Apart from some irritating and redundant camera tricks early on in the film, director Blair Treu plays it white-bread straight, delivering an uncommonly inoffensive, after-school-special-style teen flick.

Its bawdy honesty eventually gives way to convention, sentimentality and a frustratingly silly ending.

Even dumber than Perry's "Three to Tango," this latest sitcommy exercise is sporadically funny in spite of itself -- and not quite as dreadful as you would suspect.

Staggers between flaccid satire and what is supposed to be madcap farce.

A sensual performance from Abbass buoys the flimsy story.

Williams triumphs by exceeding both in sheer actor's craft - and the depths he plumbs in his character's tortured soul.

So unremittingly awful that labeling it a dog probably constitutes cruelty to canines.

Surprisingly smart and satisfying.

A lush, genteel romance of the Merchant-Ivory school that qualifies as a guilty pleasure -- largely because of the unexpected chemistry between its improbably matched leads, Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Eckhart.

The plot is thin as consomme, and the thudding score is distracting, but the heartfelt storytelling and Michael Bertl's disarming cinematography make this a food film to savor.

"Schindler's List" it ain't, and the whole is rendered occasionally surreal by Janusz Stoklosa's laughably heavy-handed score.

Veteran French star Michel Piccoli is superb as an aging actor named Gilbert Valence.

This wonderful party of a movie, as totally original as its hero, stamps on a smiley face that will linger for hours.

This is an egotistical endeavor from the daughter of horror director Dario Argento (a producer here), but her raw performance and utter fearlessness make it strangely magnetic.

Pumped-up, dumbed-down Bond, with tattoos instead of brains.

It's an intriguing setup, filled with colorful characters, lots of humor and well-developed scenes.

With its endless takes of characters silently waiting, say, or getting out of bed, this is the kind of film that can be seen only after a full night's sleep. But it is also clever, funny and sometimes moving.

A comedy as black as the asphalt desert of a mall parking lot.

Has enough heart and smarts to recommend it as one of the season's worthier family entertainments.

You can't get much more perverse than asking Julia Roberts to wear fright wigs, do her own frumpy makeup and costumes -- and then shoot her scenes in eyeball-gougingly ugly digital video.

It wouldn't matter so much that this arrogant Richard Pryor wannabe's routine is offensive, puerile and unimaginatively foul-mouthed if it was at least funny.

Walking a tightrope between high farce and emotional truth, writer-director Gabriele Muccino's breathlessly paced Italian comedy The Last Kiss manages to stay just this side of melodrama.

A beautifully crafted, white-knuckle, roller-coaster ride of old-school filmmaking -- the kind that believes that the less you show, the better.

No one but a convict guilty of some truly heinous crime should have to sit through The Master of Disguise, an unbearably tedious and unfunny comedy.

While it is interesting to witness the conflict from the Palestinian side, Longley's film lacks balance (there's nothing from the Israeli perspective) and fails to put the struggle into meaningful historical context.

Like some of Hitchcock's films, the story - adapted from a novel by Charlotte Armstrong, an American mystery writer of the '40s and '50s - can be accused of stretching credibility and coincidence almost to the breaking point.

A compelling portrait of a matchless man, who's still going strong at 72.

The concert footage is stirring, the recording sessions are intriguing, and -- on the way to striking a blow for artistic integrity -- this quality band may pick up new admirers.

There's nothing particularly startling or new in the script by Siegel and his co-writers Lisa Bazadona and Grace Woodard - except that it, refreshingly, draws its characters in real-life shades of gray.

It's almost worth the price of admission to see Allen paying homage to "Singin' in the Rain" in the final sequence. Almost.

Two stars for adults -- 3 stars for kids. The under-5 set should take to The Country Bears like bears to honey - even if anyone much older will find this broad-as-a-barn-door Disney musical bear-ly tolerable.

Uneven, self-conscious but often hilarious spoof.

Still worth watching for Dong Jie's performance -- and for the way it documents a culture in the throes of rapid change.

