Familiar and predictable enough, especially if you have seen Hollywood serial-killer thrillers like "Se7en."

Burning Annie has funny moments, but it suffers from an overflow of characters.

A barbell of a movie that carries some weight at either end. What's in between is purely utilitarian, though.

With its array of chases and shootouts and a sinister political plot, the movie at least holds your attention and keeps things brisk-ish. But every scene still bears the tags of the place from which it was stolen.

None of this is particularly innovative, although Garcia and the elder Farmiga develop a nice spark and a gentle humor in their characters’ stolen day together.

The story is told in fractured time. This might not be a problem if his visuals were more fear-inducing.

The whole movie is indistinguishable rubble.

Okuda's debut behind the camera, Shoujyo, is a dirty old man's delight: schoolgirls galore in short skirts or, in Yoko's case, nothing at all. That may be enough for some viewers, but not for those who insist on a story that gives substance to its characters.

Recycles the teen romantic comedies of the last few years...and it's easily the worst of the lot.

The bickering and mishaps make for a semi-enjoyable if low-impact film that may appeal to the kind of nostalgics who buy Time-Life collections of '60s songmeisters.

Potash's film tells an important and disturbing story, but his presentation is uninspired and non-cinematic. It's best left to TV.

Tenderness and good intentions don't necessarily add up to a movie.

Burt Reynolds and Sally Field they're not, but you could do worse for mindless late-summer entertainment than Dax Shepard and Kristen Bell in Hit & Run.

It has no real reason to exist, other than to be a passable option for parents whose children are too young to handle PG-13 fare and feels like it.

Lawless outback, shotgun-toting banditos and even roadside crucifixions somehow add up to an experience that’s about as thrilling as your average trip to the post office.

Wears out its welcome fast because of its artistic pretensions and self-absorbed characters. You'd be better off renting "Manhattan" instead.

The screen version's Drama Club dorkiness is going to ruin the Rent brand of alleged downtown cool for everyone. If anything can re-shevel the disheveled multitudes of Alphabet City and chase the hipsters into pleated khakis and sweater sets, it's this film.

Much sillier - and the movie's nearly two-hour running time seems to last nearly as long as a vampire's afterlife.

Curious George skews very young, but parents should be warned that it arrives not only with the worst ad slogan in recent memory ("Show me the monkey"), but a full line of plush toys and related tie-in merchandise.

Under the direction of Allan Moyle ("Pump up the Volume"), Nairn, McCarthy and Balaban give confident, believable performances but overacting plagues the rest of the cast.

Well-meant but rambling little indie melodrama.

None of its characters is especially interesting.

What the filmmakers do to the splendid Moore is simply criminal.

The Protégé should’ve been a home run for director Martin Campbell, who did brilliantly with Casino Royale, Daniel Craig’s first James Bond film. He brought seriousness to the old franchise without sacrificing its charm or decadence. Instead, we get old clichés.

A central problem: Efron isn’t funny.

The biggest load of New Agey hogwash to grace the big screen since Spacey's "Pay it Forward."

At best, the film serves up mild chuckles, with occasional cute jokes.

This lavish coffee-table-book of a movie gradually reveals itself as an uninvolving, crashing bore.