This movie’s heart is in the right place, and its company is pleasant enough. But by its final half-hour, it starts to feel too much like a rote recitation from a rom-com to-do list.

Actress Kristy Swanson provides the ideal combination of energy and comic disdain that characterize a most unlikely savior. While it would be a mistake to oversell Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the sad and/or happy truth is that you could do worse on a warm summer night. A lot worse. [31 Jul 1992, p.1]

Riff Raff is a solid crime comedy with unusual wiring.

Just a good old-fashioned romance, one in which people actually bring out the best in one another rather than the worst. How novel is that?

With actors this good, however, there's rarely a pinched expression, heartfelt speech or laugh line that isn't at least partly sold, even if the stunted-male psychologizing at the expense of the under-written women grows tiresome.

Ultimately it all adds up to a hodgepodge of styles and attitudes with hardly any insight into what made this corrosive clique so magnetic to its adherents.

Horror movie characters aren't generally known for their brains, but these ones make enough bad choices that audiences won't be able to help yelling at the screen (at least ours couldn't). It's a frustrating experience at times, but the script from Ben Ketai and "The Strangers" filmmaker Bryan Bertino eventually allows the family to take some satisfying actions in the second half of the film.

It would be tempting to say that inside “Slamdance” is a remarkable movie struggling to free itself from conventional trappings. But the opposite is true. The trappings are what dazzle you; the interior of “Slamdance” is exactly what isn’t remarkable.

Everything has been significantly amped up -- bigger, louder, further removed from reality -- but it also feels that much more forced. Cage and Kruger seem like they're not having much fun this time around, and Bartha still gets the best throwaway lines.

As for the title, it's a nod to the jazz music that Don's off-the-grid dad shares with his more buttoned-up son. But, like most everything else here, it feels more contrived than authentic.

Slater has some effective moments and Franco excels at a certain kind of scary/funny psycho, but it doesn’t ultimately add up to much as either pulpy trash or exposé.

With considerable grace and beguiling modesty, the movie frames its subject as one of Christ’s most discerning followers and a crucial witness to his ministry, death and resurrection.

Amazingly, somehow, an overstuffed Godzilla movie feels scant.

A surefire heart-tugger made with skill and judgment, affords Keanu Reeves a career high point.

Both pleasantly old-fashioned and packed with up-to-date computer-generated special effects, the film's constant plot turns, cheeky sensibility and omnipresent action sequences have no trouble attracting our attention and holding on.

Built of action-sport stunts, has adrenaline to spare. But, c'mon. Where is its sense of fun?

If Tony Vitale's Kiss Me, Guido isn't quite the laff riot its trailer suggests, it nonetheless abounds in good-hearted humor, adding up to a perfectly pleasant summer diversion.

It does not have as much invigorating freshness as audiences have come to expect in computer animation.

Among other things, the characters in A Love Song for Bobby Long really know how to turn a phrase, in itself a pleasure so rare it all but demands any flaws be forgiven.

The movie finally feels more manufactured than organic, a travelogue of portent, complete with plangent guitars and peopled by characters from the backwoods playbook.

It’s bland enough to serve as a kind of palate cleanser at the end of a long and punishing moviegoing summer.

In the end, Hannah Montana: The Movie is big, beautiful, a little boring and utterly safe. There are flashes of inspiration -- the "Hoedown Throwdown" dance, the scenes between Martindale and the Cyruses -- but it also is what it is: Miley Cyrus' next big step.

This is generic filmmaking at its most banal, a simple-minded simplification of a not overwhelmingly complex book.

A grating and witless would-be spoof of religion, male-bonding and, it seems, horror movies.

While there are a few chuckles to be had here, mostly courtesy of Wilson’s gee-willikers delivery, the rest of the cast fares worse, including Haddish, whose bumbling clairvoyant is stuck cracking moldy jokes about PayPal and CVS.

Willow is a perfectly agreeable tale of magic, little people, heroic warriors, babies among the bulrushes and a wicked queen who must be overthrown lest the world be engulfed in evil. If it evaporates from memory with the airiness of a bubble bath, at least it leaves a friendly glow and a sense of a magical world lovingly evoked. [20 May 1988, p. c1]

The film is tangled in its mess of references: a possession thriller that also wants to dish out some grainy video footage à la “The Ring” or “Bring Her Back” along with the expected mouth-to-mouth vomiting.

The lens work by "Crouching Tiger" cinematographer Peter Pau looks super slick; and the film's conformity to trends in regional commercial cinema yields respectable results. But Special ID truly comes alive when it busts out the good ol' fashioned Hong Kong daredevil stunt work.

The film is well-made — the direction is strong, the cinematography by Barry Markowitz compelling and the script by two first-time writers is confident. The biggest problem with the film is Charlie himself.

Savage Steve Holland's One Crazy Summer is a zesty hot-weather tonic, light and sparkling, and a fine follow-up to last fall's "Better Off Dead," Holland's knockout debut feature. As impossible as it seems just now, Holland actually finds fresh approaches to the youth comedy. [12 Aug 1986, p.C5]

Souza and his cast explore a familiar milieu, and though they fall short of saying anything startlingly insightful about it, they do a fine job of making it feel real, and even vital.

