A big disappointment. It's toe-tappin' tripe aimed squarely at the undiscerning Britney Spears set.

The casting is sublime.

Has a credibly gritty texture, thanks in large part to Fishburne's generosity with his fellow actors.

Families already know exactly what they're in for, and they're likely to leave the multiplex high on the hum of a charming cast, sunny San Francisco locations, and a suitably happy ending.

A wide-eyed, action-adventure throwback to the era of Disney's magnificent adaptation of "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea."

Crammed with interesting ideas, visuals, and people, but Stone buries it all in a s--tstorm of technique.

The most obvious casualty ends up being Jennifer Jason Leigh, an actress known for her fearless choices, who is literally pissed on for her trouble.

There's nothing remotely bizarre about this boy meets girl meets boy tale.

Li's light touch and explosive fighting skills deserve a better vehicle than this overcooked pot of New Jack suey.

A watchable mediocrity at best.

An outrageously silly movie that makes me laugh.

Not all of the jokes hit, but enough of them do that anyone who's ever filed, collated, or played Mixmaster DJ with the transcribing machine will find cathartic giggles in this breakout debut.

Its emotional sweep is ultimately undercut by murky characterizations and generic plotting.

Mangold ultimately delivers the same film any number of other Hollywood journeyman could've made from this material, and the results are predictable and stale.

Myers has hit upon a genuinely original schtick, and that fact alone is immeasurably groovy.

Feels like it was pulled out of the freezer and hastily microwaved about 10 minutes before you arrived at the theater.

Has only its actors to keep it afloat.

Startlingly shallow even for a summer movie.

Hamilton's quasi-Luddite tale doesn't make a coherent movie under the best of circumstances, and these were, apparently, something substantially less than that.

This is nothing more than a bare-assed fart in the face of Smith's fans.

Pushes the standard tropes of gay romance movies a few more steps toward full-blown cliché-dom.

The most disappointing aspect of Planet of the Apes is that, despite its presentation, the film is so very ordinary, without urgency or revelation.

This avenging cat gets no action whatsoever. Neither does the movie, despite a terrific cast and a heap of street style.

No matter how quotable the one-liners, the movie remains a far stretch from truth or insight.

Perhaps most depressingly, in pulling out all the stops for an ugly, violent climax, he (Schumacher) cheapens this vividly drawn slice of life, turning it into a tiresomely flawed, garden-variety vigilante thriller.

I've not stopped thinking about it -- weighing might-have-beens and alternative courses of action, as though remembering an actual event rather than a nimble, superbly-realized fantasy. That's a first-rate achievement.

The farce hits the fan, and you just wait for the thing to be over.

Hazards nothing to speak of and asks chiefly to be congratulated for its modesty.

An entertaining but insubstantial romantic thriller loaded with Euro-chic trappings and no small amount of sex appeal.

Glossy, gruesome police drama.

Has its share of small pleasures.

The more we realize that we're stuck in the company of a totally relentless loser, the drearier the entire experience becomes.

A clever but routine science fiction flick.

The result is a feast for the eyes but frequently a famine for the frontal lobes, a movie of towering imagination and middling rewards.

An empty, affected exercise, executed with just enough style to make you wish McQuarrie had a motive beyond his own career.

A well-crafted, great looking adventure, with some spirited performances.

Something of a featherweight, but it's also a positively divine comedy.

Makes for compulsive viewing.

As a snapshot of Hungarian history, Glamour's watchability trumps that of "Sunshine" — the droll absurdity of the former leaves a much deeper impression than the latter's bruising moralism.

A tepid and surprisingly dull farce stamped from the "About Mary" mold.

Spacey and Bridges -- generally provide exactly the level of investment required for their characters to be convincing. Neither one showboats, and both make good use of the dry humor in Leavitt's script.

It's a shame that Jeepers Creepers cops out -- as American genre movies have been doing for years -- and plays it safe with an F/X-heavy creature that no one would believe in a thousand years.

Murphy's second outing as the M.D. who talks to the animals is surprisingly engaging.

Visually, Pitch Black is sleek and stylish in a post-apocalyptic way, and a scantily clad Radha Mitchell does a nice, more femme variation of Sigourney Weaver's Ripley.

Showing the sex seems to be the film's raison d'etre, which gets you only so far.

What ultimately keeps Titan A.E. from taking off is an ordinary script.

Ultimately nothing more than a live-action cartoon. A high-minded, inspiring cartoon, but a cartoon nonetheless.

