When it comes down to it, there's one overriding factor that lessens the impact of the film's numerous stumbles, and that's this: It's just plain entertaining to see all these warped characters, and all these well-cast actors, bouncing off of one another, interacting with one another, and creating a barely controlled chaos.

The surrealist and decidedly bizarre humor of Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim is, to put it mildly, an acquired taste -- and there's no guarantee you'll ever actually acquire it.

The end result is still not a very good film, but it is one that boasts some enjoyable moments -- but only if you find yourself with two hours to kill.

What Leonie is missing, however -- in its script, in its performances, really in everything about it -- is any hint of sparkle, any sort of compelling hook on which to hang its hat.

If nothing else, the dramatic comedy The Last Word provides one thing: It gives Shirley MacLaine a great role in which to sink her teeth. That turns out to be a gift not only to the Hollywood veteran but to audiences as well.

Maybe it would work better if the script -- which is credited to four screenwriters; never a great sign -- was actually funny.

This much is sure: Salinger would have hated this movie. But he would have hated it for the very reason that others will like it: because it takes an honest-to-goodness crack at unlocking that mystery of a man and at answering key questions the publishing world and the reading public have been asking ever since he forsook them. Nothing phony about that.

Early on in The Slammin' Salmon, a customer sends back a plate of undercooked fish. I can't imagine a better metaphor for a movie that is named after a fish and that is as half-baked as this one is.

"The Lost Village" is pure Saturday-morning stuff. And that's both a good thing and a bad thing.

The violence in Homefront is violence purely for entertainment's sake.

As ridiculous as it is, Man on a Ledge isn't a movie that requires suspension of disbelief. It requires the absolute absence of it.

If all this sounds totally awesome, you're probably already an afficionado of the Sega- and Nintendo-licensed products from which director Jim Yukich's movie has been cloned. And you may be brain-dead as well, which would certainly enhance your enjoyment of his picture. [11 Nov 1994, p.L29]

The best of the blaxploitation horror flicks, with William Marshall back as the African vampire summoned by that ol'black magic and some hip voodooo practitioners, led by high priestess Pam Grier. [21 Oct 1995, p.E1]

The school freak, played by Mary-Kate Olsen, misses a chance to really have some fun as this story's wicked witch.

So does the film succeed, overall? On some levels. But if all you want is a guilt-free, sci-fi summer pleasure, save your money and wait another week. The crew of the Enterprise is on its way.

So what we have is a movie that will make at least two important groups happy. New Orleans boosters can cheer Green Lantern for its local roots and for the possibility that the inevitable future installments could return to town. And the purists can cheer, knowing that Campbell and crew have done Green Lantern justice.

You want a change-up? Here's a change-up: How about if Hollywood stops spoon-feeding us this uninspired pablum and comes up with a fresh idea or two?

The stakes in this latest, disappointing Harry Potter wannabe never feel as high as they should, or as important as its characters seem to think they are.

Feels like a movie that belongs in June or July, with all the other comic book fare. But I'll gladly take it now, no matter what the calendar says.

If not for the "Fast and Furious" franchise, Need for Speed probably wouldn't exist outside of the video game series that inspired it.

Director Klay Hall's embraceable, overachieving romp plays nicely as a big-screen feature.

As with its gooey, smoochy predecessors, The Lucky One is, beneath it all, a fairy-tale romance, just one with modern trappings.

New Orleans makes for a distinctive backdrop, but that's really all just window dressing, and it goes only so far in covering the fact that The Runner -- from its moody, electric-guitar-driven score to its faintly 1990s, Grisham-flavored sensibilities -- runs out of narrative inspiration before it crosses the finish line.

I'm not sure how much of The Dirt is good, old-fashioned hyperbole. Good lord, I hope a lot of it is, although I'm sure the band -- the members of which wrote the book on which the film is based in addition to serving as co-producers -- would swear everything in it is true.

The real reason Zemeckis’ Pinocchio works so well is because it doesn’t forget the emotion and humor.

It has a sweet quality, and Forest Whitaker gets a chance to show off his comic chops.

Yes, it's flashy. But it's not flashy enough. It's got its moments of humor, but it's not funny enough. And it flirts with cleverness, but -- you guessed it -- it's nowhere close to being clever enough.

In the end, Carpenter offers a reasonably nice payoff to this whole misfire.