Technically, the film isn’t terribly exciting: talking heads interspersed with shots of young people making their symbolic “leap of faith” from the walls. But the directors have chosen eloquent interviewees, and the passionate attachment they feel for their city gives the film heart.

The races of Trading Paint, however, are as exciting as a Ford Taurus trying to parallel park.

A campy, low-budget Romero homage that's badly in need of editing.

Annoying.

The film is clearly an unfinished work and one that feels like a ragged assemblage of parts from at least two entirely different movies all with the same cast.

That Eulogy has any laughs is largely a testament to the understated Romano -- he and Deschanel are the only ones in the cast who aren't straining to be funny.

It's unfortunate that director Whitney Sudler-Smith seems to have spent more time on his own hair than his interview prep.

Eckhart’s another matter. He’s adequate, but there is something about his raspy voice and WASPy body language that’s more in tune with being the bad guy at the board meeting than the hero racing through the train station.

Deadly dull.

A goofy, low-budget, predictable and totally entertaining Z-grade splatter-comedy, which deserves a long life (or, should we say, undeath) on the college midnight-movie circuit.

Nesting is a sitcom, but a really slow and dull one that barely grinds out 22 minutes' worth of plot to fill a 90-minute hole.

The geniuses behind the new film just don’t understand the difference between genuine subversiveness and pointless vulgarity.

“Love Hurts” is only 83 minutes long. “Hurrah!,” you say before it starts. But the film feels endless because the story is such a chore to follow.

Dull yet contrived drama.

Nutty? Maybe. But a pungent blast of the cinema du bonkers is just what this summer's multiplexes need after weeks of bromide-stuffed retreads that are as smug about their lack of originality as packs of teen girls who dress exactly alike. Mock Jonah Hex if you must, but you can't say you've seen a lot of other supernatural Westerns lately.

Your heart will have you cheering Gordy on -- even as your brain complains that there are plot holes you could drive a truck bomb through.

Thanks to (Douglas), Diamonds is quite affecting -- even if it's not a particularly good movie.

The effects are cheesy, the photography is murky, the sets look like leftovers from a Las Vegas stage spectacular -- and the flick appears to have been edited with a roulette wheel.

Overlong, blandly soporific.

While Greenwood and Posey turn on enough charm to make this a fairly painless experience, Zack Bernbaum’s And Now a Word From Our Sponsor is a mild, toothless satire — a “Being There’’ where there’s barely any there there.

The best thing about Equilibrium is its impressive look. Along with its generally fine cast and some well-choreographed fights, that goes a long way to making the movie watchable -- despite its underlying stupidity.

A couple of years ago, a disaster like Shadow boxer - with the hapless Cuba Gooding Jr. scraping below the bottom of the barrel - would have gone straight to video or been buried on an obscure cable channel at 3 a.m.

The main problem is the criminal subplot, full of Aussie villains snarling “mate” at one another and landing bloodless punches on Dean. 33 Postcards is what happens when someone grafts a prison angle onto “Pollyanna” — the tough guys just get in the way.

Three talking critters sing, dance and tell jokes, and I really wish they wouldn’t. Their act isn’t just dull — it’s almost as bad as One Direction’s.

A dull, trite thriller.

Bright spots in The Greening of Whitney Brown are Bob the horse, a Gypsy Vanner who teaches Whitney about friendship and her rancher grandpa (Kris Kristofferson), who gets the Philly princess mucking out stalls.

Part of the limp-rag ambience is due to Talt, who seems to be channeling Sarah Jessica Parker — which, unsurprisingly, does not work. Mostly it’s due to the script, which fails to meet the major romantic-comedy requirement of being clever about keeping lovers apart. All by itself, “The hero is kind of a drip” doesn’t cut it.

The Chaperone squanders nice locations and an expert comic performance by Yeardley Smith (the voice of Lisa Simpson) as the teacher trying to supervise the trip.

A pathetic stoner comedy.

Utter junk.