The characters and their dilemmas are never convincing.

Only really comes to exuberant life during the musical numbers.

If you're in the mood for a helping of lite cheesecake, you ought to find plenty of reason to shake your pom-poms.

A raunchy, scattershot, but often hilarious spoof.

Oy, it's such a pleasure that you'll be begging for Rush Hour 3.

Shot on location, handheld camera, available light, no props, no music, no filters, etc. We may wonder, "What are we doing here?" But we won't look away.

A shell of a film. It's a stripped-down and blown-out thriller than can only be measured by the sum of its action sequences.

Hits the wall and runs off the rails. They should've stuck to shtick.

Fans starving for some song and dance celluloid may be satiated, but this movie version really shows the material's age.

Isn't terribly revealing, and though it is interesting to watch Condo paint, it's only interesting for so long.

What matters is that the movie's a blast, right up until its protracted climax.

The actors playing the team members have stereotypical roles, but these kids have got game.

As classic romantic comedy goes, it ain't no "Tootsie."

Sags, lollygags, and blusters too much to sustain the what-the-hell momentum that Kitano achieves in his best movies.

Dippy, funny, and fast-paced enough to be a guilty pleasure.

This predictable romantic comedy outing has occasional flickers of ingenuity.

It's so plot heavy it never finds its nimble comic rhythm.

An elegant, haunting folktale.

A witty, if overextended, take on pornography.

Folks who are desperate to ogle Hewitt and Weaver probably can't be warned off this turkey.

Without full-bodied characters to play, Smith and Damon are left to get by on their native charm -- something both have in considerable quantity, thankfully.

An audacious but underconceived blend of fiction and documentary that questions the idea of race and identity in America.

A matted hairball of a kiddie flick that's alternately maudlin and slapstickishly violent.

Though modest in scale, this romantic gem constitutes yet another superb leap in the evolution of Figgis' career.

This one's all labor pains, and, in the end, nothing gets delivered.

A reliably solid treat.

As its plot is entirely negligible, whether or not you enjoy One Night at McCool's probably depends on how funny you think the performances are.

Populated with whiny, unappealing characters that are impossible to care about and flatly staged sitcomish set-pieces...this lame Canadian import's a real woofer.

While both leads are appealing enough, it's the stuff on the sidelines that keeps All Over the Guy entertaining.

An empty reminder that Martin Lawrence can be pretty funny, in a spastic, loose-limbed way -- maybe next time he'll get a worthwhile script.

Watching this movie go through its simplistic dramatic motions, you begin to understand why some actors stick to summer stock and live Ibsen revivals.

Banderas may have been crazy to make such a heady directorial debut, but it's hard not to be charmed by his ambitions.

One of our very few consummate movie star actors, Washington can't quite elevate this dismal material as he's been able to do in the past, but he retains his dignity.

Oddly, Bully's only moments of power come at the film's end, after the crime takes place.

Proof of Life won't hold your heart hostage for very long after it's over, but here's looking at Russell Crowe -- he's the real deal, sweetheart.

There's really nothing more to this by-the-numbers, ailment-of-the-week fodder dressed up with a classy cast.

A generally likeable cast atones for the underwritten script with fine comic spirit.

At best a vaguely Semitic episode of "The Wonder Years."

Every time the movie seems poised to veer into watchability, however, Turteltaub is there, like a beat cop for the Fun Police, reminding us to laugh, sigh, or tear up.

Pearce is shot in such distorting closeups that he looks like an overdeveloped athlete who's been getting steroid injections in his cheeks.

"Footloose" meets "The Full Monty" in Bootmen, a cliché-ridden tap dance drama.

A modestly entertaining ride.

The once-talented Mr. Polanski is hard to spot.

There's a sense of life to Committed that's unpredictable and sweet, but too much of it is cluttered with lazy shortcuts.

An amiable but contrived bit of blarney.

Love & Sex is nothing but pain and suffering.

What comes before and after the sound and fury of the bombing raid are reams of banal dialogue.

Joffe's latest is a formless, inanimate lump.

Offers nothing but tired "Red Shoe" Diaries-style sexploitation for the art-house crowd.

The film has a standard trajectory, but the details are unpredictable: Kitano fluctuates between goofy pratfalls. . . and elliptical pathos.

A cross between a Hogarth painting and an MTV video, Plunkett & Macleane cuts quite a swath.