of the naughty joke and the courage it takes to tell one.

The film is beautifully shot and well-acted, but, like the book, it never achieves anything like the import of the stories that inspired it. Balzac is even a little dull, especially toward the end.

Spends most of its 114 minutes on the making of a demo tape. People in a studio, rapping and recording. If you're going to watch that, wouldn't you prefer it to be Dr. Dre, or Lil Jon, or whoever, rather than actors pretending to be their kind?

As usual, Hollywood hitmeister Bay is more interested in blowing stuff up than in addressing deep questions like the morality of science and the false myths of civilization, and these explosions go on for over two hours.

Linklater, whose intimate "Before Sunset" was an art-house wonder last year, proved he could make mainstream money with "School of Rock." With Bad News Bears, he proves he can waste it, too.

The cast is full of cool cult actors past and present, and the movie is great at what it does. It's also brutal as hell, and not everyone will have the stomach for it.

This movie is, essentially, porn, and whether it's a turn-on is likely to be subjective to each viewer. Those who find traditional porn too artificial should be pleased.

Unlike in, say, "Fight Club," director Hans Weingartner does not hedge his bets on the notion of whether simple-minded anarchy is any better than societal conformity -- his heart is with the Edukators, period.

Last Days shouldn't be half as engrossing as it turns out to be.

Cox, bespectacled and deglamorized here, shows some acting ability, but by the time you get through this 78-minute bag of tricks, you could be suffering from a case of perceptual overload.

A perfect marriage of author and director.

Here's a tip: When Vaughn and Wilson are outed as impostors and forced to leave Walken's estate, grab your stuff and walk out. You'll think you just saw a comedy masterpiece.

As Frank, a widower who falls for his son's conniving would-be girlfriend (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Arnold is a revelation.

Stripped of every major scary moment and restructured in what feels like a deliberate attempt to remove all suspense, this "horror" movie is now a domestic soap opera.

A comic-book movie unashamed of its roots, meaning it's unabashed about being silly, overwrought nonsense, which works to its benefit--so much so that you're almost rooting for it by the end.

Generous in spirit and fearlessly observant, this tale of an outcast Vietnamese man's journey to freedom deserves a place of honor among the great films portraying emigrant tenacity.

One of the most remarkable things about Murderball, which is easily among the year's best movies, is how little of its time is filled with the playing of the game.

This uneven new film, a series of dialogues from the legendary Ingmar Bergman, is assembled like movements of a concerto.

John Leguizamo, in a rare watchable performance.

Rebound isn't funny.

A character study, the film succeeds in large measure due to the kinetically charged performance of Romain Duris.

Initially artsy, then campy, then tense, it would have worked better if writer-directors Peter and Michael Spierig had kept everything serious and let the inherent absurdism of zombie attacks speak for itself without additional ironic comment.

The filmmaker who once aimed to enchant his audiences with cheerful stories of beatific visitors from outer space now wants only to scare the hell out of us. E.T., as it turns out, is a mass murderer after all, and we are his Reese's Pieces.

This hackneyed, hapless and utterly useless redo of an overrated 1960s sitcom is excruciating to sit through for a dozen reasons.

If the Star Wars movies have taught us anything, it's that waiting 20 years for a new sequel by a guy named George can lead to disappointment.

Fashion photographer David LaChapelle expands upon his award-winning short film "Krumped," introducing us to the new dance forms popular in South Central Los Angeles via the charismatic "ghetto celebrity" known as Tommy the Clown.

Shades of "House of Sand and Fog," without the compelling drama.

Astonishing if imperfect nature documentary.

To damn Herbie: Fully Loaded as soporific crap, as lazy profiteering, as yet another needless and cynical remake in a season populated by such con artists, would be as pointless as the movie itself.

It's a lame Heather Locklear romantic comedy and a lame Hilary Duff romantic comedy all in one!

The result is a kind of quirky, high-toned soap opera.

As an actress, she (July) is annoying as hell, with a quirkiness so labored, she seems to be begging for our affection. As a director she is much better.

The result is a mood movie that sweeps you into its infatuation and holds you there.

Even if there were a great movie here, it would have been undermined by two lead actors who are barely even there, asked to deliver lines they can't handle: Bale, playing the Batman with clipped wings, and Katie Holmes as an assistant district attorney who doesn't have the gravitas to pass as an intern. Come back, Alicia Silverstone; all is forgiven.

Here is "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" inflated to lethal proportion, or "The War of the Roses" reimagined as World War III.

No less amusing than an average sitcom, but that's certainly not reason enough to buy a ticket.

