Plays like a knockoff of Michael Bay's already derivative and much more fun "Bad Boys," only with even less plot. It also recalls the worst qualities of John Singleton's mean-spirited "Shaft."

Lansdown has a pretty good score by Atli Orvarsson... Nope, nothing else nice to say.

Nowhere near as bad as distributor New Line seems to think.

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

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.

A turgid, unfunny, out-of-time rockspolitation movie.

Utilizing lots of complicated, well-choreographed steadicam shots, La Salle directs with confidence -- this may yet be his true calling.

Turns out some folks just don't know Philip K. Dick about making movies.

Anyone who expects a little drama with their screen sex will have to go elsewhere.

As a whole it's vibrant, witty and richly detailed.

The dumbest thing this side of a lobotomy.

It took five men to concoct the hackneyed plot and conceive the brainless jokes that constitute Not Another Teen Movie, meaning there are five men in Los Angeles right now still trying to wash that stink off their soft, idle hands.

It's utterly frustrating: What could and should have been biting and droll is instead a tepid waste of time and talent.

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.

If you like stuff breaking in THX, Swordfish delivers like no other this year. Bring earplugs.

It's Tommy's job to clean the peep booths surrounding her, and after viewing this one, you'll feel like mopping up, too.

Goes by relatively swiftly and painlessly, despite the completely ragtag nature of its construction, but there is not an inspired moment in it.

It's hard not to warm to a film that features William Shatner (playing himself) looking at De Niro's character and complaining about what a lousy actor he is.

The overall film is hideously grating, thanks to an inconsistent look, animated titles all over the place, excessive explanatory commentary and abrasive R&B videos inserted throughout.

History buffs will find this film lacking, and it isn't really deep enough to educate the rest of us as thoroughly as it should.

Say what you want about Hollywood losing its way in recent years, there's something beautiful about moviemakers who paint themselves into corners this tight.

This wry and surprisingly high-gloss production brings back the good stuff: zombies, latex body parts, screaming women on altars, errant eyeballs, and guys with no necks trying to eat burritos.

Since the movie arrives and succeeds as entertaining B-movie fare, we may as well appreciate all of its howls, beastly or unintentional.

When emotion is called for, Cassavetes drags out every tear-jerking moment beyond the point of tolerability.

Boll uses a lot of quick cutting and blurry step-printing to goose things up, but dopey dialogue and sometimes inadequate performances kill the effect.

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

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

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.