This pursuit farce is harmless (if stale) entertainment, but the sledge-hammer attempt to appeal to the country's fastest-growing movie-going demographic makes for a clunky narrative and one-note characters.

As a narrative, Shem, directed by Caroline Roboh, is a pointless hodgepodge, with a finale that will leave viewers scratching their heads.

Ultimately, this throwback, made-for-TV-style film takes the easy way out in a cheesy climax, but its resolute quaintness may appeal to the kind of viewers who regard electricity as disturbingly newfangled.

By the time David gets someone to unleash the gas, I was wishing he could simply erase all memories of the sorry “Divergent’’ franchise.

Never rises much above yawn-worthy.

As for the script, a wittier director would have spotted the absurd elements and delivered a horror-comedy instead of a straight-faced bore.

Sandler's bizarrely clunky kiddie flick, is a sort of upside-down "Princess Bride."

That someone as smart as Duchovny would get bogged down in such predictable treacle is a mystery worthy of investigation by Scully and Mulder.

Screenwriter Tom Schulman, who won an Oscar for "Dead Poets Society," gives us a narrative reminiscent of a pup chasing its tail, as characters struggle to catch up with inexplicably chopping and changing motives.

Isn't as relentlessly vulgar or cartoonish as "The Ladies Man" - nor is it a whole lot more realistic.

Black loses control of Virginia as it lurches from political satire to unintended black comedy to mom-and-son melodrama. But the performances and the movie's sheer crazy audacity make it watchable.

You may call the film blingsploitation but its fun-loving hoodlums know who's fooling whom.

It's hoary and clunky even by the low standards of contemporary thrillers.

A ho-hummer of a "Speed" knockoff that will leave most audiences cold.

For parents of very young children looking for a weekend distraction, “Color City” is passable fare — and will at least inspire kiddies to finish what they start, coloring-wise.

Black was already the world's biggest little kid, and he might be the only actor who could have made this movie such nimble fun.

A soul-deadening mash-up of "Kill Bill," "Showgirls" and dozens of other better flicks that's not the least bit exciting or sexy, Zack Snyder's Sucker Punch is what happens when a studio gives carte blanche to a filmmaker who has absolutely nothing original or even coherent to say.

The tin-earned dialogue and haphazard plotting are more reminiscent of Tarantino's frequent collaborator Robert Rodriguez.

This may be the most politically confusing movie about that conflict since "For Whom the Bell Tolls" -- I couldn't for the life of me figure out where Escriva stood.

Love Happens is a weepie about the grieving process, mainly my own.

The script is so overstuffed with painfully obvious clues (the constant patina of sweat on the cocky doctor's face, for one) that we don't need the ominous rumbles on the soundtrack to tell us where we're headed.

The family at the center of "Catch" is likable and authentic, but the seriousness of their plight sits uneasily with the shoddily assembled escapist goof it generates.

Director Peter Chelsom (“Hannah Montana: The Movie”) and screenwriter Allan Loeb (“Collateral Beauty”) squander countless opportunities to make this fish-out-of-water story intellectually curious or even much fun.

RV stands for "Retread of 'Vacation,'" or possibly "Robin's Vehicle," but to me it's funnier than "National Lampoon's Vacation." I always found Chevy Chase's road trip more unpleasant than outrageous, but RV has laughs spilling out of its overhead bins.

A cheesy and unpleasant splatterfest.

It's the worst of both worlds as Disney cash cow Miley Cyrus makes the most dubious "dramatic" debut of any singer since Britney Spears.

The worst Hollywood musical so far this century, it’s another misstep for Sony Pictures, which also sponsored the abortive ‘‘The Interview.’’

A horror movie with an anti-globalist bent that’s more interesting than its halfhearted scares.

Shoddily made, boring and, most shockingly, without a single decent scare.

Unfortunately, Impostor doesn't do much with its template, despite a remarkably strong cast.

Even the lovemaking scenes between two of Hollywood's most attractive stars -- often shot from above, like Cinemax soft porn -- are so unerotic, they make your skin crawl.

