What Ichaso does do is take us on a dizzying, constantly moving ride through an exciting decade in the blossoming of "Nuyorican" culture with its most flamboyant figure as our focus.

While the humor is recognizably Plympton, he has actually bothered to construct a real story this time, and the joke sequences are shorter and better integrated. The visual style is also richer and "better drawn" than before.

The challenge faced here by writer-director Robert Guédiguian (Charge!) is to keep his cheap melodrama from curdling his insightful societal appraisal.

Feels dated in the post-9/11 world. But it would have felt passé and unnecessary regardless; it's the sort of film Michael Dudikoff, Chuck Norris and their ilk cranked out on a near-monthly basis when Reagan was president.

Enjoyable, if utterly stupid, upscale entry in the old Amityville Horror genre -- that is, a horror film allegedly based on spooky and inexplicable real-life events.

Rock Star takes itself so seriously it becomes full-on parody -- "This Is Spinal Tap" as a sanctimonious cautionary tale. And how rock 'n' roll is that?

For folks who like a genuinely tense suspense film with heavy doses of black humor, however, this ought to do it.

Not as tumultuous as "Happy Together" (the best gay break-up movie to date) it nonetheless offers much food for thought, particularly in regard to issues of trust and condom use.

May be too low-key for its own good. Still, if you want to get in on the ground floor of Aidan Gillen's certain-to-be-skyrocketing career, it's a good place to start.

Silva is a polished and sophisticated director who brings a surprisingly light touch to much of this apparently fact-based story.

Damon looks like a kid lost in the wrong neighborhood, and his acting manners underscore that impression--everything is a bit too fine, too neat...An intermittently interesting, intermittently foolish film.

It's a visually poetic style, and likely to find hardcore devotees, especially among the ranks of Terence Malick and Marc Forster fans. Others will just find it painfully slow.

Toback has taken a distinctly '60s-ish personal experience and done his best to transplant it into the current, vastly different, cultural milieu. Harvard Man is a semi-throwback, a reminiscence without nostalgia or sentimentality.

After a few very funny early sequences, tricked up with grotesque, surreal editing and camerawork, the movie gets bogged down a bit during the first third.

What's in it for you? Mostly a bunch of astronauts and cosmonauts onboard the International Space Station, floating around filming each other.

No one in a McCulloch movie is ever normal -- most of the humor comes from characters saying or doing the weirdest thing you could possibly come up with in any given circumstance, and if that kind of humor's your bag, there's frequently a lot to enjoy in the bizarre antics of Green and Jason Lee,

Schnitzler's film has a great hook, some clever bits and well-drawn, if standard issue, characters, but is still only partly satisfying. The problem may very well be one of cultural translation.

If you can roll with these moments, the rest of the film pays off, but even with a relatively happy ending (one that, given the characters in question, may not last), it's a heck of a downer for date night.

Too bad it commits the crime of being so intensely average, because what could have been sensational turns out to be merely this week's heist movie.

It's always risky to characterize a new film as "unique," but Tuvalu, the debut feature from German director Veit Helmer, has as good a shot as any at claiming that label.

Ultimately, Hart's War can't decide what it is: treatise on racism, escape (and escapist) thriller or murder mystery. So it sits there -- and we sit there with it, waiting and waiting. And waiting.

For better or worse the movie is simply simple -- the project's quality and significance depend upon one's perspective: Is this a daring and impressive homespun yarn or just a very middling stab at soft-core?

While Brother may be the perfect introduction for Kitano newcomers, longtime fans may find it superfluous and even a step down from the likes of Hana-Bi (1997) and Sonatine (1993).

Fortunately for the brothers, when your protagonist is personified as Jack Black, you can get away with a lot.

This is mostly well-constructed fluff, which is all it seems intended to be.

An occasionally funny, but overall limp, fish-out-of-water story.

More art-directed than directed, there's nothing in the way of serious thought to be found here,

Their (Tunney and Nelson) interplay is what saves the movie, and possibly should have been expanded upon to the exclusion of the other plot points.

Moves in fits and starts, with some crafty and credible fight choreography by Xin Xin Xiong on either side of the pretty but boring middle hour.

A lacerating study of sexual alienation.