Deserves high marks for political courage but barely gets by on its artistic merits.

It's all entertaining enough, but don't look for any hefty anti-establishment message in what is essentially a whip-crack of a buddy movie that ends with a whimper.

A lot more stupid action - and a lot less heart - than the character-driven original, as Stuart ends up rescuing Margalo from Falcon.

With uncommon ineptitude even by the standards of contemporary action flicks, Kyle's script submerges the inherently dramatic tale of the K-19 under a pile of clichés, while failing to tell you enough about the characters for their actions to make much sense.

Short and sweet, small and smart, Tadpole is the oasis in the desert of dopey summer blockbusters - an uproarious, sophisticated coming-of-age comedy so flawlessly written, acted and directed it seems practically miraculous.

A sometimes eye-opening, if overlong, German-Swiss documentary on a holistic health system that's been practiced, mostly in India, for more than 500 years.

Indeed, for all its jokiness, this isn't the film for anyone who suffers from even the mildest fear of ugly, scuttling, jumping creatures with spindly, furry legs that have a habit of hiding in your shoes.

An atmospheric and subtly engrossing relationship saga, which wowed the critics when it played on British TV and is just now getting a theatrical release.

Possibly the most unintentionally hilarious film since Ed Wood's "Plan 9 from Outer Space," Steve Irwin's big-screen debut is destined to become an instant cult classic.

If you're starved for on-screen nudity and sex garnished with art-film trappings -- The price you'll pay is putting up with the director's relentless Euro-pretension, manifested in a tediously contrived plot crammed with absurd coincidences, clunky symbolism and soap-operatic melodrama.

It strains belief that nuclear weapons couldn't kill off the dragons, but three people with crossbows could.

Paved with such good intentions and talent that it's sad to report this lavishly mounted gangster epic - the most serious-minded Hollywood film of the season - doesn't come close to living up to expectations.

Bank's discursive but oddly riveting documentary, Last Dance, offers a glimpse of what was probably the most important, and conceivably the most bitterly contested, collaboration in Pilobolean history.

Kicks into high gear in its final 45 minutes, when the singer's fans descend on one of her concerts. It's worth the wait.

Purists will probably have a conniption at the mere idea of messing with the form, but the worst thing about Jacquot's post-modern treatment is that its incongruity wrenches you out of the story.

It's so devoid of joy and energy it makes even "Jason X" - a recent attempt to prolong the rival "Friday the 13th" slasher franchise - look positively Shakesperean by comparison.

Clayburgh is the most dignified thing about this dreadfully overwrought, often preposterous romantic comedy.

Nearly stolen by the veteran Stamp's gently fatuous John.

Covers three years in the Public Defender's office with a fast-paced, tabloid gusto.

It too often looks and feels like a high-concept home movie, thanks to cinematography that's crude and ugly even by the standards of documentary video. But Group is also a remarkably believable piece of improvised theater.

Though it boasts excellent performances by Anna Friel and Michelle Williams as bosom buddies whose lives meander over three decades, it plods on with a wearying predictability and some truly terrible dialogue.

Isn't just scary, charming and delightfully unpredictable - it's also smarter and subtler than any new movie out there.

So eager to please, it practically licks you in the face.

Unfortunately, the vehicle chosen for the corn-rowed cutie's Hollywood coming-out party is pretty lame.

A devastating indictment of unbridled greed and materalism, made all the more relevant by the Enron and WorldCom scandals.

When the Powerpuff Girls blink those soulful dinner-plate peepers, you could forgive them anything - even their movie's wafer-thin excuse for a plot.

If you like your language blue and your humor coarse, Margaret Cho is for you.

The film is almost worth seeing just for the extraordinary scene in which a stark naked Mortimer has her movie star lover (Dermot Mulroney) deliver an exhaustive critique of her body's flaws.

Psst! Wanna vicariously experience a consciousness-raising LSD trip and watch Sarah Michelle Gellar star in some explicit sex scenes?

Indulgent, tedious documentary.