High Tension often feels like a ’70s exploitation movie in the best sense; unfortunately, the ending is so bad that it mars everything that comes before.

Robert Rodriguez and his kids conjure up a charming 3-D fantasy.

Miyazaki's movies are as stunning as they are confounding.

This all-star Euro-indie is stultifyingly torturous.

For anyone who believes in the gorgeously messy truth of French social drama, it's a grave disappointment.

At last, his (Howard's) first great (and filling) movie--inspirational, yes, but far from hokey; moving, absolutely, but never saccharine; and gripping, despite its being a fixed fight.

After trying to prove himself a serious actor in deadly dull movies, Ledger lightens up and brightens up a movie that attempts the trick of bringing a new spin to an old story but can't pull off the stunt.

Through hilarious and charming interviews with the kids, extended chat sessions with Green, a few words from parents, and a healthy dose of performance footage, we get a sense of what sort of community Green has created, for better and worse.

Proves an absolute chore to sit through.

For all of its turgid self-importance, its anthropocentric theater of classical music and sound effects, Deep Blue is a gorgeous film with scene after scene of incredible footage.

The result is a constant feeling of summary, saddled with four times the usual number of after-school issues. Tamblyn is a treat, playing intelligence and anger, and there are some real moments of connection between characters, but the film is hysterical with self-promotion.

It strains to be funny where the original's gags were efficiently deadpan, yet it's also so unbearably lazy, stooping to cliché and caricature when it backs itself into the shower.

It's bright and spry, giggly and bouncy, but also cuddly with occasional touches of cruelty--a movie in which best friends, when let loose in the wild, suddenly realize one's a little higher on the food chain.

Part of the reason that it doesn't quite succeed is that these messages are so tried and true.

It's chatty when it wants to pretend it's deep and spiritual, messy when it's striving for chaotic and thrilling, and boring when it has no other options left.

Is it enough to make us like a thing we used to love? For most, that rekindling of an old flame will be good enough.

The score sucks and the acting is weak, but there are times when certain moviegoers just feel the need to stare far-fetched, blood-drenched death in the eye and laugh. It's here, so have at it.

This might be the most predictable movie of the year, but at least it delivers everything you expect it to.

Billed as a comedy, this low-wattage sitcom is both ill-tempered and mean-spirited.

Only Kerry Condon, as Freeman's geeky adopted daughter, plays anything approaching a realistic character.

Wildly enjoyable look at the fifth-grade ballroom dance competition held annually in New York City.

At first, Ma Mère is shocking and even alluring, but it doesn't take long for the conceit to wear thin, especially since the characters so rarely act as recognizable humans.

By the end, you may be exhausted by the effort of trying to unravel the thing, but you may also be taken by the power of its spell. This is a movie that compels you to watch.

Manages to be gruesome and grisly, but not particularly creepy or frightening.

So, if you want to see this loud but rather ordinary epic, don't expect its tricked-up cultural and theological messages to carry much water. For entertainment value, it's hard to beat the climactic siege of Jerusalem, a Ridley Scott-perfect half-hour that matches anything in "Troy" or "Gladiator" for sheer, bloody, helmet-bashing mayhem.

A tenth of a movie masquerading as a full feature.

Mostly, Mysterious Skin creeps you out, and not in any kind of fun way. There's an artfulness to it, but it's hard to imagine many viewers actually using the term "enjoyed" or "entertained" in conjunction with it.

As another exposé of stubbornness, petty opportunism, and greed, there's some residual value in the story of two unappealing characters.

A beautifully acted, graceful, and intelligent film that usefully dramatizes the gulf between Fortress Bush and the relativist politics of Western Europe.

What makes Crash so gripping--so terrifying in spots, so moving in others, and even a little funny at times--is how nothing happens as we think it will.

The droll has been made dull, a most inexplicable and unfortunate turn of events for so adored a genius, goofball work as this.

Director Lee Tamahori (Die Another Day) has a shruggingly action-intensive style, which feels at once heavy-handed and lazy.

3-Iron is at times deliciously sensual, creepily somnolent, whimsically spiritual and disturbingly violent. But it is never quite coherent.

It's a slow and laborious persona piece.

The film is rich with real feeling. And Dench's performance is a heartbreaker.

The Interpreter dashes the suspense by talking the audience to death.

An entertainment success, a triple threat of fresh writing, inspired directing, and, yes, good acting.

A thoroughly professional, frequently spectacular piece of muckraking.

Unlike some other soccer movies, there's no fancy editing -- excitement is generated strictly by the actual choreography and the commentary of an English announcer.