Smile is like a dose of cod liver oil: It may be good for you, but it's no fun.

Ultimately, it’s the social, sexual, political and artistic power of the same-sex dance phenomenon that gives the topic its unique heft and vitality.

One thing you can say for Pink Flamingos, it has a frat party chumminess, even at its most repulsive. In the late '60s and through the '70s, Waters used the same gang of pals for his ensemble, and that created a kind of "let's get down and dirty together" camaraderie.

A wry romantic comedy of sexual confusion that deftly becomes increasingly serious without losing its sense of humor.

You can reliably forecast most of the beats in Blayne Weaver's breezy romantic comedy Weather Girl, but that doesn't diminish the small pleasures the movie delivers.

It's a low-key road movie that doesn't stray far from the very, very beaten path.

Gorgeous and naturalistic shots by cinematographer by Autumn Durald speak volumes, and the atonal, foreboding score by Nathan Halpern creates a sense of dread, though they are ultimately squandered in an underdeveloped story.

While it may not put a fresh spin on the sports documentary format, “Loopers” gives the bag-carrying faithful a well-earned moment in the sun.

Jack Conway's direction is slow and ponderous, which is characteristic of so many of MGM's painstakingly crafted melodramas of the 1940s. [02 Sep 1991, p.F14]

Plays like the setup for a movie that never materializes. It has all the elements for a successful comedy, but once the premise is presented, the film doesn't know how to deliver on its promise. That doesn't mean there is no fun in "Fun."

Certainly a sweet, life-affirming picture, but it's just not authentic or captivating enough to justify its wildly concocted scenario.

Sgt. Bilko is one of those joyless comedies that have lately become so prevalent, a halfheartedly amusing film that avoids originality while relying on old and tired material. [29 Mar 1996, p.F1]

This is a sophisticated adult treat in the French manner with an attractive and gifted cast and is essentially serious, yet often whimsical and always compassionate.

When this well-acted picture calms down and focuses on real emotions, it proves a poignant, absorbing look at a modern family.

Light and frothy though all this is, there is an off-putting element to "Josie," and it's what must be the film's world record number of product placements.

A vaguely amusing formulaic comedy with a premise that turns out to be more discomforting than endearing.

But if the film flirts with being sentimental, it never completely gives in: The inherent strength of the material as well as the integrity of the filmmakers gives this coming-of-age story restraint as well as warmth.

There's enough atmosphere, mayhem and just plain energy to make the film a viable midnight movie.

The Guru turns out to be just a flirtation with the musical rather than a full-on embrace. That's a shame because the musical interludes are where the film wears its heart and finds its soul.

Paymer and many others in a large cast are well-established players with strong credits, and they do the best they can to pump life into remorselessly glum material.

It's a good thing Better Than Sex, which is pretty raunchy and absolutely not for prudes, does have more than sex on its mind, because otherwise audiences might be tempted to dismiss it as a tease.

Moreau is this film's irreplaceable epicenter. With her radiant smile and unquenchable spirit, she carries this film on her shoulders, and makes it all look, well, easy.

While Yamamoto's bullets never miss, Kitano's attempt at tragic grandeur of "Godfather"-esque proportions misses to an almost embarrassing degree.

For the most part successful, focusing on the struggles of Muhammad's followers in 7th century Arabia. The reliance on point-of-view shots, however, is at times disorienting and creates the unintentionally comedic effect of a prophet-cam panning back and forth or up and down as Muhammad moves his head.

An unfortunate melding of style and subject matter, too intent on turning the Little Tramp into an icon to be regarded with stately awe to do justice to the disturbing energy of his life.

The film oozes with authenticity -- sometimes a bit too much so -- and a genuine passion for the gritty, colorful, proud neighborhood that's still a few steps behind the progressive city it calls home (the Bratts grew up in and around the Mission).

Jane Campion's astonishingly beautiful new film may be the most maddening and imperfect great movie of the year.

When we need the churning dread of an intimate tale of generational trauma, The Marsh King’s Daughter goes formulaic, and when we’re primed for exploitation sweats, it gets flabby.

Sonic the Hedgehog is legitimately funny, heartwarming and entertaining.

The cast and crew work like a well-oiled machine, delivering the quality drama we've come to expect from British TV imports.

The young stars are attractive and capable, but Hotel de Love is as synthetic as an old "Love Boat" episode.

This story of a lonely kid in need of a father figure seems stubbornly small, given the creators involved. It’s a premise in search of a plot.

It feels like a bad parody, a shadow of what a film is, not an actual film itself. The color palette is a dreary mud puddle of grays and browns, and there’s no sense of space or geography. It has no weight, no heft, no texture, no color, no sense of magic or wonder in the least. The story itself has no sense of stakes or resonance, and the actors vary in affect from lifeless to dutiful to pained.

