The all-new, mostly female Ghostbusters reboot is in theaters, full of terrific special effects, icky green slime, a horribly haunted Manhattan and, yes, the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. But the big laughs you’d expect from a "Bridesmaids" reunion of director Paul Feig and stars Kristen Wiig and Melissa McCarthy never materialize.

The opening of writer-director Eric Schaeffer's sloppy, sporadically funny adult sex comedy Never Again shows how an undisciplined filmmaker can sabotage his best intentions.

So what's the point of doing it a second time if you can't make it more realistic?

Has sentimental goo oozing from its opening frame, and the gunk gets so thick so fast, it's a wonder the projector doesn't freeze before the molasses-strapped finale.

Old monster movies were thrilling in a way that mingled terror, sexuality and a real preference for the monsters over their tormentors. Van Helsing is a kiddie adventure on an endless, meaningless loop.

When the haze wears off and the movie grounds itself in reality, it's a bummer. Until then, though, what's weird here is gloriously weird.

Ultimately about the indomitability of faith, and the Christian symbolism is laid on thick. But the story, adapted from a famous behind-the-Iron-Curtain novel, sheds light on a subject few people have known about.

With all the brooding, stylized closeups of blood, crosses and cigarettes, the overall effect is fashion-mag chic -- not, as intended, intellectual thriller.

Some moments of off-the-cuff beauty aren't enough to mask the creepy heart of Larry Clark's latest look at outcast kids.

Based on the last book in Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's award-winning trilogy, this third installment in the family-friendly "Shiloh" series is perfect for anyone who wishes "The Waltons" was still around.

The cruelty of the law has been better demonstrated with news stories, and unless you're a Californian with two strikes against you, I don't know why you'd want to do this movie to yourself.

There's a lot of potential here, and a sharper script might have made all the difference.

Director Marcus Nispel, a rock video vet making his feature debut, knows how to ratchet up the tension. His remake is a far, far better-looking thing than the original. There's also more humor, especially in the over-the-top performance of drill sergeant-turned-actor R. Lee Ermey as the loudest of the inbreds.

Eisner is not remotely up to the challenge. Spending millions on action scenes does not mean you get them right.

Hunt and, especially, Harper do excellent work rounding out sketchily-written roles. But Pardue, who offers little beyond movie-star looks, is either miscast or genuinely unable to grasp his character's intense longing and insecurity.

A cross-dressing comedy that's all dressing can only, well, leave you cross.

Austrian director Michael Sturminger's debut feature creates a visually evocative environment in which to explore some significant themes, from religious repression to Freudian guilt.

Ultimately, Murder by Numbers has been reduced to a tease, giving us a hint -- mostly through the fine performances of Gosling, who creates a charismatic sociopath, and Pitt, who's character seems genuinely troubled -- of the kind of relevant social drama it might have been.

Aa bit too familiar an American tail. [19 December 1997, p. 82]

Children may get a kick out of Flubber's lowest-common-denominator antics. They may not recognize that Williams' prodigious talent has been reduced to something sub-blobular. [26Nov1997 Pg 38]

Despite the intriguing potential, the end result is a queasy stalemate.

Aside from its relentless exploitation of a child, this minor thriller features an intriguing beginning, a middling middle and an increasingly silly end, with a multitude of red herrings going squoosh underfoot.

The first midlife crisis movie apparently made with 8-year-olds in mind, Walt Becker's Wild Hogs brings several talents together for a single, clear purpose: to pay off their mortgages.

For a movie that was advertised as the wildest bash of the year, Office Christmas Party has a few too many plotlines and not enough actual debauchery.

The deliberate simplicity that works so well at the Sullivan Street Theater seems flat, anachronistic and almost spooky on the big screen.

A sharply comic critique of corporate greed might have added to the national dialogue, but this is a series of hit-&-miss sketches.

An evocative melancholy hangs over Princesa, Henrique Goldman's intermittently affecting tale.

It’s a thriller’s job to make you jump out of your skin and Happy Death Day gets it done — on occasion.

Since the movie's sensibility ranges from the preposterous to the absurd, there are few genuine frights.

The Substitute is just engaging enough that you won't wonder until after the movie why Mr. Smith is apparently the only teacher in the entire school. [19 Apr 1996, p.65]

It neither mocks nor satirizes, it doesn't touch any social issues, and though it is about an election, there are no losers. For all those reasons, there aren't many laughs, either. Political comedy plays against tension, and there just isn't any.

