It is highly likely you’ll forget the movie by the time you go to bed.

Could have been a fun film, but instead merely displays the trappings of one.

The Boxtrolls is a swing-and-miss for Laika; when you move forward with revolutionary techniques while standing still in terms of your themes, stories and settings, no amount of technical trickery or animation genius can bring the boring to vivid life.

It isn’t just the bright colors and the costumes but every visual aspect of Byzantium that sings. Neil Jordan knows where to put the camera. It’s just a shame he wasn’t able to inject a little life inside that frame.

Even at thirty seconds a piece, 26 shorts would feel, fittingly, like overkill. The ABCs of Death has no shortage of inventive, ironic and gruesome sketches, but the novelty of its successes just barely outweighs its stillborn stuff.

For a film that reminds use over and over that this is a whole new world, this movie feels awfully familiar.

A directorial debut composed of many of the filmmaker’s trademarks (strong women, pop cultural-heavy dialogue, a difficult subject matter made light by way of wit) that still manages to disappoint when it comes to the final product.

Sprawling between plot lines and shifting between tones for longer than it ought to, but laden with enough pockets of truth to make you wish it had been better, more restrained, more disciplined, more trusting in its own emotional sensitivity to spare us all manner of dorky detours.

Backtracking dilutes the few simple jolts that actually work.

Much like Brandy, “List” tries and tries and tries to get the job done, but frankly, the satisfaction only ever comes in spurts.

It’s all, quite strangely, boring.

Faithful to the superficial thrills and flaws of the original.

Taylor’s film so egregiously picks and chooses from Brown’s life that the result is a holey and unsatisfying document that fails to give due respect to much of the singer’s life (especially the more unsavory stuff).

This is design work of the highest caliber and it is impossible to not enjoy simply watching these little buggers run around. It is unfortunate, however, that the creativity, originality and propulsive storytelling found in the original “Monsters Inc.” just didn’t matriculate with them.

The fact that Johnny Depp alone gets top billing above the title, The Lone Ranger, despite not playing said character sums up the generally misguided approach taken by Depp and the creative crew behind the “Pirates of the Caribbean” franchise in bringing last century’s radio and TV hero back to the big screen in a big way.

The rare example of a film that had to have been a tonal mystery to everyone involved for the entire process of scripting, shooting, and editing. The lingering issue? They never managed to crack the case.

Subtlety is hardly at home here, with Quaid’s especially earnest performance a well-suited mask for Henry’s desperation that nonetheless amplifies the phoniness of the entire enterprise.

It's darker, stranger and pushes more buttons.

Every double-cross and ticking clock is familiar in the worst ways.

The Canyons has all the elegance and depth of a daytime soap opera, peppered with flashes of name brand nudity for a tantalizing hook. It’s a slog.

Should satisfy the planet of b-boys and girls to whom it preaches.

Like the giallo films it pays tribute to, Berberian Sound Studio is more of a sensory experience than a dramatic one.

Even Besson’s most bold choices – and this is a film that goes weird, and then just keeps getting weirder – don’t seem so revolutionary when packaged in such well-tread trappings and increasingly shoddy writing.

If only all of Thor: The Dark World could capture the magic of its last act, the film wouldn’t feel like such a chink in Marvel’s otherwise solid armor.

It’s a sadistic comedy, both in bloodshed and groan-worthy gags.

It's all safe and sane and bland.

Trots out more flag-waving wartime cliches than any movie since John Wayne's "The Alamo."

Feels more like a backyard relaxation than a movie.

An odd, sweet and relatively innocuous little fairytale.

A difficult time rising above the level of a reasonably nice TV-movie.

Not quite Abbie.

Out of the Furnace is no disaster, but it doesn’t achieve what it hopes to achieve, and it has no one to blame but itself.

A too-familiar road.

A collection of movie situations, recognizable from the films of Coppola and Scorsese, with a less obvious debt to Kazan.

Shaft is a decent popcorn movie and Jackson rises to the responsibility of appearing bigger than life.

Doesn't seem to have anything to say.

Mostly this film skims by on the surface, its conflict and climax visible from the opening five minutes.

Stripped of the pretension of the overrated "Trainspotting," but it's also void of the earlier film's ambition or glimmers of real cultural insight.

Sandler repeats his sweet-souled doofus routine, with nerdy Patricia Arquette as the object of his affections.

