A cheerleader spoof that starts rousingly, but ends up nearly as shallow as its easy-target subjects.

The cat-and-mouse game between the patient and doctor and the coy is-he-or-isn't-he? game being played on us by the filmmakers becomes tiring.

The jokes are wild, raunchy, surreal and dead-on.

The co-stars genuinely like each other, and their pleasure is infectious.

Oddly, almost unrelentingly, grim.

In general, movies made by improv comedy groups are hit or miss. And this one, from the Upright Citizens Brigade, misses a whole lot more than it hits.

As the story of a romantic office lump, Janice Beard resembles last year's "Bridget Jones's Diary." But it is a far, far lesser thing.

Surprisingly dull.

Director Peter Webber (“Girl With a Pearl Earring”) fills the film with conciliatory emotion and jarring vistas of post-atomic landscapes. Unfortunately, Emperor needs more good ol’-fashioned swagger.

Too bad the new actress doesn’t bring much to the party, and this “origin story” feels like leftovers.

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.

The early scenes are flashy fun, and Sturgess (handsome Jude in "Across the Universe") makes a convincing math geek. But the requisite romance and Hollywood-style ending feel as fake as the air allegedly pumped into casinos to revive flagging players

Though Civic Duty seems to be a study in paranoid psychosis, it has just enough ambiguity to make you wonder if it isn't something else. You'll still be wondering when it's all over.

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

Won't replace anyone's annual viewing of "It's a Wonderful Life." But your family could find a worse way to take a holiday break.

It's so cheerfully cheesy, you can't help but be amused.

The movie walks a tightrope between playing this misunderstood malady for laughs and sentiment.

Only Stanley Tucci seems aware of the drop-dead stupidity of the plot, and acts up a storm of high camp as the narcissistic scientist.

Under different direction, Orange County might have drawn a savvy cult audience that would appreciate the black-comedy possibilities of Shaun's idolatry of a certain writing professor (Kline), the homoerotic overtones inherent in best-buddydom and pyromania as a sexual turn-on.

There's a thin line between smart-stupid and just plain stupid, and Super Troopers walks it with ease.

Does have a sort of endearing, earnest charm. But it would take much more than good intentions to save a film that rehashes cliches and concepts so unabashedly.

Bell’s skepticism feels real, and Brody, still best known as “The OC’s” insecure Seth Cohen, is perfect as the sort of arrogantly self-deluded player we’ve all met.

The only saving grace is Green, the reigning witch-queen of cinema. The smoky-eyed French actress, best known for “Casino Royale,” “The Golden Compass” and “Dark Shadows,” throws her all into the performance, going bare-chested at times, bared-teeth at others. She’s like Elizabeth Taylor’s "Cleopatra" possessed by a succubus — which is a good thing. Without her, 300: Rise of an Empire would be bloodless and brainless.

Directors James Mather and Stephen St. Leger stage a few good action set pieces, but unlike the 1981 midnight movie classic it imitates, the blandly titled Lockout never busts out of its cheesy concept.

Like Stallone, director Walter Hill is also far from his heyday ("The Warriors," "48 HRS.," "Streets of Fire"), but the old-guy camaraderie behind the scenes is evident. Despite the movie being based on a graphic novel, no one adds extra flash here just to appease the kids.

None of it makes any sense, but it is just nutty enough to provide a few (entirely unintended) laughs.

While some documentaries are broad enough in theme and creative enough in style to attract a wide-ranging audience, others remain best-suited to a smaller group of devotees. Such is the case for Peter Rosen's biography of violinist Jascha Heifetz.

The whole thing is such a tedious, foul-mouthed mess that it isn't even worth discussing as a riff on the Bob Dylan doc "Don't Look Back" or a meditation on slovenly semi-madness.

Director Tate Taylor, who neatly wove together women’s stories in “The Help,” is out of his depth with a thriller. He fills the screen with endless close-ups but not a lick of tension.

