The dialogue is trite and tinnily recorded, and the actresses have the chops of high-school drama students.

Features a sexy, appealing cast, especially Guillermo Diaz.

A tepid, pretentious indie that flies from the memory like a tissue in a twister.

It's "Shampoo," 30 years after. What a surprise, then, that this effort ranks lower even than the Steve Martin remake of "The Out-of-Towners."

About Lustig's direction. Badly employing all kinds of tricks like alternating film speed, jump cuts, and various color tints, she ultimately overpowers her actors and does in her own film.

A treacly, ham-fisted, German-American co-production about family ties that should only have been released in the circle of Hell reserved for movie critics.

Game boys and girls will be disappointed by this fast-paced but shockingly dull adaptation.

Captures the embarrassment of foreplay, but it could use a few lessons in the art of seduction

Skeet Ulrich continues to disappoint in one high-profile project after another.

An early scene inside a theater seems intended to wink at Sin's critics: "Disgusting! Cheap melodrama," a lady sniffs during intermission. It's a neatly reflexive acknowledgement of what we ourselves are watching, but even at that, our filmmaker is praising himself too extravagantly by half.

They make a believable trio of siblings, but not even their combined wit can lift this script above the maudlin.

The film's greatest flaw is its miscast leads, who conjure up zero dewy-eyed, wish-fulfillment magic.

Has its funky charms.

Why waste the price of a movie ticket when you can see wildebeests cavorting for free from the comfort of your own recliner?

Shelton attempts to fashion a kind of road movie-love triangle-sports flick. He fails on all three counts.

The selling out of Chris Rock -- or Down to Earth, as he's chosen to call it -- is a sad, sad thing.

Swordfish is exactly the kind of nominally high-octane actioner that breeds legions of apologists who will encourage you to "check your brain at the door" before seeing it.

Complaints? None, except perhaps a wish for more length, and a little more depth.

Somehow manages to stay afloat on a sea of pretension, thanks largely to some splashy visuals.

Starts as light, fluffy fun but becomes so blithely preposterous that it ceases to exist.

Whatever the amount on Roth's paycheck was, it's the only truly charmed sum Lucky Numbers has to offer.

For all its pretense of critiquing our tabloid culture, it amounts to much ado about nothing.

The material it does pull off is daring and sharp.

Virtually unwatchable.

Antitrust is anti-fun, anti-wakefulness, and anti-interesting.

It's a coffee-table movie, but what saves it are a couple of performances.Rowlands puts a spin on every line reading, Harris quietly mines regret, and Shields, assured and sexy, has never been this good.

Hellish matrimonial misfire.

Two hours' worth of painful stupidity, overt racism, and mind-battering noise and movement.

To paraphrase the movie's too-knowing tag line: It's not very funny. But when the lights go out -- it's still not very funny.

An agreeably and unapologetically lightweight late-summer blockbuster.

None, repeat, none of this is funny.

A swamp of clichés, contrivances, and cheap ham-and-cheese hero sentimentality.

This might be as perfect a new-millennium Halloween creepshow as we can expect.

The movie is as schmaltzy as I'd feared, and yet De Salvo does elicit some nice performances from her ensemble cast.

On the whole, this documentary is best-suited to hardcore fans.

A slick, simplistic, and laughable effort that's reminiscent of a bad Jerry Bruckheimer film. A really bad Bruckheimer film.

Flows like day-old cement.

Oh-so-tiresomely familiar.

Whenever the movie's not in the midst of a cinematic spoof it loses considerable steam.

Like its accordion-filled score, it's nothing but a golden moldie.

An incomprehensible mess.

Works best as romantic melodrama and is least convincing as a psychological suspenser.

Kids deserve better than this. They deserve more respect than P2K is willing to give for the price of a Saturday matinee.

A mockumentary about small-town beauty pageants that's so confidently unfunny it's DOA.

Aims low and cheats on an ending, but meanwhile it's a bottom-shelf hoot.

Duller-than-a-Vitalife-convention compilation of talking heads.

As romantic comedies go, this is definitely not one you'd take to the altar, but you might enjoy having a cup of coffee with it.

