A spin-off of a sequel... It doesn't even try to be different, because it assumes the moviegoer wants only the same-ol' and then offers even less.

It's been said that a thriller is only as good as its chief villain, and, in the same way, most noirs are only as good as their suckers. Palmetto has a good sucker but not much else.

Redundant to the point of being absolutely pointless, a sequel that's almost a note-for-note, beat-for-beat redo of its predecessor, only with all the entertaining stuff left out.

As the movie enters its final chapter, you will come to the sad, sickening realization that the filmmakers have played you for a chump. What seemed so smart, so well crafted and finely tuned, falls apart into a flaming heap of c---, and all goodwill is dashed.

You'll get that $8 nap you've been craving.

It all feels disorienting and truncated, as if the script, by Ted Tally, who also adapted "Silence of the Lambs," was a harried summary of the book.

Before things have even begun we know how they will end; this is pure Hollywood product, slicker than the insides of an oilcan.

A little too loud, and a lot too boring.

Although the movie doesn't go in for quick fixes, it's not particularly revelatory or insightful. It's a textbook paradigm of grief, loss, and regrouping laid out in three acts.

This is fun for a while, but the ending is so ridiculous, and obvious, as to sully all the small joys that come before it.

Certainly it exists solely to sell a soundtrack; the movie, like most made for teens, is well beside the point.

It's a plot more worn out than the tinsel boxed up in the attic. In the end, they've given us a Christmas gift barely worth returning.

Undermines itself with tabloid-style narration, overly emphatic graphics, and a sensationalistic tone.

What this Reagan movie really needed was . . . more Reagan. None of his admirers have his charisma, and none of the footage here is surprising. Fox News could easily produce a better film.

Along with his tedious array of tricks and twists, Parkhill stuffs the film with enough dizzying flashbacks, camera jitters and rock-and-roll editing techniques to drive a 14-year-old MTV addict nuts.

The title pretty much says it all: syrupy romantic comedy dripping with unearned sentiment.

Sadly, though, the movie as a whole feels blatantly dedicated to fleecin' da kidz.

Don't expect to be wowed by a vast spectrum of delicacies, as the buffet here is composed of entirely obvious ingredients.

This film about sex is so joyless, so astonishingly unsexy, it's like watching porn with your grandfather going tsk-tsk-tsk over your shoulder for two hours.

In the end, The Apostle feels like a con, a movie that embraces its contradictions only because it's not smart enough to reconcile them; everything feels complex, but, in fact, it's far too simple.

A romantic adventure-movie slapstick that's too screwy for the action crowd and too old-fashioned for the Home Alone contingent.

All the new plot stuff is way old hat, as though straight from a textbook chapter called "Conflict Drives Your Narrative!" And at times the motivations are either unclear or senseless.

More than just a disappointment. It is also a spoiler, possibly weakening the impact of "Silence" for its fans.

What makes the claptrap in Starship Troopers so flabbergasting is that it's monumentally scaled.

It's sweet and well intentioned, with occasional amusing moments.

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.

The movie comes off as willfully eccentric when it should have been charmingly touching.

Has its heart in the right place, but its head seems to be lost in a swirling maelstrom of teen movies that have come before.