As executive producer of the film, he (Freeman) clearly sees something in Alex Cross, a man much more interesting than the cheesy plot surrounding him.

Doesn't know when to stop with the jokes about other horror movies and settle down to tell a coherent story.

A very competent film, but it barely pulls you in.

There is a point in the movie when this mayhem crosses the line from wildly imaginative to downright insufferable.

It can be treacly -- but in a crude way, it makes its point.

As he explains the male-male relationships and the absence of stigma or judgment, the film soars.

Then Bill Nighy shows up and is awesome and punches you in the heart. It ultimately feels like a cheat, and while there won’t be a dry eye in the house, it won’t be earned.

As a movie, quite frankly, it stinks. As an “entertainment object,” it will no doubt find its boosters.

The ride in this road movie isn't always as smooth as it could be, but even the bumps have some charm.

Crudup tends to take average parts in standard genre films and turn them into something special.

When the writing is good, Go is good, and when the writing is flat, things fall apart.

It's a painful sit from beginning to end.

The final scenes, which suggest an earnest science lesson presented by a weepy extraterrestrial in an alien planetarium, play like the work of an amateur filmmaker.

Coy, cutesy, sentimental, and shamelessly manipulative.

The Homesman certainly wins a few points for trying a different type of Western. There are no greedy land barons and no gunslingers drawin’ at high noon. But being unique isn’t enough if the story remains uneven and the characters don’t feel real.

While Bounce may mark a sophomore slump for Roos, it's hardly the worst date movie out there.

It does yield solidly comic performances.

For adults, the film will drag in spots, but it's filled with all those values you hope to instill in your children.

While the film's mood is dreamy, dark, and gentle, it's also very slow and seldom leads to much of a intellectual or emotional payoff.

This is a pretty leaden cinematic experience.

Everything about the movie is fine and dandy and dull.

Beginnings don't come much more lurid than this, and the rest of End of Days never quite reaches this level of flat-out wildness again.

The latest installment in the "Boys Life" series has just as many hits as misses -- more misses, actually -- but the high points easily stand alongside past triumphs.

A generally dumb movie with a smart, appealing, gutsy leading lady.

What's unfortunate is that Toothless is starring in a toothless story.

A rather flimsy but moderately charming British romance comedy.

An Almodovar-like blend of laughs, drama and uplift, filled with the kinds of pop-art colors and pop-out performances that Almodovar loves.

Soderbergh and [screenwriter] Frank like these sidekicks so much that they overwhelm the leads — a fairly easy task, since Lopez has all the police presence of a Revlon ad, while Clooney again tries to skate by on his good looks and smirking charm.

Cooties, while suitably gross and buoyed by game performances, doesn’t exploit its concept nearly as well as it should.

A film that strives to make you think, and even tug at your heart. But the central foundation of the entire enterprise is so shaky that the walls and plaster are falling down all around you, even as you’re trying to make sense of it all.

There’s no way to overstate the gorgeous look of this film, but the mannered dialogue and deliberateness of pace becomes less of an homage to Asian revenge films than a parody.

Comes across as a deceptively streamlined comic-drama; an unnervingly violent, gritty film noir with a wink.

This lightweight concoction can't justify a trip out to the multiplex, unless you're a girl between the ages of 12 and 17, but it does provide a launching pad for a group of attractive people.

Not quite good enough to leave more than a vaguely pleasant, vaguely disappointing aftertaste.

The human interest story that occupies fully two-thirds of this three hour plus epic is so flat and unconvincing that, for once, you find yourself longing for the disaster footage to start.

A cool movie and a must-see for anyone who wants to see the next stage in computer-generated animation. But it could have been so much more.

Too long, too predictable.

This is a band that deserves better.

An excellent coming-of-age story that is, for once, and very happily, focussed on a teenage girl.

This director's (Winterbottom) reach is impressive, but this time it doesn't quite grasp.

Disappointingly dumb.

While it has its scary moments, and while its central conceit is refreshingly imaginative, there's ultimately not much there there.

This is still Ron Shelton in good -- not great, but good -- form here, and the rewards are plentiful.

The script is a minefield of ideas that need more work.

What the film doesn't have, ironically, is a soul.

Crass and depressing drama.

One way or the other, there really is something to be said for a movie which seems to revel in its own inherent comic-book silliness.

Hamlet, like its title character, is a mopey, dopey thing that you just want to scream at: Do something!

