When Robert De Niro, Clive Owen and Jason Statham unite for an action thriller, we should be able to expect something special. Or at least memorable. Instead, Killer Elite gives us ordinary.

This often haunting stop-motion Claymation movie ultimately suffers from what bedevils many live-action movies culled from short stories: a herky-jerky plot.

Just like the character of Conrad, the movie coasts on confidence without ever proving it has a soul.

The manic energy of Kevin Hart is, surprisingly, toned down in The Wedding Ringer. Which may account for almost the entire first half of this wannabe-raucous buddy movie being laugh-free.

This two-bit echo of "The Accidental Tourist" is a preachy pill that wastes the genial, funny Jeff Daniels and the criminally underused Lauren Graham.

Overly analytical, cutesy comedy-drama.

The biggest fault is that comparatively little attention is given to the monsters.

There’s atmosphere here, but nothing else.

The 12-year-old boys who go to see ParaNorman - and who are the only ones who might enjoy it - should double up on the sugary treats to stay awake during this gorgeous-looking but zombi-fied stop-motion animated creep show. It's as slow as a corpse, and half as interesting.

Though Cooper deserves credit for pushing beyond his comfort zone, he's clearly miscast in a role better suited to a young unknown.

Refn's version was successful enough to inspire two sequels; at its best, this effort will push Coyle's career a little further along in the U.S.

If characters talking to dogs and dog reaction shots are some of your favorite things, add some stars to this review.

African Cats, while often adorable and at times gripping, is more of a TV-ready experience.

Kurt Cobain, TicketMaster and the tragic concert in Roskilde, Denmark, are addressed through plentiful backstage footage. If only it was about something other than rockers almost irked they got famous.

An oblique, by-design and frustrating drama, Claire Denis’ film about a man’s mysterious suicide and its repercussions is creepy, but finally too vague.

Barrymore is a delicious opportunity to watch the great Christopher Plummer perform the role that won him a second Tony Award. But it's also a lesson in the pitfalls of personality-based minimalism. While Plummer acts his heart out, the script becomes one punchline after another.

It's like torture, though Body of Lies has nothing to spill.

Statham could do these movies in his sleep by now, so he gets credit for offering up so much dry wit. In fact, while Rudakova makes a painful acting debut, Statham appears more engaged than he has in a while.

The result isn't deadly dull, but it does turn what should have been a most dangerous game into a basic scenery-chewing contest.

It’s all too much. Frankie & Alice has multiple problems it can’t get past.

If director Rob Reiner’s AARP-aimed comedy stumbles on several fronts, at least it provides a stage for some seasoned pros to strut their stuff.

Long before your 140 minutes are up, you may wish you went to see "Sparkle" instead.

The Giver was ahead of its time as a book. But as a movie, it’s too late.

Comes upon a few quirky solutions and movie-ripoff scares before settling into a kind of coma.

There's noise and movement, an all-out war, and the usual happy ending, but no real blood, no real life. And not much fun.

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

While Messina and Ireland are fine company, writer-director Matt Ross' conceit tires you out.

You know how sometimes you have to listen to the boring problems of acquaintances you don't really like? And all the while, you're silently wondering if you remembered to pay your rent? Well, writer/director Alan Hruska has very kindly recreated that experience for us all.

The actors are in good form, but McFarland, USA can’t find its footing.

How many times do these guys need to hear that crime doesn’t pay?

The movie devolves into a series of clichéd bits, none of which are that funny.

Apocalyptic visions are no longer enough to shock us. By this point, if you want to imagine the end of the world, you really need to say something new about it.

Inside the endlessly dull, oh-so-serious All I See Is You there’s a short, fun, trashy movie dying to get out. And dying. And dying.

The CGI — mostly Evans transforming into fightin’ bats — look muddy and cheap, but the weapons, Turkish helmets and Romanian interiors are all gorgeous. If only the rest of this “Lord of the Rings” wanna-be were at the same level.

This dull thriller wastes the potential of Nicole Kidman and Colin Firth.

The movie may critique its antihero, but it also offers just one more venue in which he's allowed to wallow - while we pay his way.

