Its characters and plot are almost wholly negligible. It's just a party.

A satisfying, sentimental trip.

Eventually succumbs to fatal overlength.

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.

Never less than riveting.

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

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

Jon Reiss' compelling documentary on the people, music, and social constructs of dance culture, may perhaps provide some needed balance to the mass media attention.

Given a decent script, they might make a fun summer movie. Given the script for Shanghai Noon, they've come up with a middling Old West oater that falls flat at least as often as it finds the funny bone.

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

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

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

Strangely, what it most lacks is the genuine tension found in the first "Mission"'s signature set pieces.

The script is pure Disney formula. Dinosaur offers next to nothing in the way of variation.

Only Elaine May shines, in a weird and wonderful turn. Her loopy character has such a struck-by-lightning demeanor that she's always delightfully off in her own comic orbit even in the tritest of scenes.

It's a larky hoot in its best moments, and it has a refreshingly unforced sense of fun that buoys the scenes that are straight out of Lame Movie Laffs 101.

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

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

Go see this movie and you'll be...yup. You should save your money; Norm Macdonald should save his career, by quitting movies altogether.

It's a lock to pile up the honors during Hollywood's annual awards season next spring (at the Golden Raspberries and the MTV Movie Awards).

Almereyda never plays up the gimmickry at the expense of the performances, and as a result, his movie largely succeeds, despite an overabundance of pretentious pokes at our consumer culture and the risky casting of Ethan Hawke in the lead role.

So desperate to be rebellious and cool, that it's impossible to see it as anything more than one big case of "been there, done that" -- even if your drugs have already kicked in.

For the discouraged filmgoer, Erice's tone poem will be a ray of hope itself.

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

The total lack of sexual chemistry between them doesn't help. Frankly, I'd rather see Scott Thomas play a nun than sit through another one of these turgid romancers.

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

Combining a seething physicality with enough weary nobility and tightly checked rage for a dozen wronged heroes, (Crowe) provides the movie's vital center of gravity without looming over his co-stars.

A stiff, clumsy, amateurish mess, one of those ethnically righteous movies likely to be endured exclusively by its story's demographic.