Its ultimate merits may be few, but if nothing else, it stands on its own sweaty terms.

Jackman and Judd are sweet together, so much so that you wish they were in a fresher movie than this.

A feel-good, heartwarming film that all but drowns in saccharine.

Hewitt's twin assets may be enough for a lot of moviegoers -- which may be the biggest con Heartbreakers pulls off.

Schreiber saves it to an extent with some unusual performance choices, but when you compare this ending to the emotional supernova of Danny Boyle’s “Sunshine” it comes way short.

The script seems flimsy and disposable when compared with such similar takes on the subject as "Analyze This,""The Sopranos" and the upcoming "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai."

There's nothing terribly wrong with the movie, but nothing terribly right about it either.

A mostly mundane single-father drama.

So wound up in its own bungee cords, it leaves itself hopelessly tied in knots.

Tragic and phony, and proof that a contrived sad ending can be as bad as a contrived happy ending.

A sweet, if slender, surprise.

Eventually fizzles out badly.

It's really too bad the film remains so resolutely flimsy, because the novice cast is so clearly delighted to be putting on a show, their glee is contagious enough to carry us along -- for a while.

While writer-director Frank Darabont often fails to make King's story plausible, that's no fault of the actors. The performances are the movie's strong suit.

Mildly amusing, both charming and diverting, it plays like a La La Land home movie.

Infuriating on almost every conceivable level.

A pleasant surprise that The Crew offers up the charms it does.

A very odd cinematic creature.

Hamstrung by a script that is too often smug, obvious and self-important.

Story. Character. They used to mean something to George Lucas.

At the end of the day, it’s a sure-handed sequel, but not a terribly thrilling one.

What rescues the movie, time and again, is the strength of Jones' and Jackson's performances.

Compared to such current television shows as ''Sex and the City" and ''Action," this menage-a-trois tale seems downright tame.

Crowe gives the kind of thoughtful performance that suggests what Mystery, Alaska could have been if it had stayed in focus.

There are satisfying moments throughout the movie.

It's not that this is lousy entertainment, it's just that it's a Serious Topic given unnecessary Celebrity Sheen.

While it's not exactly the complete bomb that some were predicting, Charlie's Angels is ultimately just an amiable mess.

The accidental beating and killing of innocent people satirizes "Pulp Fiction," or is this Sabu's homage to Tarantino?

The plot is convoluted.

It has to be noted that the use of music in this film is the worse in recent memory: maudlin, syrupy, and overwrought.

A strange combination of mental exhaustion and boredom.

Not a conventional love story, and perhaps it's not a love story at all. After more than two hours, you're left wondering what it is.

The audience for this film would be those people who like their cinematic fare pre-digested and painfully familiar.

An authentically spirited popcorn movie.

The story of Groove... provides an ingratiating road map to a cultural phenomenon. Just make sure you drink lots of water while you're there.

The result is fantasy that wafts away.

The Company You Keep at least manages to maintain an audience’s interest for a solid 80 percent of the film. The ending is a slight flop, which keeps the film from an overall recommendation, and in the stark light of day, it seems fairly evident not everything adds up.

For every poignant moment there’s a gaudy dream sequence, wretched internal monologue, ham-fisted zoom or an exchange of dialogue sorely lacking nuance.

Too slow-moving and too understated in much of its humor.

Sometimes star power alone can keep you from walking out of a movie, and this is one of those times.

Sunshine's historical reference-heavy narrative walks a fine line between novelistic tragedy and comically overstated melodrama, falling down on the job more than once.

(Smith) seems out of his depth in this talky, rambling religious satire.

It’s half of a good movie, and another half that no one asked for or wanted.

Given the enormous praise, the film falls short.

Carrey's performance, and Forman's lively attempts to ask serious questions about the nature of comedy, keep it interesting. Certainly it's never dull.

Ross might have been better served by dismissing verisimilitude altogether and going for a real fable-fable to make what is essentially a very simple point about the dangers and rewards of accepting life's beautiful risks.

The filmmakers went for cheap laughs as well as for some a little harder-earned. The only thing pure about this film is the dog, and he's magnificent.

The story, ultimately, is about the classic conflict between a desire to cherish and protect one's unique gifts from a brutal world and a more practical instinct to compromise beauty.

This mild but amusing comedy wasn't written by Levinson, and the accents may be different, but the feel is similar.