It's sweet but not the least bit plausible that any kid in the mid-'80s would be surprised that along with rock 'n' roll come sex and drugs.

On the scale of modern musical adaptations, it's not a disaster of "The Producers" proportions. But it is missing the razzle-dazzle of a success like "Chicago."

It's a bit of an oddball story, but surely there was a less plodding way to elaborate on it.

Nothing fails like bad horror. But it's not despicable. It is merely boring.

Its premise had me worn out by the second reel.

Notre Musique is a cry against war and man's inherent needs for tribalism and violence, a position that wouldn't start a good argument in a college cafeteria.

Goldthwait explores his themes more thoughtfully than you'd expect, but ultimately, we know just how things will end. And what's subversive about that?

In a certain kind of indie movie, the only thing sweeter than a bad boy transformed is slow, sad tragedy. Mercy has both, which isn't good.

Just once, can't a city slicker go country and stay unchanged? Not in this sentimental 1995 Italian drama.

Almost corny enough to be hip.

Confident that his subject matter is inherently scintillating, however, Moore lays it out in creakily dry fashion. Those who consider computers to be glorified word processors may find their eyes glazing over in a matter of minutes.

Really bad movies can be fun, and the dialogue here often attains a level of joyful inanity.

Hart's War has its priorities clear, but delivers them with insulting simplicity.

A prime reason to see this, if you don't mind some really screechy acting by some of the supporting players and insipid metaphors for love and commitment, is its parade of fine flesh, both male and female.

Rent the original. It tells exactly the same story, with a better cast and with special effects that are as good or better.

Less a documentary than an unshaped document, this haphazard collection of interviews with Iraqi insurgents is both enlightening and frustrating.

It's an increasingly rare pleasure to see two naturally aging adults onscreen, and it's not exactly hard work to watch this still-gorgeous pair fall in love.

The Rock commits himself admirably to this trite tale, but by the end, even his enormous shoulders buckle under the weight of so many clichés.

You know a comedy's in trouble when the only laughter the audience can hear is coming from the speakers. There are other problems with "Man," notably its abrupt shifts from farce to romantic comedy to suspense thriller, and the near absence of a political edge.

Would be better if it weren't so preachy.

What Fast Times at Ridgemont High has is an attractive, personable cast, a bunch of young actors who are very easy to like. What it doesn't have is a clear point of view, something that would make it of more interest than leafing through a high school yearbook. Its final sequence, for instance, could just as easily come in the middle of the movie for all the relation it bears to what goes on before.

A climbing thriller whose plot may be on thin ice but whose action sequences are stunning.

Though a stickler might ask what's at stake in a fight to the death between two guys who are already dead, the hard-core fans aren't likely to be disappointed.

Despite its desperate attempts to appeal to every possible age group, there is no obvious audience for this movie.

A sexy crime story. The double-crossing complications don't make much sense, but it's fun to watch Wilson turn the hard-boiled dialogue into a series of ironic one-liners under the hot Oahu sun.

What is meant to be an innovative, cutting-edge musical melodrama is so jumbled, irrational and amateurish that it makes dinner theater look like the Old Vic.

A draggy shaggy-dog story about a poor Jewish girl's painfully slow emotional awakening. The movie is 145 minutes long, so by the time Esther's awake, the audience may not be as lucky.

We've seen this story before, and the thrill is gone.

Nothing if not original.

A guy flick, but I can't imagine many male viewers actually identifying with Elliot or his friends. The depression would be unbearable.

Flunks the freshness test.

Despite the movie's darker tone, there's still room for humor when you have rooms full of diplomats and scientists discussing how to contend with a "giant unidentified creature."

Hawke, who is very good as the young man's estranged father, had best stick to what he does best.

As Ryan, Evans attempts to graduate from "Not Another Teen Movie"-type fare to more adult stuff. He holds his own, but he has no edge.

The subtitle of this interview/documentary about the late, great French photojournalist should be "For Collectors Only." There is no theme, no point, no history, no illuminating insights - it's just Bresson talking about his individual photos and early sketches.

The setting and circumstances of the war overwhelm the personal story and diminish the dilemma of the title character's love life.

Marsden's natural charisma is totally wasted in an unlikable role, while Burns doesn't even try to hide his boredom.