Regarding Henry is a breath of stale air, an unconvincing rehabilitation of 1960s values for a 1990s audience that is bound and determined to take the easy way out whenever possible. Which is really too bad, because there are signs along the way that this could have been a less manipulative, more genuine exploration of what really matters in life instead of the slick Hollywood shuffle it turned out to be.

Russell Crowe is invariably involving on screen, and Ridley Scott is a splendid director when the material is right. No film they collaborate on will be devoid of interest, but A Good Year almost is.

What the plot doesn't decimate, the film's slower-than-a-clogged-drain pacing does. Sadly, this is one box that's just not worth picking up off the porch, much less opening, not even for a million dollars.

Red 2 is much more of a mixed bag than it should have been.

The accompanying trove of archival footage and photos, however, helps break the occasional monotony; the juxtaposition of these elderly vets with snapshots of their 1940s-era, uniformed selves is always affecting.

It’s faithfully formulaic, but the cast makes it appealing.

If Becoming Nobody may dig only as deeply as the filmmaker and/or Alpert chose to go, it remains an inspiring, stirringly meditative portrait of one man’s profound spiritual influence on a world that has surely needed him.

Unfortunately, this Australian horse racing film remains a standard underdog narrative that fails to rouse the audience from their seats, despite the best efforts from its cast and a few charming moments.

A peppy affair that works in fits and starts but is unable to put its successful moments together in any consistently satisfying way.

Instead of a grand lark of fast fists and derring-do, we get a lumbering, choppy voyage of minimal excitement.

The plot may be murky, but actress Asia Argento is a clear and commanding force throughout.

Matthew McConaughey and Sarah Jessica Parker look and act, quite attractively, like grown-ups, and their easy rapport makes them convincing and appealing as an on-screen couple. So all throughout Failure to Launch, I found myself wishing they were in a different movie, maybe one as sophisticated as "The Philadelphia Story," which the movie references, but doesn't remotely live up to.

The wrong crowd will find these antics infantile and offensive. The right one will have a howling good time.

Poetic and ambiguous, it manages to be magical in both the beautiful and terrifying senses of the word.

The route to the film's dramatic and poignant climax is so hard to follow that the pleasure, the potential for which is considerable, has been substantially diminished.

Not as inspired or amusing as it might be, leans heavily on the considerable charm of its three young and attractive principals. Their charisma and the film's larky spirit, English locales and elaborate cons might be just enough to divert easily satisfied date-night audiences.

Figgis certainly was after something different, but like "Timecode," in which four linked stories unwind in separate panels, Hotel proves to be a fundamentally insipid bid at experimental narrative.

What is disturbing and frankly distasteful about The Girl Next Door is how slick and shameless it is in its eagerness to blur boundaries, to squeeze as much transgressive material as it can into a nominally bland and innocent form, to serve up a benign, sanitized and exquisitely titillating portrait of the world of pornography in the cozy sheep's clothing of a teenage movie.

Proteus is involving and affecting even if it is not completely coherent or fully realized.

It also features deaths by strangulation and immolation as well as a nasty bit with a flying severed limb.Kids may be less put off by all that, though, than by the film's uninspired hand-drawn animation, visual flatness and elongated running time.

A terrific cast and a rich sense of atmosphere do a lot to keep the Australian drama Angel of Mine suspenseful, even when the plot’s barely developing.

Same Kind of Different as Me takes its time, but the performances by Kinnear, Zellweger and especially Hounsou sneak up on you, building to an emotional, but not overstated climax.

The result is a bit like a weightless swirl of cotton candy with a mere second of sweetness before it dissolves on your tongue. But then there's nothing wrong with cotton candy, and besides, the filmmakers never promised more. I guess they're just not into that.

How did something that started out so cool get so dorky?

The credible, appealing relationship that develops between Bronson and Ireland gives this 1979 film its substance. [11 Aug 1991, p.6]

The 27-year-old Kasdan displays an ability to bring a refreshing, human touch to what could be overly familiar material that echoes what his father did in films like "The Big Chill" and "Body Heat."

The whale is wondrous but the drama not so much in In the Heart of the Sea.

Diablo Cody's glib teen-hip dialogue mostly feels like self-conscious splatter over a sorely lackluster scare flick.

The film's overall presentation...feels a bit too cloistered and the subject perhaps too limited for feature-length attention.

Jaglom is too spiritually and cinematically lazy to do anything but evoke glib, artless solidarity, and let us know he's heard of Twitter and Facebook.

The dearth of input from medical practitioners and others who have opposed Sarno’s controversial methodology makes this feel like an awfully one-sided exploration.

Well-made but generic, the thriller The Super is noteworthy primarily for featuring one of Val Kilmer’s first substantial roles since recovering from throat cancer. Director Stephan Rick works around the actor’s infirmities, but Kilmer’s offbeat charisma remains unmistakable.

A frustrating mix of smart flash and smirking impudence.

The film is clever in using a child to tease out the misunderstandings that arise between those on opposite sides, even when the river of emotions that should course through The Little Traitor sometimes runs dry.