Here's a fervent, G-rated version of contemporary life in which the divine overcomes the earthly and miracles are commonplace. It's aimed squarely at the emerging Christian market.

It just doesn¹t get very good until halfway through, in large part because the usually excellent Walston is miscast.

A unique and striking film for at least the first two-thirds of its running time, after which it turns, all too sadly, predictable and mundane

When Affleck keeps getting work, the terrorists HAVE won. With blank eyes and soft features, he has none of the gravitas of his predecessors, Alec Baldwin and Harrison Ford, who saved the world with swagger. Affleck merely looks like a frat boy in over his head, which is perhaps the point.

Just barely diverting, even at under 80 minutes -- a TV episode inflated past its natural length.

Of all the A-list men playing dedicated authority figures, Star Wars alums Harrison Ford and Liam Neeson remain among the most amusing and pleasing, which is why K-19: The Widowmaker glides along engagingly rather than sinking.

Solondz's singular game plan is to dangle profoundly obnoxious caricatures before us, then punish them mercilessly for their stupidity, which is amusing enough if you're in the mood for that sort of thing.

Vera's technical prowess ends up selling his film short; he smoothes over hard truths even as he uncovers them.

Even Hartnett, designated Next Big Thing last year, seems like he's barely trying.

Highbrow self-appointed guardians of culture need not apply, but those who loved "Cool as Ice" have at last found a worthy follow-up.

Neither sensuously sizzling nor daftly off-beat, Better Than Sex occasionally rises to its own modest occasion by gently reversing our expectations.

At its best, Jurassic Park III is eerily similar to some of the more recent dinosaur-themed video games on the market.

The over-the-top sincerity that is so rewarding in "Face/Off" (1998), Woo's best American film, feels too clichéd in this more conventional context.

what we've got here is a little propaganda film. A mild one, certainly, but the cliché of DIY hopefuls (band) versus the Big Machine (music industry) foments the same tedious struggle of art versus commerce.

It's all a bit silly and predictable, but maybe that's the point.

Serendipity already feels archaic, like some dusty relic that's been unearthed from an antique store's attic and polished off for display.

It's by turns poignant and cold, twisted and sweet, dreamy and drab, effortless and overwrought. In short, the movie is a stunning, ambitious mess that leaves you wondering how much better it might have been without Kubrick's specter peering over Spielberg's heavy shoulders.

Les Destinées has a leisurely, contemplative pace without ever growing boring. Still, at the end, we are left somehow empty. For all the time we spend with these people, we never really get inside of them.

At its best, Cats & Dogs plays like a live-action Tex Avery cartoon, down to the exploding ACME dog bone; it's slapstick and slapdash, full of silly and violent nonsense worth a chuckle or two as dogs slam into glass doors and cats play dead on suburban streets.

While some of Max's pranks are exhilarating and funny -- the movie takes too long setting things up and, once the pranks are over, dawdles to its inevitable conclusion.

All the ladies get repeatedly naked, which, after all, is why you're going to go see it. And there's nothing wrong with that.

It makes as good a case as any for the use of animation as a medium for serious, mature features.

There's nothing particularly wrong with this whole setup; it's just very by-the-numbers.

The film is often moving and explores the discomfort inherent in the contacts between the American "hosts" and their "guests," but its effect is diluted by slow pacing and lengthiness.

At best, second-rate pulp, hampered by excessive length, a thematically meandering screenplay, and a general lack of excitement.

Another disposable kidnapping thriller.

The film desperately wants to play like "Three Kings," a war film with a guilty conscience, but it's too pat and familiar to earn its high-minded stripes.

Film falls into the same trap as the book: a moderately interesting setup ultimately undone by an ending that makes the audience feel like fools for investing any sympathy with the characters.

There is more anxiety than loving humor in the proceedings, and a noticeable lack of charm.

Despite the generally likable characters and the abundance of clever ideas, Lustig mucks it all up with her "trick" editing.

Sad to say, the story is simply too slight to sustain the film.

All in all, this is every inch a TV movie.

It isn't until Joe starts getting confident and cocky that Allen starts to feel a little more natural in the role, and by then the movie's plot has all but evaporated into a series of wispy gags that barely register.