As an acting symposium, this is 83 minutes of Tucci exercises; never a bad thing. The wooden Eve does her best, but director/writer Neil LaBute unfortunately underwrote her character — by design, it would seem, given all that transpires.

Schaeffer thickens the general air of narcissism by directing Parker's Lucy essentially as a female version of himself, with the same puckish sense of humor and undertone of self-pity. Stiller's Bwick is an entertaining invention, an art-world variation on The-Artist-Formerly-Known-as-Prince though he, too, turns out to be mainly a foil to Joe's wonderfulness. Clearly, Eric Schaeffer has at least one really big fan. [8 March 1996, p.40]

Focused mostly on one location, the cartoon is stuffed with exhausting visual mayhem. Some jokes land, but most kids over 10 will roll their eyes.

It never stops for a minute, yet it never goes anywhere. And much as it promises to take you to a thousand planets, it can’t find one sign of intelligent life.

Towards the end, you might find yourself thinking, "Well, this could have been worse." And you'll mean it as a compliment.

The sort of movie that’s not good enough to embrace, but not quite bad enough to dismiss.

Alexandre Aja’s supernatural thriller Horns isn’t an entirely successful movie. But with a committed Daniel Radcliffe in the lead, it’s a consistently intriguing one.

The movie shows the city as both an intimidating and enticing place for new arrivals, but ultimately gets bogged down in the cliched split destinies and intentions of its main characters.

Words and story are still the lifeblood of a movie, and Jennifer's Body is filled like a Twinkie with half-fleshed-out ideas.

Only the extremely naive will be shocked, shocked by director Morgan Spurlock's dissection of product placement in movies.

It's always dispiriting to see an ideal subject given shallow treatment, and one spends most of this documentary wishing a more experienced director had made it.

Intellectually intriguing but sadly dull biopic.

The central metaphor of dance, though, is forced, a standard-issue cliché about dancing away problems.

The movie can’t decide if it’s a drama about homophobia, a horror-tinged thriller or psychological surrealism. The cross-pollination makes for some nice-looking scenes. Ultimately, though, there’s a crop failure.

While foodies are sure to feel sated by the gastronomic splendors of Paul Lacoste's debut documentary, others may walk out with a strange sense of emptiness.

This overly twee, morbidly cute romance initially digs up the ageless "Harold and Maude" as a touchstone before it slips the coils of watchability.

The result is far too high-and-mighty to truly be moving.

This sweet if limited film has an agreeable attitude.

Strong performances and understated cinematography help balance the self-conscious editing, but ultimately the entire affair feels false.

If ever a thriller were to inspire a collective "eh," it's got to be The Roommate. It's not a good movie, by any means, but it's also not bad enough to have fun hating on.

Instead of ever getting truly "Magnificent," these multicultural gunslingers remain largely a meh seven.

Liberal Arts is at its most nauseating when we hear Jesse and Zibby read their oh-so-self-aware love letters.

Houston does his best with an unlikable character, and the young actors are appealing enough to keep us watching. The movie itself, however, is a mess.

It's a shame, but perhaps no surprise, that Niederhoffer was unable to transfer her astute vision to the big screen.

After a clever start, Spurlock turns self-serious, aiming to teach us something about our enemies and ourselves.

Unfocused and underwhelming.

Dominic Cooper gives a riveting dual performance in The Devil's Double, but the movie is a relentless one-note drama that loses its momentum halfway through.

Anyway. Here's what matters: The dance scenes are great. While no more revolutionary than the "political" plotline, the flash-mob concept does allow for more creative choreography than this series has seen in some time.

A formula movie that is way beneath Murphy's talents.[17 Jan 1997, p.45]

Close and McTeer, an evenly matched odd-couple pairing, keep it real. They do the heavy lifting, and are utterly enchanting, whether in bonnets or boots.

The script is a mess, built on lazy clichés, stilted jokes and easy payoffs. What the movie does have, though, is enthusiasm.

Boredom is the very basis of this sequel, at least at the beginning.

