It's inspiring and consistently exciting to the eye, mind and heart, as the plentiful formations -- global, but most of these English -- stimulate the imagination with their incredible beauty and complexity. Marvelous work all round.

The whole thing is best enjoyed while really drunk.

As a gallery of the grotesque, however, the cinematic equivalent of a Joe Coleman painting or Adam Parfrey publication, The Salton Sea is a blast.

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.

There is nothing particularly interesting about either the people or the situations. Barrial might as well have filmed ANY body.

Evolution is merely stale, sterile and, worst of all, safe.

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.

Not strong enough to stomach this leather-clad jerk-off session, which Miramax dumped onto Paramount in a rare case of common sense.

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.

Marsh's flat-footed recitation of Believe It or Not crimes grows tedious, and his condescension to present-day citizens of the town (implying they're as grotesque and doomed as ever) rings false.

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

Its most redeeming quality is that it's so inoffensive parents can feel OK about taking kids.

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

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

Those expecting the quick wit and inventiveness of the television series will certainly be disappointed.

The film belongs to Jordan Brower, whose every appearance breaks one's heart, and makes some otherwise familiar material come alive.

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

You can see all the jokes and heart-tugs coming a mile away. But writer Joseph A. Ciota and director Frank Ciota have a light touch. And they have a real find in their leading man, Eddie Malavarca.

Not just another disposable romantic comedy, but an ambitious, overreaching mess.

This movie is every bit the mess its title makes it sound.

Loses significant points for its lazy story and complacent delivery.

Marshall is the very definition of a hack; his one and only desire is to play to the lowest common denominator. This is the secret of his success: He aspires to mediocrity. With Runaway Bride, he has scored another bull's-eye.

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 beasts are employed to splendid metaphorical effect, which may be lost on viewers perceiving nothing but an action romp.

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

Amid a rather routine plot and standard cop-show stylings -- just doesn't add up to much entertainment value.

Resnick has crafted an ambitious, if extremely uneven, character study.