Exactly as you may expect, this thing is good for a few cheap little laughs and no more.

Part female revenge flick, part Saturday Night Live skit, part courtroom drama, and part religious tent revival, this movie never congeals into anything worth watching.

Slips by quickly enough, but it never engages our interest more than passingly.

The Dying Gaul becomes so overwrought in the last act that it ends up as pure histrionics.

What keeps Love in the Time of Money from being truly awful is the fact that the actors give it their all -- they may be in contrived situations, but by golly they'll make the best of them.

Its execution is stultifying, laughable and ultimately a little offensive.

While the idea may be good, its execution is awful.

Lackadaisical feel of the film; Freundlich is unable to generate much suspense.

Nothing happens. At all. Ever. Remember when Steve Martin was funny? Apparently, neither does he.

It's easily the ugliest film Gilliam's ever made, a movie shot with a lens someone forgot to wipe. It's also his loudest: Every scene is amped up to 11, and every line of dialogue is delivered as though it's a cry for help from the bottom of the well.

The movie, which feels as amateurish as a student film made for cable access, doesn't deliver the goods; the gotcha moment never comes.

Dude, where's the script? Just Awful.

If any further indication were needed of the fact that gay has gone mainstream, this flaccid farce provides definitive proof, for it's as forced and unfunny as subpar Sandra Dee.

Lured to the project with John Cusack as her original co-star (cruelly replaced by Matthew Broderick), Nicole Kidman phones it in.

There's way too much schmaltz in the mix. Even the musical score bombs: Throbbing, eerie techno simply does not suit a character trapped in the 1940s.

Succeeds in scaring you and boring you at the same time; unlike Moore's movie, it's agitprop bereft of artistry, porn for Republicans.

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

It's big and loud, but this Peacemaker is still a dud.

Too much attention to art-deco detail, a meandering story that hesitates whenever it wants to touch an emotional chord, then squanders the opportunity with an eccentric line-reading or an extravagant camera angle.

Obnoxiously dull.

Predictable and conventional and unadventurous. It can't really be defended, except that it's comfortably enjoyable.

Andrew Litvack, whose inability to direct is outweighed only by his inability to write anything remotely witty, enlightening, or engaging. Calling this a farce would be, well, a farce.

Singleton's version is cynical and silly--one long set-up to a closing scene that promises, or threatens, a sequel.

Less a spiritual quest than a very self-indulgent gimmick movie that could use a strong shot of inspiration.

When the movie's not playing stupid, it's aiming for sickly sweet sincerity. It's such a jarring and inevitably juvenile juxtaposition it comes off like a Hallmark card parody written by the staffers at "Cracked."

This really should have gone straight to video--or, better yet, to the nearest landfill.

It's like an amateur theater production. Reiner rushes through the setup in such a mad dash that it feels like a cartoon.

Deafeningly dull movie.