This is one of those movies in which there are only two types of people: officious yuppie pricks, and the beautiful folks who stop and smell the daisies. What keeps it (barely) from being completely intolerable is Keanu Reeves' hilariously awful lead performance.

It's a yabba-dabba-delight.

Plays out like a raunchy episode of "Felicity."

Quite handsomely produced, and there's a definite swashbuckling verve to it. Most of the characters have been contemporized, but the actors are engaging.

A clumsy, witless cartoon version of E.B. White's rather uncelebrated children's story.

This is one Rudolph opus that leaves no afterglow.

Dracula 2000 is a stake in the heart.

Without any momentum and lacking both depth and interesting characters, Shadow Hours makes sin seem pretty damn boring.

The backdrop of exotic pagodas and wartime woe isn't nearly potent enough to buoy the feeble drama that plays out in the foreground.

Offers little in the way of splendor in the grass.

The film has an unabashed romantic tone that's matched by Wenders' usual flair for visual drama.

Follows a predictable low-comedy path, but does it with such fierce appeal and beautifully wrought wit that it doesn't feel quite like any comedy American theaters have seen since the equally underrated "Grosse Pointe Blank."

Should be shot at sunrise. Or strung up by the neck from a tall tree. Or at least run out of town by a big posse.

The two leads have a wonderful chemistry together.

This grade-Z programmer is a painfully earnest, clichéd, amateurish waste of time.

Who the heck green-lit this garbage heap anyway?

To say that it's dull barely scratches the surface.

A fresh and beautifully timed, if slight, romantic comedy.

This lightweight thriller has an enjoyable premise.

McKenna's script is a frayed string and a contextual nightmare, peppered with puzzling references to the first film in a lame attempt at homage.

Engagingly silly sub-"Moonlighting"-style banter.

Oak-stiff and witless, but a few scenes muster up embarrassed chuckles.

Filthy fun, if not much more.

I'd rather go on an all-Crisco diet than sit through Poor White Trash again.

A sleek rip-off of "The Birds" that is fast, furious, and watchable, but lacking in the two elements most essential to a silly screamfest like this: scares and laughs.

If you're expecting an experience approximately as dumb, badly acted, and childish as a pro wrestling match, you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Beautiful it ain't, but it is kind of cute.

A drearily over-cynical farce.

A miserable western that is clearly headed downward toward the latter destination.

There's no spirit of adventure to separate this one from the pack.

80 minutes of comic mistiming and missed opportunities.

Black, who is creatively marooned in the thankless Chris Farley fat-boy role, deserve better, and so do we.

If you can overlook its condescending wholesomeness and static, visually drab, endlessly repetitious animation, then you have a more forgiving soul than I do.

The satisfaction of watching it essentially boils down to seeing whether or not Reeves can pull it off.

Hark! A Christian thriller about the Last Days that doesn't (totally) suck. That's got to be a sign of the times.

It's a sugar rush that'll leave you feeling like a rotten cavity.

A thoroughgoing mediocrity that musters up just enough low-down chuckles to remind you that you're not watching another Freddie Prinze Jr. yawner.

This talky, self-important flick is a bore of biblical proportions.

A pleasant and surprisingly polished fish-out-of-water comedy.

Better, as they say, than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick -- but only just.

Whenever we're not at the ballpark, the film falls back on teenage relationship clichés. That's most of what's wrong with it, actually.

Vapid, humorless, screeching, and utterly suckworthy.

Thinking (logically or otherwise) about this movie is a waste of your brain cells.

A full-throated shout-out to the lowest common denominator.

Yet another leaden, witless, cliché-drunk, teen romantic comedy starring the preposterously good-looking stars of mediocre TV series.

Frankly, there wouldn't have been enough shtick here to warrant an SNL skit. And if the material isn't even up to those standards, then who the hell green-lit it as a feature?

It is merely another inept teen movie ripping off better horror movies.

None of the movie's abundant humor is better than faintly amusing.

Disheveled tripe pieced together with the good intentions.

This poor movie is like an abandoned car without plates: Nobody wants to admit it's theirs.

Because so little of what occurs on-screen either engages or entertains, there's ample time for the boiler of your self-respect to build up quite a head of indignation at the forfeiture of your time, money, and (exceedingly minimal) cerebral exertion.