Godsend is based on an intriguing premise. Sadly, it's mangled into an Omen-lite disaster area, thanks to a script torn between making a moral point about cloning and cheap shocks.

The film seldom raises itself above the level of pleasant. And pleasant ain't sophisticated, and it certainly ain't sexy.

Despite its shortcomings -- it’s still one of the better teen movies to come along in a while.

The relationship between Ada and Eka is beautifully written and utterly believable, while the film's central idea of compassionate deception allows Bertucelli to explore the nature of love, culminating in the film's masterful and deeply affecting ending.

There's atmosphere and absurd wit, but the surreal style creates a distance from the characters that's only likely to be appreciated by fans of Maddinís self-conscious artistry.

If there's a criticism to be made, it's that the script doesn't push itself far enough with the moments in which it excels.

By no means perfect - a twist in the tale overextends its already lengthy running time - but it is terrific fun.

As it is, it’s an aloof conclusion, an unclimactic climax to a stand-alone film.

This is so derivative it has no soul of its own.

A creaky script which avoids tackling the morality of Castle's actions, while Hensleigh doesn't do himself any favours by slowing the film's momentum with leaden editing.

In spite of two great performances, this is a muddled affair.

Anne Hathaway delivers another likeable performance in a tweenie treat that has enough smarts to keep older viewers engaged, too.

It has managed, admirably, to strike a balance between the wholesome 'school nerd blossoms' fairy tale and the gross-out comedy that is now a teen movie standard.

This not being Hollywood, Michele and Filippo do not benefit from life lessons learned as exemplified in coming-of-age pap like "Now And Then." The sweet life, this ain’t.

Hellboy might not have the name-recognition factor of the Spider- or Batmen, but Guillermo del Toro brings the audience swiftly up to speed on artist-writer Mike Mignola's comic book anti-hero.

Highly likeable, pleasantly unpretentious and plenty amusing.

Disappoints due to poor structure, flimsy characterisation and insufficient wit.

It's poetic, hypnotic and well-performed, but fails to either draw out its characters with conviction or fully draw its audience in.

Sweet, formulaic entertainment, but occasionally clunky.

It’s but a shadow of the original and a lesser entry in their (Coens) collection, but you are still blessed by flashes of black heart.

Argue that von Trier's latest is theatre and not cinema. But at least acknowledge that Dogville, in a didactic and politicised stage tradition, is a great play that shows a deep understanding of human beings as they really are.

The resulting portrait seems cruel at times, and Bingenheimer's little-boy-lost expression can be heartbreaking.

Themes of self-acceptance and inner strength seem a little out of place in a movie featuring a hound farting at phantasms.

Not particularly funny, or even very sunny, but it is Charlie Kaufman’s first whole screenplay, and as wonderful as it is weird.

It's not hard to figure it out, but Caruso manages to throw in some tense moments that almost -- but sadly not quite -- make up for the film's daft ending.

A welcome surprise, containing more bona fide scares than Romero's vision, while paying grand lip service to the old master. Truly worthy of that famous title.

The result is both audaciously amusing and provocatively sophisticated.

Being a Mamet, we expect superb dialogue and twists, but we also get refreshingly compact action scenes, even if the climactic airport skirmish is on the pat side. A lesser Mamet, then, but still compelling.

Goofy and easygoing, Starsky & Hutch is not exactly politically correct, but you'd be hard pushed to find a single mean frame.

Ultimately, Hidalgo falls down due to a neglect of basic story elements -- anonymous villains, a hero with no clear goal other than money, love interests who sound alternately gin-sodden and lobotomised -- and after a brief burst of energy staggers home at a mild limp.

The muddled mix of documentary rawness and fable-like naiveté prevents it from fulfilling its parable pretensions.

Club Dread still thrives on the group's enormous charm and the determined, genuinely funny comedic approach of knowing pop-culture winks and a zaniness that marks them as pleasingly Pythonesque.

The movie may dole out a few guilty pleasures, but you won’t believe a word of it.

A tormented movie about torment; loopy, over-reaching and occasionally suspicious. Simultaneously, it is a daring artistic endeavour.

Throw in the blatant signposting of every plot turn and mood shift, and what could have been a gripping tale becomes hammy and overdone.

Lola deserves detention; Lohan deserves better.

Like many of its ilk, this lacks both the wit and cheeky charm of the Pie franchise, subsisting instead on trite gags that dredge up every European stereotype from football thugs to French mimes.

Bland, but wholesome.

Charming and effective feel-good fare.

Both the well-choreographed crash scenes and the gritty cinematography hint at a better film. Shame no-one took the time to make it.

The performances are credible, but set-pieces like the water-cannoning of a procession of burkha-clad protesters are also impeccably judged.

This time the banter is tighter and funnier, and Calvin’s musings on the importance of community seem more heartfelt.

It seesaws between disturbing psychosis and freewheeling nouvelle vague romance, then turns awkwardly editorial in the last reel.

Garin’s performance is just one of the note-perfect elements in The Return -- unfussy acting, unhurried direction, sublime cinematography and low-key music -- which conspire to draw the audience into a deceptively simple story with numerous hidden depths.

For its target teen audience, it's a decent enough movie.

If you pay out money to see this, you got fleeced.

Extreme and outrageously blasphemous.

It’s sexy, offbeat fun for the most part, but it’s way too laid-back for its own good and, in the end, obstinately refuses to be anything more than the sum of its highly promising parts.

Win A Date With Tad Hamilton is a valiant attempt to create a love triangle, but ends up getting all its sums wrong.

Arguably worse than its sadistic absurdity is the depressing, limited scope.

