It's got more imagination than half a dozen movies combined; there's nothing else out there like this, and to me that's a very good thing.

The film is loving but shallow.

There isn't a dud in the 10 shorts, although some are more dud-ish than others.

So powerful is Stranded that when the lucky few finally make their way back to civilization, you feel as thrilled as if they were your own loved ones.

An often compelling, tragicomic psychological analysis of Dubya, viewed through the prism of his relationship with an allegedly disapproving father.

Director-writer Seth Grossman provides a lazy narrative, with stereotypical characters and plot.

Thoroughly inept in just about every aspect.

Mary is a mess. An interesting one, yet still a mess.

The attempts to out-Matrix "The Matrix," with bullet-time super-slo mo, are staged with such theatrics that they're unintentionally funny. This movie also has "Blade Runner" on its mind, and Raymond Chandler, but mostly it's a weak little sister to "Sin City."

The Secret Life of Bees showcases Fanning, who is growing into an impressive teenage actress - even if a scene where she licks honey off an older boy's finger is, well, creeptastic.

Sex Drive has shaky moments, and its smutty gags aren't edited so much as slammed together.

The only thing missing is the mud that the big boys love to sling. But the Stuyvesant candidates are kids - give them a few years.

Aside from a nifty new way to avoid surveillance in the middle of the desert, there's nothing here we haven't seen in many other movies - including "Spy Game," directed by Scott's brother Tony before 9/11.

A decent football movie, just about good enough to be the 40th best episode of "Friday Night Lights" . . . which has aired 39 episodes.

The film has all the visual flourishes we expect of Doyle and Wong, and they're reason enough to see Ashes of Time Redux. Just don't expect to make sense of the plot.

Bland and timid.

This overlong, obvious and indifferently acted melodrama was written and directed by Luke Eberl, a former child actor, before he turned 21.

For a kiddie adventure, the movie, based on the Jeanne DuPrau book, has a pleasingly moody, eerie quality.

This unlikely micro-budgeted project is written and directed by Marianna Palka, who also plays the female lead. The guy is portrayed by her real-life boyfriend, Jason Ritter (son of the late John). Their performances are quite remarkable and their chemistry is palpable, even if Good Dick is primarily intended for more adventurous moviegoers.

For all of its laughs and a star-making performance by Hawkins, Happy-Go-Lucky represents a serious philosophical inquiry by Leigh, who has illustrated a consistently pessimistic view of humankind in his semi-improvised movies.

This movie belongs to its stars, who also wrote and produced. You can't say their acting is good or bad because they are not really acting. They're just being themselves, pubic hair and all.

A sharp comedy as well as a punk-pulp spree. Don't go if you can't handle Brit slang. ("Grass" = informer.)

Maher's sense of humor deserts him in the end, though, when in an apocalyptic montage of fire and hate (bin Laden, Pat Robertson), he suggests all religions are equally bent on destruction of the Earth. It's fatuous to suggest that the Iraq war was launched because of religion or that belief in the Book of Revelation is the same as organizing terrorist attacks.

Someone describes his writing as "snarky, bitter, witless." The last part pretty well sums up this movie.

It has a dogged all-night charm and a sense of who its audience is.

Even if it weren't three years too late to parody Moore (ineptly played by Kevin Farley), Moore's ridiculous tribute to Cuban health care in "Sicko" is far funnier than anything in this desperately laughless farce from David Zucker ("Scary Movie 3").

Allah made me funny - not.

The film is Beverly Hills Chihuahua. The audience is the fire hydrant.