As for a villain, you could do worse than Bryan Cranston as the evil political overlord who is trying to stamp out the resistance -- When he goes mano a mano with Farrell, it's not spine-tingling. It's embarrassing, like watching a dude beat up his dad.

It's an even rarer pleasure to see a film that combines exciting action with a smart, well-informed script and vivid yet restrained performances.

A messy, woefully uneven chick flick.

The opening and closing scenes are scary and should please fans of the genre, especially at Halloween time.

Woo has never been particularly good at human stuff, and to the extent that Paycheck is, or should be, a love story, it feels forced.

Under writer-helmer Rehana Mirza, the acting and direction are workmanlike, but the plot is full of hackneyed characters and contrived events better suited to TV than the big screen.

Most are exercises in sickening bad taste, with an emphasis on human bodily functions. The biggest stinkers? “T Is for Toilet” and “F Is for Fart.”

Temple and Angarano, entertaining enough, never quite sell the idea that this goodhearted couple would be so easily transformed by greed.

As a spooky midnight movie, The Wolfman is worth curling up with.

Dear John is the sort of movie that gives tearjerkers a bad name.

I understood two words of Youth Without Youth: "The End."

An appropriately respectful and dignified biopic.

The documentary tells us little we don't already know and is overwhelmingly one-sided. It would make a nice TV infomercial, but certainly doesn't deserve a big-screen release.

More violent than anything Wood ever did, Automatons nevertheless has the kitschy feel and look of something he might have concocted. And I mean that as a compliment.

Delivers plenty of smart dialogue and devises a number of excellent reasons to photograph his cast in situations that suggest the working title for the film might have been "Women in Underwear."

A sort of "Babel" of bonking, 360 gives us much in the way of international anguish, frustrated coupling and longing stares, but there's very little plausibility or genuine emotion in its egregiously contrived story of ardor gone amiss.

With Roth at the helm of a script attributed to Price, there is minimal suspense, audience involvement or coherent social commentary.

Except for the rock soundtrack, these movies could be silent - and probably should be.

Providing a hint of redemption is Edgar-Jones, a naturally vulnerable actress who can turn the shallowest of material into something deep. We like Kya and are with her every step of the way, even though at over two hours there about 50 steps too many.

Ryan's heart is definitely in the right place and his film has good performances and flashes of talent. But, overall, it plays like the world's longest — over two hours -- after-school special.

Even parents might find themselves having fun.

Murphy has fallen back into the comfortable rut of sloppy family comedies that are low on laughs and high on toilet jokes.

Predicated almost entirely on the repeated juxtaposition of innocent girlishness and mindless violence, Violet & Daisy could still have been campy fun — instead, it wilts for lack of wit.

Tom Arnold plays the fatherly head of a child-prostitution ring and John Malkovich a sympathetic social worker - two clever casting twists that constitute the main interest in the grueling Gardens of the Night.

If you've seen "Gone With the Wind," you've seen what Love in the Time of Cholera isn't.

One of those potentially interesting movies that takes its sweet time getting to the point - by which time many audience members will likely have bailed out or dozed off.

It's "The Postman" on a pitcher's mound.

In monotonous narration, Rosette rants that the vendors' right to free speech should allow them to obstruct sidewalks, but the portrait of his subculture is so vaguely rendered, it will likely put audiences to sleep rather than change minds.