On the up side, there are some genuinely funny jokes, and Oedekerk has been wise enough to keep the running time down to 82 minutes, including the eight-minute closing credit sequence (which is worth staying through its entirety). But Kung Pow! is no "What's Up, Tiger Lily?"

The muddiness of the basic concept and the thinness of its execution eventually defeat even Witherspoon's talents.

Fact is, there is nothing feloniously awful about the whole thing, but the laughs are tepid and too infrequent.

The redeeming features of All Over the Guy are the consistently engaging performances and some genuinely funny dialogue.

Few things are quite as frustrating as a film that chooses a highly controversial subject then proceeds to give it the kid-glove treatment. That's the case with writer-director James Bolton's well-made, if excruciatingly slow-paced, drama.

Little more than direct-to-vid nonsense offered by Disney at dollars on the penny to parents looking to waste time and money keeping kids occupied away from the TV screen.

Shrek isn't clever or smart. It just wants you to think it is, through wink after wink after wink.

It's a crude, visually ugly, and peculiarly over-plotted movie, but the blunt, pungent, physical shtick is often pretty funny.

Stallone's script is well structured, though the jaw-droppingly banal dialogue gives us little reason to care.

Loses significant points for its lazy story and complacent delivery.

Thankfully, the final, long action set piece, which owes a debt to "The Manchurian Candidate" among others, is free of such problems. Shiri manages to go out on its most exciting sequence. There are worse ways to go.

If only good intentions were enough to redeem a picture, perhaps ABCD would be worth a look.

Has an awkwardness that defeats whatever emotional involvement it tries to achieve.

Too bad it isn't quite funny enough to be mistaken for "Jackass."

Isn't quite as offensive as it sounds, nor is it in any way rousing; Spacey and Bridges are watchable, but nothing more.

The next time Irwin wants to make a feature, however, he should find a director who knows how.

"Center of the World" portrays a much more believable example of what happens when a computer nerd realizes that his erotic fantasies aren't the same thing as love.

The prettiest Dogme film to date may be the one that has the least to say.

Since we know most of this cast is capable of acting, one must assume they received little instruction. Even if they did, who could blame them for not listening? After all, they are dealing with a script that tries to play scenes featuring drunken ghosts with silly accents for tragedy.

This use of narrative irony is in fact not just the central joke; it's the only joke. And as a result, the movie slightly overstays its welcome.

Viewers expecting another enchanting, whimsical tale of high energy and mischievous spirits will be sorely disappointed.

The actual finale, which so betrays what's come before it that it leaves one walking out of the theater holding a grudge against what was.

Where "Twin Falls" was slow, brooding and haunting in a manner that fit the subject matter -- the imminent death of one of the principal characters -- Jackpot is just slow and uneventful, like a cross-country Greyhound bus trip that never stops.

Roberto Schaefer's cinematography keeps things visually interesting, but spending an hour and a half with a gloomy, static lunatic hardly makes for a scintillating evening out, no matter how pretty she may be.

Like hundreds of doomed movie protagonists before him, the hero of Life as a House doesn't have long to live. By the second reel, you may find yourself wishing his time on the planet was even shorter.

This is not exactly original, but Schaeffer and his cast manage to make it tolerable.

It's technically a well-made film: Chandrasekhar, who directed, gives it the look of a studio feature on a sizably smaller budget. It's just the script that betrays its cast.

The film is reasonably entertaining, though it begins to drag two-thirds through, when the melodramatic aspects start to overtake the comedy.

Never rises above the level of a 1950s-era adolescent romance novel.

It would be hard to imagine a less exciting movie. Still, inoffensiveness can sometimes lead to success, at least initially, for a family film.

Joe Morton, Linda Hunt and Kathy Bates show up in supporting roles, only to have Costner's flagging energy drag them down, too.

The cumulative effect is less thrilling than it is merely amusing.

A key problem here is that the film is adapting a short story, and, as such, has to pad it out to feature length -- it still comes in at a scant 82 minutes, about 52 minutes too long.

If you're a Basquiat fan, or were around in New York back then, you'll want to take a look. If not, this film has little to recommend.

Full of fits and starts, it never really gets going, stalling at every turn without even giving us enough of what we paid to see -- Snoop Dogg and gore.