Wincer keeps the insubstantial story moving and the comedy light.

Fuhgeddaboutit.

This is a second-rate Woody Allen midlife crisis comedy without the laughs.

Inept, unfunny, and so brimming with bad ideas it's a wonder it wasn't manufactured by mandrills rather than adult humans.

Never better than middling, despite its best intentions.

So packed with knowingly dreadful puns, wily sight gags, and self-referential cheek that it's impossible not to be charmed.

Plays out like a raunchy, substandard WB soap.

Greenaway has hit a brick wall, and it's no fun to watch.

First-time writer-director Mark Hanlon creates a solidly trippy atmosphere.

All of the interviewees are compelling, whether proudly showing off bruises and bullet holes from on-the-job scuffles, or voicing their opinions about how the profession has changed.

Good old-fashioned romantic entertainment, just restrained enough to skirt schmaltz.

Through a messy series of news reports, interviews, talk shows, and behind-the-scenes footage, Arcand creates a cinema vérité spoof that's not nearly as penetrating or enjoyable as he thinks.

A trifle of a farce fashioned into a '30s musical that gaily trips as much as it lightly skips, but nonetheless marks a welcome return to form.

Wholly predictable and implausible plotting, thin characterizations, and stilted dialogue.

What does it say that we have a closer relationship with the car than with the characters? It says Bruckheimer.

Slow as a funeral dirge, the movie's all talk about art and passion and obsession without anything to show for it.

The Forsaken discourages one from caring in the least how its breed of vein-tappers came to be, or even what will happen if they take over the world.

So wretched that it practically defies description.

The naked, artless display of nerve and rebellious bile is altogether unique in modern movies.

Once the action starts to kick in, Megiddo morphs, minute by minute and scene by scene, into a Mystery Science Theater smorgasbord.

A film without mirth or magic.

Along the way, we end up losing patience with our couple-to-be because they seem too smart to endure the indignities ceaselessly heaped on them.

First the TV show, then the video games, the playing cards, the books, the clothes, and now the movie -- the dreaded movie.

As intriguing as the premise sounds, Mission to Mars hasn't a single moment of real suspense.

Psychological thrillers depend on convincing audiences to suspend disbelief, but this one doesn't manage that for a moment.

The characters aren't convincingly written, rarely if ever behave like believable humans, and consequently don't matter to us in the least.

The only reason to sit through On the Line is for some entertaining, if fleeting, musical moments.

Boasts a fine cast and makes enough cogent points that it rises above standard cop fare.