Like "American Beauty" without the fangs - or the magic.

Utterly lacks the spark that makes caper movies fun.

It all coalesces in a TV-level pleasantness, which isn't quite enough to fill a big screen.

There are tones of 1970s shaggy realism that are interrupted by moments of character-driven shtick. The wistful scenes aren’t rich enough to engross you and the comedy isn’t clever enough to make a difference.

Like the melancholy remininces of an old relative who lived through an exciting, even harrowing time, but no longer possesses the mental faculties to really flesh out the tale they're spinning.

A sort of "Pretty Woman" for the underworld.

A Mexican film that reaches for a very weird and risky tone, and, I think, fails.

The lack of chemistry between he (Yun-Fat) and Foster is truly striking: so much so, in fact, that the strain of trying to manufacture some keeps her looking on the verge of outright illness throughout.

Lacks dramatic tension and fails to bring this great music alive. It does not sing.

More aggravating than endearing, although there’s an interesting idea buried beneath all the cutesy plot details.

Emperor may not be the most dazzling of history lessons, but it never treats the past as a dusty, deserted place.

Hateship, Loveship suffers due to its dedication to an oddly unsettling type of earnestness.

This is not a great comedy, but it has some honest laughs, a few touching moments.

[Aja] has outfitted Horns with enough talent that the film is rather easy to admire aesthetically. The problems are more foundational, even conceptual—and they are thus harder to reconcile.

Suffers from a script that places dramatic emphasis in all the wrong places.

Once at sea, The Perfect Storm collapses in a heap of spectacle and a dubious piling-on of scary incidents.

These film-making provocateurs are divided between sweet and sour, between the romance of classic screwball comedy and Mad magazine on acid.

Actions do have their consequences, though, and Weitz doesn’t try to end things too tidily for their own good. Were only that he had succeeded in committing to one of those films over the other, then Admission might have been this year’s “Liberal Arts” rather than this year’s “Smart People.”

Leaves almost no impression at all.

Using current hand-held camera technology to ape the political and esthetic sensibility of the 1960s.

Co-writers and stars June Diane Raphael (“Whitney,” “New Girl”) and Casey Wilson (“Happy Endings”) are genuine and true comic performers. Even though the story stunk, the set pieces were uninspired and the direction was downright wretched, when these two are “on” and doing schtick, they are absolutely fresh and hilarious.

(Herron) just doesn't make the case that this book was worth filming.

While we may like what we see, it's impossible to comprehend what much of it means or why we should care.

Ambitious and perversely fascinating.

Its grimness is so unrelenting that I can only recommend it to filmgoers who need a movie to tell them that incest is bad.

Given Garant and Lennon’s background on “The State” and “Reno 911,” their scattershot approach as filmmakers isn’t especially surprising; for every oddly specific Shakespeare reference or detour to the local po-boy joint, there’s an ongoing parade of puke and an awful rubber suit with which to contend.

For 8- to 12-year-olds and the grownups who love them, Recess is a pleasant Saturday-matinee diversion. The fact that it doesn't aim to be anything more is, in its own way, a blessed relief.

It has its moments.

The audience is ready for an unhappy ending -- and Hollywood should have the courage to provide it.

Tries so hard to push all the pre-ordained buttons, and it's so anxious to be liked, nay, adored, that it left me sullen and uninvolved instead.

Simply can't sustain interest for much of its final hour.

Enough pep in this picture to make it rise above teen-movie expectations.

Does a lot of little stuff right, and it sparkles at times.

You just watch one carefully constructed but emotionally vacant image piled up on another - sometimes with regard to an overall effect, but often just for the sake of style over substance.

If the current flood of pre-millennial tension movies teaches us nothing else, it demonstrates how desperate we've all become to see whether we could make our peace in the time provided, if forced to by circumstances beyond our control.

Destined to be remembered not for its laugh-per-minute ratio, but for breaking a barrier of crudeness in mainstream movies.

Lawrence's style is purely will-it-stick-the-wall-or-not, and when it doesn't he looks pretty puny up there on the big screen.

An embarrassing gut-punch of unfiltered schmaltz, but its sympathy for the devil-style humanism is well-meaning.

It may be possible that people who never go to the movies will stumble across Blow Dry and find it a charming way to spend an hour and a half, but the rest of us will have the ending written in our heads by the end of the first five minutes.

