The movie (Untitled) is a tinny satire destined to go "(Unwatched)" because it is "(Uninteresting)."

The folks on "Survivor" have nothing on Julia Butterfly Hill.

There isn't a line you haven't heard or a stock character you haven't encountered before.

Less a conventional biography than a performance film - one that stuns and delights.

Although deft editing provides neat segues, "Safety" suffers from a case of too many dramas, too little time. Characters are given no chance to develop and, too often, their behavior turns on a dime, hurtling off into a parallel universe of extreme acts.

The film isn't remotely scary. That's a shame, because it has top-notch performances by Peter Mullan and David Caruso.

That his dialogue is often deliberately anachronistic is part of the joke -- and Wilson's sly delivery is often funnier than the lines themselves.

Enough SpongeBob-meets-Monty-Python silliness to give adults a kick as well.

The film is less violent and bloody than much of the director's work, but the absurdity level is sky high. Takashi Miike is at the top of his game, loving every minute of his surreal visit to the twilight zone.

This only mildly bloated and convoluted action comedy has enough inspired moments to wipe out memories of the abysmal 2002 first sequel as surely as one of the black-suited heroes' neutralizer.

Even with Burton's imagination turning its trademark cartwheels, the film's big beating heart holds the whimsical offshoots steady.

Snowden could have been a character portrait, but instead it’s like “The Bourne Identity” minus the chases and fights, which is like a ham and cheese sandwich minus the ham and cheese. As a consequence, I suspect, this film will make no bread.

First-time writer-director Adam Reid has a lightly endearing touch as he allows the actors plenty of space to be warm without being cute.

It's hard to make a movie about moonshiners that isn't entertaining, but the lethargic, generically titled Lawless comes perilously close - at least a third of its two hours is devoted to "arty'' shots of landscapes.

Then everything went wrong, thanks to Middle East politics -- as the moving documentary Raging Dove shows.

The chief attraction in the overlong 20 Centimeters, besides ample soft-core sex, are the well-staged musical numbers.

Having seen the trailer for Brothers and now the finished film, I feel as though I just watched the trailer twice.

For boldness of execution as well as vision, The Red Chapel stands out as a singular, important comedy.

To describe this as a movie about a mediocre businessman biding his time before an appointment probably makes it sound more exciting than it is.

The lovable Ross, who does her own singing, doesn’t have her mom Diana’s diva energy, and Johnson speaks with only a rote understanding of music. The film’s one twist is as predictable as tomorrow’s itinerary.

Looks great, and the performances are solid, but the disparate elements in this oddity - which created a minor stir at the Sundance Film Festival last year - never entirely coalesce.

Toward the end, despite the wintry script and chilly acting, some emotion begins to break through. But it’s never a good sign when the art direction offers more fascination than the sex.

There's a story here, but the film doesn't tell it.

The sort of movie where all of the best jokes are in the trailer, but these days a romantic comedy with anything worth quoting at all is something of an accomplishment.

Del Toro overdoes the anguish to the point of looking like he’s playing advanced constipation, and the film, by France’s Arnaud Desplechin, gets stuck in an endless series of therapy scenes built around cheesy re-enactments of Jimmy P’s dreams.

The addition of Glover and Danny DeVito keeps Jumanji: The Next Level afloat, even with barely the whisper of a plot.

The studio’s latest likable musical is nicely animated, has nice characters and a few nice songs. At risk of repeating myself: It’s nice.

The sincerity and simplicity of the film, however, lift it somewhat above the ordinary run.