Stooping to low-rent laffs By ELIZABETH WEITZMAN SPECIAL TO THE NEWS Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore & Eileen Essel (on floor) DUPLEX. With Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore. Directed by Danny DeVito. Running time: 88 mins. Rated PG-13: Slapstick violence, gross-out humor. There are people who can look at a creaky, crumbling house and home right in on the solid framework and fabulous fireplace. In "Duplex," Ben Stiller is the fireplace. As for the structure, well, this rather rickety comedy boasts a solid base, though sadly, too much of it has been plastered over with moldy jokes and leaky plot devices.

Unfortunately, the patina of witty satire eventually gives way to a gratuitous sadism that makes this sordid story feel like a fraud.

Together, they (Winslet/Elba) share warm chemistry. But that’s not enough to melt eye-rolling exposition or predictable twists you see coming — even in a whiteout — a mile away.

My rule of thumb for manipulative movies: I don't mind playing the marionette as long as the strings aren't visible.

A predictable outcome is not bad if it's fun getting to it. But this story is so lamely conceived and presented that it's a grind.

The lone gem of the anthology takes place in the loft of a trendy L.A. restaurant where a snooty Steve Coogan learns from starstruck Alfred Molina that the actors are cousins...This is the longest of the shorts, and has a payoff ending that nearly makes the whole thing worthwhile.

It was against all odds that Michael Mann ("The Insider") would make a boring movie focusing on the most eventful decade in the life of the most dynamic athlete in history. But that's what he has achieved with Ali.

Sometimes, movies would work better if you couldn't see them.

Eerie, opaque and unblinkingly sadomasochistic.

The script, which is rarely smart and barely scary, offers little more than a checklist of panic-inducing plagues, from locusts to boils to bad Southern accents.

It loses some of its warmth, and most of its charm. And it ends up as nearly as cold and creepy as the space it takes us through.

Both lightweight and heavy-handed, Carl Bessai's arthouse drama can't even be redeemed by Ian McKellen's sensitive turn in the title role.

The result is a long night of confrontations that feel heavily rehearsed and unlikely. There are some good moments, but I didn't believe any of this.

The idea that every animated feature from Disney is an instant classic officially springs a leak with the noisily disappointing Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

Pulse works as a hypnotic meditation on contemporary alienation. Traditional horror fans, however, will search in vain for signs of life.

Never quite knows where it's going - which is especially frustrating, since it takes such a long and painful path to get there.

A lame buddy-cop movie that squanders stars De Niro and Eddie Murphy as it races from one cliche to the next, blithely unconcerned with whether anything parses.

The studio's fresh corps of CG animators may get up to speed before the current four-picture cycle is completed, but if they don't get better material to work with, the sky will be falling along Dopey Drive.

Some terrific characters and some of the year's punchiest comic dialogue.

Thanks to director Wayne Wang ("The Joy Luck Club"), there are also artistic touches that keep this movie from sticking to the roof of the mouth the way peanut butter does to Opal's pet.

Sillier than it is clever, and Toback's self-indulgence is tiresome. He's a genuine auteur, all right, but his life and the funky tastes that inspire him are just not as interesting as he thinks they are.

Machado establishes a realistically seamy environment for his erotic triangle, and there are some surprisingly tender moments amid the squalor.

Granted, this movie is unlikely to threaten "The Departed" at Oscar time. But for mindless entertainment, you could do a lot worse.

The crime isn't that the movie's message is amoral, but that it goes totally unexamined, as if the recess bell rang too early.

The Czech Republic and Russia, the respective homes of Emil and Oleg, should sue.

It's a perfectly acceptable short-term baby-sitter. Just make sure the original gets a fair viewing first.

Director George Gallo seems so enamored of Martin Scorsese's Mafia classic, he's borrowed everything from the use of voiceover to the Stones-centric soundtrack to the insistent editing style. What's missing, alas, is the artistry.

Should have been either darker or funnier. Or both.

All we get is the Oedipal nightmare of a mom, the flaky teddy-bear fanatic, the sexual vampire, and on and on.

There are some very moving scenes, and Ankilewitz' emotional and physical strength is certainly inspiring. Equally compelling is the dedication of his able-bodied friends and family, who never patronize him. Regrettably, the film itself, which feels both breathlessly over-awed and padded out at only 74 minutes, is unable to treat him with the same relaxed respect.