So self-conscious that it alienates the viewer early and often.

Both Tipton and Teller are better than this material.

Palpably well-intentioned, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is nevertheless phony to the core.

Rather than thrilling, the courtroom sequences seem only enervating, nudging us toward a quiet outrage.

What’s truly unnerving about the whole thing is how good certain scenes are, and how great a few of the performances come off, especially Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep – they’re doing amazing work, only it’s the equivalent of building a lovely home on a foundation of quicksand.

A dark, dreary and dull “Mad Max in Neutral” from director David Michôd (“Animal Kingdom”) that tries to pass off its blunt narrative and repetitiveness as some sort of style.

Fellowes' many changes diminish the power of Shakespeare's story.

Discordance, meet The Iceman, a film so wrong-footed it should take Eugene Levy out for a coffee.

Only completists need check in with Homefront. The rest of us can just stay home.

Frankly, no one in this ensemble is done any favors by Jason Hall and Barry Levy’s screenplay, a “Duplicity” for dummies filled to the brim with double-crossing cliches.

At first, it’s all fun and games whenever somebody gets hurt, but that’s not enough in and of itself to sustain the movie’s tension. We’re left waiting for characters to die off without much of a vested interest in anyone’s survival.

A movie of fools, by fools, for fools, Grown Ups 2 is easily forgotten, which isn’t as bad a feature as you’d think.

A visually colorful but otherwise vanilla continuation of the series.

The most awkward thing about That Awkward Moment is that the majority of it just doesn’t make much sense and, as a relatively light-hearted spin on the romantic comedy genre, it absolutely should.

Every scene of Danny Mooney’s directorial debut is brightly lit, every car squeaky clean, every moral dilemma transparent, with evidently thorough period detail undone by production values that lend even the riots an idyllic glow, while foiling the potential for truly dramatic conflict with leaden dialogue and predictable changes of heart.

The idea of the film is certainly clever enough, it’s the execution that lacks finesse.

Watching Identity Thief will steal nearly two hours of your life that you’ll never get back. It takes far more than it gives.

The violence is so indifferently presented that it has no kick; it’s not grim or graphic enough to shock, but it doesn’t rev us up, either. The picture’s various shoot-’em-up sequences are so generically conceived and shot that each one is indistinguishable from the next – by the movie’s end, they may as well all collapse into an exhausted heap.

To the film’s credit, it doesn’t waste much time in doling out shadowy figures and fake-outs for the gullible and easily goosed, and the cast as a whole dutifully delivers its panicked looks and cries in the night.

Struck by Lightning may appeal to fans of Colfer’s work on “Glee,” but as a film it’s utterly lacking in scope, depth or meaning beyond an immediate chuckle or two.

Unfortunately the bulk of the picture is cut together like a beer commercial on poorly lit cheap video without much panache. Unless primary colors with a gauzy halo is panache.

Dead Man Down is actually mildly entertaining, without being particularly fun.

For all of Krauss’ clearly good intentions, the film still falls staggeringly flat, even with the inclusion of a bold and unexpected performance from Vanessa Hudgens, doing her damndest to break out of the Disney mold and turn in actual work here.

Unquestionably the work of both a newbie director and a green screenwriter.

The result is a film that grows worse with each passing minute, as the vibrant and complex Diana is reduced down to a daft, dumbstruck love addict, a biopic that tries desperately to humanize an already beloved and relatable human being and makes her look comically idiotic and empty in the process.

Simplistic on one level, indecipherable on another, it's a most peculiar muddle.

Wants to be many things, but ends up being not much of anything.

She's not a real person, in any way, shape or form -- which makes watching Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, the first in a projected series of live-action films based around her exploits, a visually spectacular yet oddly cheerless experience.

Until it backs itself into a narrative corner, Lisa Krueger's Committed is a delightfully unpredictable experience.

What keeps Stardom watchable is Arcand's droll humor.

The brainchild of English director Ben Hopkins, who takes his time getting going. Too much time, really, as the first hour passes rather antsily, without quite achieving forward motion.

The whole point is nothing more than the revelation that the terrain of suburbia is populated with damaged people inflicting damage on others. This is still news?

As flat as the brim of a Mountie hat.

This impeccable ghost story is utterly old-fashioned, a straightforward suspenser with no twists.

It's not bad; it's just completely inconsequential.

Just another lame slacker comedy.