The story is also engaging and hip enough to make it a far easier sit for parents. And it's hard not to like a hero who takes public transportation to a showdown with the bad guy.

Sporadically funny, dumbed-down version.

The movie, directed by Mick Jackson, leaves no cliché unturned, from the predictable plot to the characters straight out of central casting.

I laughed harder at Pumpkin than at any other film I've seen this year -- but be warned: This dark campus comedy is not for all tastes, or probably even most tastes.

Weatherford and Murphy lead a young and bright cast. All in all, Money Buys Happiness shows that Lachow is a director worth keeping an eye on.

It's all so insincere, you can almost imagine the filmmakers rubbing their hands together at the prospect of ripping off the public.

Lacking quite the zip and zing of "Run Lola Run," this lively indie tale of a drug deal gone awry could be alternately titled "Walk Fast Bobby Walk Fast."

Far more interesting and intelligent than anything coming out of the studios. It fairly brims with superb performances by a terrific cast - you simply can't take your eyes off the female leads, Edie Falco and Angela Bassett.

The film - dimly lit and with an ominous soundtrack that verges on overkill - is largely a showcase for the heavy-lidded Renner.

Kicks off with an inauspicious premise, mopes through a dreary tract of virtually plotless meanderings and then ends with a whimper.

A heart-pounding experience that makes you think and contains a gallery of characters that will haunt your nightmares for years to come.

Drawing inspiration from anime and vintage Looney Toons, this beautifully drafted, offbeat charmer is hip, funny - and a bona fide heart tugger for the whole family.

A misleadingly bland title for a gripping documentary.

The character of ZigZag is not sufficiently developed to support a film constructed around him.

Gets pinned down in a barrage of schmaltz, cliché, stereotype and racial condescension - not to mention a historically dubious premise.

Infused with the hazy golden glow of nostalgia and unfolds at a leisurely pace, reminiscent of "The Virgin Suicides."

Alan Taylor ("Palookaville"), an American, directs with a playful touch, and Denmark's Hjejle is far more assured acting in English here than she was in "High Fidelity."

A lean, deftly shot, well-acted, weirdly retro thriller that recalls a raft of '60s and '70s European-set spy pictures. There are even moments when you hope it could turn into a modern "Charade."

See it only for Paul Bettany's performance.

This excruciating adaptation of the innocuous '70s cartoon show makes the film version of "Josie and the Pussycats" look sophisticated by comparison.

While the performances are often engaging, this loose collection of largely improvised numbers would probably have worked better as a one-hour TV documentary.

Contains all the clichés of the post-prison genre -- but it has some redeeming qualities.

There is much more suspense in this sequence than a similar scene in last week's "The Sum of All Fears" -- which wasn't intended to be funny.

Behind the glitz, Hollywood is sordid and disgusting. Quelle surprise!

Endearingly offbeat romantic comedy with a great meet-cute gimmick.

Khouri seems never to have met a "chick flick" cliché she didn't like, from the ubiquity of emotional telephone conversations to the lachrymose (but entirely predictable and dramatically flabby) reconciliation at the end.

A rare film that depicts a skinny male in a relationship with a plus-size woman. And, small wonder, Brittain's sweet charisma makes her the most lovable big woman on screen since Lynn Redgrave in "Georgy Girl."

It is an important, thoroughly bewitching work of art.

It's a worthy idea, but the uninspired scripts, acting and direction never rise above the level of an after-school TV special.

You just know something terrible is going to happen. But when it does, you're entirely unprepared

A moribund attempt to exhume the Jack Ryan techno-thriller franchise with a severely miscast Ben Affleck, is truly the 20-megaton bomb among this summer's blockbusters.

Boisterously amusing.

A gentle comedy, brimming with hope and faith in human resilience.

Too-convenient coincidences hurt the movie's credibility. A melodramatic script best left to cable TV doesn't help, either.

Coppola sure knows his late-'60s cinema and he's meticulous in reconstructing the style of the era.