Judd has genuine movie star magnetism -- beauty, intelligence, presence and talent to spare. In the old studio days, she'd be Ingrid Bergman by now.

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

The laughs are there, but the movie's main asset is Paltrow, mournful and always braced for the worst.

Jovovich needed a steadying hand to keep her from flying out of her socks, and Pritikin, on his maiden solo as a director, couldn't or didn't have the heart to provide it.

Neri Marcore gives a beautifully understated performance.

Despite the overlong running time, the action moves smoothly and swiftly.

It's a misguided, miscast remake of the 1974 Robert Aldrich classic.

The movie doesn't try for "Airplane!" or even "Scary Movie"-type ribbing, but its adherence to the genre isn't quite pure, either. Despite McCormack's good-natured efforts, this is "MADtv"-quality satire.

Now CDL aficionados have One Day, though it is a tedious addition to this subspecies of rom-com, despite Anne Hathaway's efforts to make us fall for her regardless of the setting.

It is a mash note from first-time filmmaker Pola Rapaport to Aury, but its attempts to dramatize passages of the book are at odds with Aury's advice that "Story of O" was a piece of writing "not meant to be spoken."

Comely Lajoie plays the part of catnip admirably, with bing cherry eyes and a Quebec accent. And as Mr. Peabody, Walter Borden gives better than the stock flamboyant roué that the role deserves.

As the couple’s life becomes more and more insular, Costanzio subtly builds the drama into suspense that’s utterly natural and smart.

A visually lavish but somewhat sterile adaptation.

While this is not exactly a hopeful movie, it's a polished exercise in the kind of social commentary that can wake people up.

As a misanthropic guy in a dead-end job, Matthew Broderick is more engaging than when he has to be perky.

It's hard to escape the feeling that what Zach Helm's directorial debut really wants to be is "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." But where Roald Dahl's story was brilliantly eccentric and respectfully unsentimental, Helm's is heavy with strained zaniness and hazy morality.

Some of the shocks are way too broad, and the enclosed perspective suggests the material would better suit a play. But Crawford radiates charisma, and Pierce sells even the nuttiest moments.

Both Tatum and Dewan know how to move, and their co-stars (including musicians Mario and Drew Sidora) are equally gifted.

Looking for plot holes? You can't miss them. But if you go in hoping for a good time, you'll find that, too.

An endearing premise and fanciful spirit aren't quite enough to rescue a film that has more heart than smarts.

The bad news about Admission is that this thin envelope of a comedy checks all the boxes for being a phoned-in, phony, padded rom-com.

When 3 Needles premiered at Toronto last year, the stories were overlapping, in the style of "Babel" but without a unifying theme. It's less cumbersome as three separate stories, but they do not add up to much.

Ya-Ya Sisterhood is so divine. It offers a world where friendship is forever, the half-empty glass is refilled and the men are perfect.

Despite catchy animation and a few intense scenes, there's simply nothing here we haven't seen before.

If ever a cast of characters needed a good dose of Prozac - or maybe just a hug - it's in this downbeat, low-budget indie.

The entire cast is fully committed to this squishily sentimental tale, which is especially impressive given that it's the kind of generic dramedy you'll swear you've seen a thousand times before.

The great David Strathairn can make any film watchable, but even he can’t save this dry dramatic thriller.

All three screenwriters either forgot or didn’t care that their heroine is 11. Even worse is when Félicie ends up dancing on tables in a bar — as in, a bar — “Coyote Ugly”-style. What? It’s not easy to take a message about taking leaps of faith from a movie that too often has two left feet.

Yelling is a prosaic look at a hard life. Like Sweetness, the movie finds its way by instinct.

The movie gets too claustrophobic, while its noble attempt to take on suffering remains laudable.

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.

Not a great movie, but it certainly does justice to the great historical event it dramatizes.

The movie doesn’t weave religion into the familiar structure of a comedy or melodrama. Instead, everything works in service to the sermon at the core. For most audience members, that will either be the primary draw or an inescapable drawback.