A creepy, depressing and leering "comedy" that's a virtual collection of "What were they thinking?" moments.

Directors Potelle and Rankin lack the skill to integrate the sometimes drastic shifts between comedy and drama - and the serious portions ultimately get short shrift, apparently at the behest of Miramax's marketing executives.

In execution, this clever idea is far less funny than the original, "Killers From Space," which was directed by W. Lee Wilder, the vastly less talented brother of the great Billy.

The performances are solid, but as a screenwriter, Guttenberg can't make the situation seem like more than a theatrical construct in a contemporary setting.

Nothing would help make this dud understandable.

So bad it's awful.

Fifty Shades will make you dumber.

You know you're in trouble when you're suffering a comedy shutout and the pinch-hitters you send in are Kidman and Dave Matthews.

A lame, glossy and disastrously misconceived film about three ditsy sisters dealing with the death of their horrible father.

Strong contender for the weirdest movie released this year.

A mind-numbing piece of would-be provocation from the button-pushing Harmony Korine, Trash Humpers gets no stars from me -- not because it's offensive and disgusting like his earlier "Gummo" and "Julien Donkey-Boy," but because it's about as enervating a way to waste 78 minutes as I've ever experienced.

It boggles the mind to think that Elite Squad won the top prize at the prestigious Berlin Film Festival in February.

Dieter Laser is grand as the doc, a character Christopher Walken would be comfortable doing, and Akihiro Kitamura provides laughs as the first part of the centipede.

Isn't as bad as you'd think, but this comic mash-up of "The Bourne Identity" and "Fat Albert" doesn't have much heft.

This is just a slow-moving skin flick broken up by lots of boring discussions about Cherry's future.

A satirical blast at America's gun culture. But it's so entertaining that even a die-hard NRA member might be impressed.

Basically, this is Smith and his real-life son, Jaden (both affecting ridiculous mid-Atlantic accents) talking the audience to death for something like 90 minutes before the closing credits.

Simply not up to the task.

Intermittently funny, often vulgar.

The Caller qualifies as something of a Holocaust movie, with flashbacks to World War II France. Guess who the two boys we see grow up to be?

Not very haunty.

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones hopes to be the start of a new franchise for tweens and Twihards, but the twuth is this twash is anything but a twiumph.

Yet another screwed-up mess that will give audiences another excuse to shun the multiplexes this weekend.

A lot of its jokes sputter and it doesn't contain even a hint of a chick movie, but The Dukes of Hazzard has some of the same fratty energy as "Wedding Crashers."

There is virtually nothing in Mac Carter’s horror flick that deviates from the standard haunted house plot (or, in this case, plod).

The undercaffeinated middle of the film consists of dopey twists, slow-burning gazes and dialogue that aims for “heartfelt” but comes out “unfortunate.”

There are some decent actors and great costumes in this overly solemn compendium of rock clichés.

Ends up a nightmare of a star vehicle.

Shlocky, sloppy and crass adolescent comedy.

In trying to straddle both the grown-up and kiddie worlds with this inappropriately sexualized effort - their first theatrical release since 1995's "It Takes Two" - the Olsens have lost their footing.

This one-joke comedy vehicle is flying through a laugh-free zone.

If ever a movie could be charged with imperiling the morals of a minor, it's probably Sleepover, a sleazy, PG-rated sex comedy that's apparently aimed at 8- to 10-year-old girls.

Coming down too hard on this load of schmaltz — as I said when reviewing my first Sparks adaptation back in 2002 — feels like taking a baseball bat to a sack full of newborn kittens.

Thankfully, director Miguel Arteta (“Beatriz at Dinner”) gets a solid half-hour of funny out of this thing before clunkiness sets in.

Nothing happens that hasn't been done better in other films, among them Thomas Vinterberg's excellent 1998 "The Celebration."

Rent "Enchanted" with Adams, and watch Goode as Colin Firth's boyfriend in his other current movie, "A Single Man."

This absurdist patchwork of a film, already a hit in the Czech Republic, features a number of amusing set pieces.