We should expect more of summer fare than that it merely be a visual junk-food snack as we cool off in the chill of a darkened theater.

In the tradition of "Sunrise" and "Eyes Wide Shut," crises set the characters on a kind of dreamy, nocturnal journey through chaos and fear.

A weirdly stillborn experience.

Shining above it all, like a kewpie-doll saint, is Drew Barrymore -- whose sweet innocence and sexy romanticism have survived movies as bad as this before

That it’s not totally dialed in throughout makes it a victim of the same thing most bad movies fall prey to: having the spark of a great idea rested awkwardly on top of a spinning mess of execution.

Not a waste of time, but not quite in control of its destination.

Fails as a movie, it works OK as a long-form video.

Beautiful is a mess, but not without interest.

This film, a remake of a hapless 1974 cheapie of the same title, can't even get the big chase right.

This meeting of two giants of European cinema only briefly comes to life.

When Phillips is out of the zone, however, Road Trip slows down, awaiting another redemption.

Neeson might as well have phoned this one in.

For Stallone, and his original script for Driven reflects a more mature, self-effacing perspective.

Serves up the usual homilies, but it lacks the quirky density and cinematic snap.

The problem is, director Robert Lee King has a hard time sustaining the aimed-for camp tone, and while there are a few well-spaced giggles to be had, the movie sputters more than it soars for most of its 95 minutes.

But the movie is so confused about where it wants to go, it suffers from the same identity crisis as its protagonist.

In many ways the indie equivalent of your average multiplex action picture: fun and forgettable.

It doesn't really hang together. And waaay too much style. Pity.

Renders the net result fairly squarely unenjoyable, on almost any level.

Exemplifies the subpar state of movies today.

A few startling touches.

Flat and thoroughly predictable piece of filmmaking.

This fantasy-tinged romance leaves a distinctly bitter aftertaste.

Though it starts out as amusing satire, the jokes become as neurotic as Dallas' female population, and the film spins out of control in every way.

It's "The Hustler with poker and without soul...For all its flash and occasional sizzle, "Rounders" is a disappointment.

Mandy Nelson's sugar-high bright-'n'-cheerful script takes a series of easy ways out, avoiding completely the prospective pitfalls of having to see any of these characters as complicated, contradictory, not entirely nice or identifiable-with -- actual human beings, in other words.

There's something about The Woman Chaser that isn't quite thought through, in a basic way.

I'll be damned if I can figure out how its various ingredients are supposed to blend together.

She (Lopez) wipes away the unpleasant memories of "The Cell," and serves notice to Julia and Sandra that there's another girl out there who can do romantic comedy-even of the half-baked variety.

Doesn't have a lot to offer that hasn't been done better -- and worse -- in hundreds of ghetto-sink shoot-em-ups.

A fireworks show with plenty of "oohs" but not a lot of "aah" -- the story is needlessly convoluted in places and storybook-simple in others, and the characters never make the leap from drawn figures to flesh-and-blood people.

This could be the year's most pretentious Hollywood film.

Rung with numb inarticulateness.

Stranded in superficiality, the film is a lifestyle commercial.

Slick, polished to perfection, derivative and stripped of any of the real quirks or idiosyncrasies that make a romantic comedy fly.

Call it baseball interruptus, or just call it a missed opportunity.

In this case, I have to say, the sense of boredom.

Not terribly enjoyable to watch.

Wargnier is also a lousy storyteller who seems not to understand how to shape a narrative.

Hogan's rough-and-ready charm remains intact, but it's not enough to salvage this instantly forgettable movie.

What makes The Cell worth viewing at all is the carefully sculpted imagery.

Isn't a bad action movie -- it's just an utterly forgettable one.

When your characters are only skin deep, so is your message.

He spent 28 years in prison and this is what he gets?

A constant video rental for a community that aches to see itself as banal and generic.

Not even Goldberg's near-flawless central performance can polish Kingdom Come beyond mere soap opera pap.

As the movie plods on, the jokes start to fall flat...Worst of all is a centerpiece scene, when Ben has to pretend to be a mafioso (but sounds more like a cross between Martin and Lewis), when Crystal is so unfunny that you almost feel sorry for him.

Has its dull spots, and is unintentionally laugh-out-loud funny at times -- but isn't that what we expect?

Moss -- in her first big role since "The Matrix" -- is the main reason to see Red Planet, a badly written and visually scenic space opus.