It’s not bad, but given all the talent involved, it would have been nice for Hamburg to push the envelope a bit further and deliver something with real bite. As it is, this is more of a pleasant, but forgettable, time-filler.

Has a vigour, a commitment and an intelligence that is absent from too much modern cinema.

Stylish and gripping at times, this wry very-French gender satire is definitetly entertaining but falls down a little in the third act.

Offbeat and downbeat, it’s a film full of thoughtful stillness, powerful moods, reflective internal struggles and shattering, lonely self-realisation, suggesting more critical kudos than commercial impact.

The film works best when it taps into the chaos generated by the kids, and there are a number of suitably anarchic Home Alone-style set-pieces.

As he did with "The English Patient," Minghella has reshaped the novel’s structure, zeroed in on what matters cinematically and dramatically upped the emotional stakes.

in the end, Paycheck never quite cashes out.

Tonally the film is never more than the sum of its parts, while Sumpter, although physically perfect, just isn’t charismatic enough as Peter.

Dramatic disappointment aside, there is a feel for the unglamorous, demanding lives of the real dancers.

There’s enough dark humour to entertain.

There are some roles Julia Roberts was born to play -- a tart with a heart, say, or a likeable and famous actor -- but a charismatic, inspiring 1950s teacher is not one of them.

The film's status as must-see documentary of the year is indisputable.

There's a desperately inevitable, powerfully tragic last reel, but getting there is absolute torture.

Those who have walked beside these heroes every step of the way on such a long journey deserve the emotional pay-off as well as the action peaks, and they will be genuinely touched as the final credits roll.

one of the rare book adaptations that actually benefits from a visual makeover.

Positioned as a tense political thriller, Jewison's film is high on the (somewhat confusing) politics but falls a little short on the thrills.

It also takes too long in the final act to write itself out of its plot entanglements, and ends up looking rather too pleased with itself.

Decent belly laughs occur, but they are spread thinly over a prolonged period.

In anchoring the whimsy to something more heartfelt, Burton is greatly aided by Billy Crudup, who underplays potentially cringeworthy bedside scenes with his dying dad.

With its hackneyed storyline and critical derision in the US, whispers were that Honey was to be the new "Glitter." It's not nearly that bad, which is a shame since it just skims the embarrassingly blind enthusiasm of which camp classics are made -- instead bouncing along the path of bland and forgettable.

The Last Samurai is much more fun than a mere history lesson.

Fine if you like the band - you'll be treated to some cartoons playing over the top of their Discovery album. For everyone else, just daft.

A delightfully obscene alternative to the usual Christmas tosh.

Doesn’t deliver a sliver of the fun and thrall the ride serves up in a fraction of the time.

Timeline takes the most ridiculous movie plot ever imagined and multiplies it by ten.

Macy hasn’t had a role this good since Fargo, and demonstrates again his mastery of the droopy-eyed, apologetically desperate, borderline bitter shrug.

21 Grams strives for greatness, and that's precisely what it achieves.

A few laughs come from Alec Baldwin as Mom’s posturing, deceitful boyfriend, but attempts at inserting risqué modern humour sit uneasily with the playfully innocent surrealism of Seuss’ famous characters.

Gothika never delivers anything more than the occasional, cynically engineered jolt and often drifts close to provoking giggles.

The structure similarly misses the flashbacking subtlety of the original. Even the characterisation lacks depth.

Probably the best Western since "Unforgiven."

Oak solid and unsinkable, Master And Commander is old-fashioned entertainment crafted with considerable care; but compared to "Pirates Of The Caribbean's" pleasure cruise, this voyage is choppy and difficult without ever troubling deeper waters.

Best of all, an astonishing sequence in which Bugs, Daffy and Porky Pig leap from painting to painting in a breathless chase through the Louvre sufficiently demonstrates just how much life modern animation techniques can breathe into these timeless characters.

The results are highly subjective perhaps, but highly entertaining just the same and make an interesting companion piece to Nick Broomfield’s "Biggie And Tupac."

It’s as wistful and sad as it is funny and charming, with the first of Nino Rota’s great scores to keep it burbling along.

An interesting piece from Hungary with much to enjoy, only slightly dampened by the occasional clunky device.

You'll be left as much in the dark as the director about the personality traits that inspired the loyalty of three strong, intelligent women towards this self-centred, physically-resistible enigma.

The gags swing between mildly inventive and screamingly obvious, but even the latter are performed and timed well enough to draw a laugh.

It’s a formula that works and, as crowd-pleasing mainstream Britcom goes, it’s a relatively solid, if flawed, entry into the genre.

The Year Of The Matrix will be remembered as an indulgence for fans, while the original movie will be affectionately held as a separate entity by a bigger crowd, much as the original "Star Wars" trilogy hasn't really been tainted by divisions over Episodes I and II.

Performances are good but not career best.

Gripping, claustrophobic drama.

Sweet, slushy mush of a family film.

it is intermittently very funny.

At times is heartbreakingly sad -- maybe not quite Bambi territory, but certainly moving in its own cute and furry way.

Where Gambon made the perfect misanthrope, Downey doesn't quite fit the role. Astonishingly, despite his drug-related crimes and misdemeanours, he actually seems too innocent to be so crabby and vile.

Romantic images are subverted, the sex scenes are graphic and desperate. It's less grim than Susanna Moore's original novella, but the foreshadowing that all is not right is in everything, from the music to the dialogue.

The look, created by Hooper’s cinematographer Daniel Pearl, and expert art direction is persuasively nasty… but somehow that buzzing saw doesn’t sound as scary as it used to.