In its attempts to chart a young girl's journey from innocence to experience, The Invisible Circus ends up having all the heft of a Nancy Drew mystery decked out in a tie-dyed T-shirt and peasant skirt.

Reitman has truly lost his gift for comic rhythms, cluttering up the film with running yuks that aren't that funny the first time and certainly don't improve with repetition.

I'd write it all off as something that is, after all, intended for young viewers -- but then I'd be insulting their intelligence as cruelly as the movie does.

A movie interesting enough in its conception to appeal to adults winds up being best suited to preadolescent sensibilities.

The only constant is the violence, which assaults rather than amuses.

Despite being full of Oscar-winning talent, this is still just a better-dressed, drawn-out episode of "Touched by an Angel."

The film's a vacuous bore.

Repetitive, aimless, and as frustrating as you'd imagine any two-hour music video to be.

Hard to watch -- not because of its unflinching realism, but rather for its mawkish reliance on every boy hooker flick from "Midnight Cowboy" to "Johns."

An intermittently irresistible entertainment.

But it's Lopez's movie, and its limitations are hers: Both actress and movie tackle emotional turmoil with a minimum of insight.

Even Foxx's lively comedy is lost in the noise.

An enjoyable female buddy caper -- more "Outrageous Fortune" than "Thelma and Louise."

Crude and witless.

The film's title accurately captures the sensation of sitting through it -- stay home.

Limp satire isn't worthy of its good intentions.

The movie is more or less competent for being what it is. Of course, I could say the same of most brick walls -- but I'd hardly recommend that you pay eight bucks to sit in front of one for two hours.

A bit too bloodless to howl about.

Shows its roots early on: Mixing the high camp of "Strictly Ballroom" with Monty's gritty milieu, the film comes off as little more than a contrived composite, despite the best efforts of pros Rickman, Richardson, and Griffiths.

One more attempt to pass off chopped liver as foie gras.

Too often, the movie is more forced and frantic than actually funny.

An adroitly made, perfectly acted little nightmare.

Houston, we have a problem. It's called The Astronaut's Wife and it's an utterly predictable rip-off of classic '60s and '70s exercises in paranoia, from "Rosemary's Baby" to "The Parallax View."

Whenever Voight steps to the forefront, A Dog of Flanders is poochy-keen; alas, the rest of the time it's doggedly dull.

This is nothing more than one more run-of-the-mill, surprise-free, suspense programmer.

Has an unforgettable artery of hot-blooded talent coursing straight through it.

Plenty of the tasteless gags don't fly, and for every celebrity cameo that works (a hilariously heavenly Reese Witherspoon), there are two or three that crash and burn.

There's a lot of satisfaction in seeing two stars given this much time and space to examine a complex relationship.