The film is otherwise a self-indulgent lark.

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

Night at the Museum takes a can't-miss comedy premise and misses by a country mile.

Though Mann and Perry are game, it's Efron who carries the movie.

Co-stars Parker Posey and Chris Kattan offer minor diversions, but the humor never rises to the quality any New Yorker, regardless of sexual orientation, would expect.

Unlike animated family favorites spiked with jokes for adults that go over youngsters’ heads — like “Finding Nemo” or “Up” — Rock Dog is strictly for kids.

It's the same old, same old - except with some really snappy one-liners.

It's impossible to guess why Bullock was ever attracted to this insulting role, and the eternally confident Reynolds is miscast as a young, bullied underling.

This isn’t the sort of movie that defines anyone’s career, as “Sling Blade” once did. But in an industry averse to risk, passion projects — even uneven ones — are always welcome.

If there was an iota of plausibility to any of this, we could forgive the film's greater leaps of imagination - all those break-ins of absurdly unprotected bastions of Western civilization. But this is not audience-participation suspense. All you can do is sit and watch, and wish there was more wonder.

As junky as the movie is, you've gotta love its immersion in the preposterous and its naive hope that street credibility and attitude, along with a need for speed, are all that's really necessary in this big, bad world.

The movie resembles a video game in which each victory whisks you to the next level, with slightly different antagonists and a faster pace.

A by-the-numbers tearjerker notable mostly for the most adorable little sluggers this side of the "Bad News Bears."

Not wildly imaginative, and it has a tepid mix of movie references. But the physical environment and characters make it irresistible.

The sole asset of "Bobby Long" is Johansson. Blossoming before our very eyes, she gives Pursy the combination of hope and determination that makes her journey worthwhile.

A palpable sense of environment and strong performances from Noah Wyle and musician Steve Earle can’t balance the extensive flaws in this unconvincing Appalachian melodrama.

A lot makes me uneasy about where biology and technology are going. But Great Scott! Is Morgan really the best you can do?

Like 2003's "Lizzie McGuire" movie, "Hannah" breaks little new ground but makes the big screen shift with liveliness and sense of humor impressively intact.

Bertino does an excellent job building dread, especially during the first half of the movie. Every silence, pause and sudden noise startles - and the results, frankly, are more frightening than the graphic torture scenes in movies like "Hostel" and "Saw."

You don't even have to be familiar with the first book in Rick Riordan's popular fantasy series to enjoy Chris Columbus' energetic adaptation.

To be fair, Being Charlie has some action and a few good jokes. It's not completely unwatchable. It's certainly better than Reiner's last few awful movies.

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

An earnest but undeniably eye-rolling documentary about the denizens of this odd pocket of show business.

You know this movie is French (apart from the subtitles), because everyone looks great, gets naked and later breaks into a peppy musical number about the joys of lobster and shellfish.

Like its underachieving protagonist, Steve Pink's teen comedy Accepted flashes just enough charm to get by but is too lazy to really make anything of itself.

A merry romantic comedy in the screwball tradition.

Wretch of a B movie.

The first pleasant surprise of 2003, a cross-cultural romantic comedy that doesn't stint on romance or comedy, and- - when you least expect and most need it- - throws in some jaunty musical numbers of its own.

One long camp joke, with vamped scenes strung together.

The film moves briskly enough to be entertaining, but it can't escape the smothering hero worship that Sheridan infuses into every frame.

Wenham and Porter are appealing actors, and Teplitzky's depiction of their coupling has an unflinching realism.

The movie ends on exactly the right note, but it hits a lot of bad ones on the way.

The earnest attempt at family drama doesn't benefit from the abundance of movie-of-the-week cliches.

Campion has made something that's almost unbearably pretentious.

Informative and flavorful, though lacking in surprise.

Like a fragile Provence wine left too long in the sun, Ridley Scott's romantic comedy A Good Year spoiled somewhere between the publication of Peter Mayle's novel and this cockamamie adaptation.