A fabulous and often hilarious variation on "American Pie" that substitutes quiche, gerbils and various sex toys for apple pie.

Dom DeLuise, as a fruitcake director, and John Waters fave Mink Stole, as Robin's Jewish mother, spice things up, but not enough to make Girl Play worthwhile.

In the end, there's just a roomful of decent character actors in search of a point. For them, the titular Flypaper may have simply been a paycheck.

Sweeping, if exhausting, historical epic set at the turn of the 20th century.

The next time Siddig plays a man of intrigue, let’s hope he’s chasing something more interesting than a clueless kid.

Some things, like ouzo and flaming cheese, are best left at single servings.

Despite oblique references to "Psycho" and "Children of the Corn," Freddy vs. Jason lacks the knowing wit needed to keep it afloat in an age when even the horror spoofs have been spoofed.

A fairly painless, if not particularly stimulating, experience, Gray has no idea how to capitalize on the reunion of "Pulp Fiction" co-stars Travolta and Thurman.

A clunky movie that feels as if it’s underwritten by the Roman Catholic Church.

Burying the Ex is missing the key ingredient every good zombie movie needs: brains.

The mystery is why the filmmakers thought third-graders or anyone else would be willing to pay for this master class in tedium.

Son of God is guilty of all the sins of the 1950s Bible epics, but without any of the majesty.

Writer-director Steven Knight mixes a tried-and-true James M. Cain formula with a clever digital gimmick worthy of Christopher Nolan, but some of his dialogue is overripe to the point of rot.

In the dud thriller The Tourist, Jolie basically plays an overdressed, humorless live-action version of Jessica Rabbit, running around Venice dodging hired killers.

Dumbed down to the point where it's barely recognizable as coming from one of Donald Westlake's John Dortmunder novels.

The lackadaisical pace of CD3 is a disappointing surprise.

A cinematic petit four.

Falls far short of capturing the hedonistic spirit of this ephemeral art community. It's more like a routine home video with arty pretensions.

This is a terminally whimsical vanity project that would probably have been a chore to sit through even in its original intended format, a 20-minute stage monologue.

Much lip service is given to the global village in Connected: An Autoblogography About Love, Death and Technology, yet it constantly drifts back into a Shlain family slideshow.

Zoey Deutch is fine in a non-demanding role as the requisite starry-eyed female student, and Danny Huston (“Wonder Woman”) gives us a softer side as Richard’s weepy best friend. But this is, at its core, a one-man show, and given the uncertain future of Depp’s career (being axed from the “Pirates of the Caribbean” franchise, for example), it might also have been titled “Johnny Says Goodbye.”

Like most of Netflix’s films outside of awards season, “Atlas” is a sluggish afterthought that settles for being just short of OK.

Among the year's ultraviolent pulp movies, "Sin City" was prettier and "The Devil's Rejects" more focused.

A big, loud, proudly brainless popcorn flick that blows up cars, trucks, tanks, boats, helicopters and even a train.

Wrath of the Titans suggests a franchise that isn't trying very hard, and I don't really expect a sequel. But if it does happen, I fear it'll be even less of an event: "Tiff of the Titans."

The sad truth is these durable 80-year-old characters, who peaked with a 1950s TV series, never even come to life in this bloated, misshapen mess, a stillborn franchise loaded with metaphors for its feeble attempts to amuse, excite and entertain.

Carell's frantic mugging as a modern-day Noah barely keeps Evan Almighty afloat.

Slow-witted and occasionally unintentionally hilarious.