Pitch Perfect 2 follows the same template as part one, but it’s unmemorable.

The jokes in Warner Bros.'s new animated flick mostly fall flat, the characters are largely unlovable and the simplistic plot expects more from its audience than it gives.

The performances range wildly from high (Banderas) to low (Birgitte Hjort Sørensen as Jacq’s pregnant wife) to you-must-be-kidding (Melanie Griffith as both a scientific genius and a prostitute android).

It’s a shame to see both actor and director play things so safe. Not only is much of the choreography reminiscent of their better films, but they rely too much on digital effects. Instead, we should be awed solely by the sight of a first-rate fighter.

It's up to you to decide if his oddly artsy vision, which pulls in first-person perspectives, surreal memories and highbrow cinematic references, suggests interesting ambition or misplaced pretension.

Story and his four screenwriters don’t exactly strain themselves to find a new angle in this mismatched buddy comedy. Picture “Rush Hour,” and then imagine Hart as the annoying kid in “Are We There Yet?” You’ve basically just watched the entire movie in your head.

Has some nice moments, but it feels very much like a first film. The pacing is off, and the cast members appear to be acting in completely different projects.

Sometimes these characters say things worth hearing. But too often, and in contrast to her first feature, "Me and You and Everyone We Know," July's calculated delivery doesn't reveal the profundity required to elevate it beyond a self-conscious deadpan.

Writer-director Hannah Fidell’s somber drama of an illicit romance earns credit for being a serious discussion of a tabloid-rich topic, but the movie runs out of places to go.

It's over the top, and over the rainbow. But just like Carrie's worries about the "sparkle" leaving her marriage, this movie is like once-brilliant Champagne, carelessly left out overnight. And gone flat.

But the real problem is that the picture feels padded. There are endless, and pointless, scenes of radio hosts debating the vigilante violence. And the wildly mismatched shoot-outs — every criminal Kersey goes up against is slow, stupid and a lousy shot — waters down the thrills.

An inferior retread of Marshall's equally contrived "Valentine's Day," only dressed up with coats and confetti.

At the very least, it does provide an easy excuse to sit in a heated room eating popcorn.

The only truly ugly side to this self-consciously grimy movie is the streak of Neanderthal humor. Operatic overacting is funny. Racist and homophobic jokes? Not so much.

This doc, made by Kunstler's daughters Emily and Sarah, doesn't pretend to be unbiased, but it nonetheless has an unblinking view of its subject. They must have learned a thing or two from dad.

Strong acting all ’round helps, but unfortunately this is just a slow ride to nowhere.

A painfully flat spoof of the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion.

A plodding, contrived Christmas tale that wastes the talents of his well-known cast.

In a town as status-conscious as Hollywood, the embarrassment of two "Garfield" movies on your résumé must sting like the Dickens.

For a much better film about a similar story, rent "The World's Fastest Indian," with Anthony Hopkins on a motorcycle.

Larry offers enough scatological humor to fertilize the wheat fields in the star's home state of Nebraska.

The movie is full of puzzling celebrity cameos, as if Brazilian director Bruno Barreto called in all his chits.

It's not unusual for a Henry Jaglom film to fall into a black hole of narcissism, but he has outdone himself with his latest, a satire on Hollywood's unshakable self-absorption.

Every ounce of comedy is so forced and full-on ridiculous that when characters express even a smidgen of sentiment, it feels like a parody. That's because nothing in "Fatboy" feels real.

With so little action or even insight, Marathon is far too long at only 74 minutes. Perhaps for the sequel, we can come along as Gretchen watches paint dry.

A record number of movie cliches are strung together for the otherwise forgettable boot-camp drama Annapolis.

Possibly the worst idea for a movie this century.

The film does deserve credit for juggling difficult racial and class issues - but with a wacky score, cute puppies and silly side stories also jockeying for space, Bamford's best intentions tumble to a heap long before the movie ends.

While it's visually stunning, the pretentiousness makes it hard to take seriously.

Juices up the visuals with fancy camerawork and split screens, but it can't distract enough from the vulgarity of the material.