Not only do they (Gere and Ryder) lack chemistry, they lack physics, zoology, botany and geology.

The greatest lacrosse movie of the 21st century - and, unless I'm mistaken, the only lacrosse movie of the 21st century.

Reaches breathtaking lows of incoherence, sexism, racial stereotyping, and -- did I say incoherence?

As a cinematic experience, it's like being locked in a coffin for an hour and a half.

Where the first pic breezed along with gags and gunplay, this forced follow-up is artificial to the hilt - fueled on a kind of trying-too-hard hilarity that makes even good actors look bad.

A thuddingly dull remake of the 1971 crime drama starring Michael Caine.

Sandler nimbly steps into the role created by Cooper and makes it his nebbishy own, something that cannot be said for Ryder's attempt to rethink the Arthur part. Ryder is lovely, but perhaps too sincere an actress to play a wiseacre.

Like moussed hair and inverted-pyramid shoulder pads, this sloppy, sloppy slapstick is an artifact from the 1980s.

Chloe & Theo is a mess of a message movie, simplistic, sappy, silly.

Verhoeven's most deeply disturbing film yet.

Unravels in a series of spooky dream sequences, dopey detective work, and a couple of richly hambone-ian De Niro soliloquies.

Piles dumb gag upon dumb gag - it's like benign pummeling. Occasionally, you just have to laugh.

The story and the humor get progressively skimpier than an Ipanema bikini.

If you are unlucky enough to stray into the presence of Bats, I strongly recommend you follow their wise example. Hang from the ceiling and go to sleep.

When the big caper finally arrives, you will neither grasp nor care about what's going on.

A messy fish-out-of-water gangland romp.

The wrestler carries himself with decency and without self-seriousness, the qualities that made Arnold Schwarzenegger a star. Austin deserves better material than this. So do we.

To do this kind of satire successfully, you need the kind of merciless and unrelenting wit of films such as Gus Van Sant's "To Die For" or John Huston's "Prizzi's Honor."

Stephen King without the snap, David Lynch without the kink, teen horror without the teen hormones, Darkness Falls falls apart in a crescendo of creepy-crawly hoo-ha. It's more like Darkness Kerplunks.

Mazel tov, Adam, for having three movies released in five months. You should maybe spend more time on the next one?

A film that continues to grow more perplexing as it walks, not runs, toward an unsatisfying end.

Tennant aims for a contemporary version of "The Thin Man," wedding the banter of sparring spouses with sleuth work. To say that he falls short of the mark is understatement.

A collection of double entendres that would make a stevedore blush.

Yes, it's stupid. But sometimes it's stupid with a capital S, and it's in those moments of transcendent idiocy that you can't help liking Saving Silverman. At least, a little bit.

It would be inaccurate to say there are plots in New Year's Eve. There are a number of setups, and these get shuffled through faster than a card dealer in Atlantic City.

A lethargic, lurching holiday-themed comedy.

Has its compelling moments, and its playfully inventive ones, too.

The cast is full of fresh-faced unknowns ready for their close-ups. Most likely to succeed is Kayla Jackson, an almond-eyed dreamer, as Brittany, anchor of the Ovations and of her family.

Piously acted, stiffly directed, and infused with a view of world politics that might charitably be described as delusional.

It's getting tiresome, this stuff.

Characters are introduced as archetypes to serve as jokes and little more.

At a certain point, it actually becomes embarrassing to watch Heigl and Kutcher play at being in love.

Fuzzy, feel-good movie about baseball, babes and believing in yourself.

Profane, randy, oversexed, and wonderfully juvenile.

If there were a truth-in-titling law, the movie would be called "3000 Bullets to Brain Death."

About as not-funny as a comedy can get.

Hopped up like a kid on a sugar rush, Hoodwinked Too! tries to emulate the "Shrek" formula - mashing Hans Christian Anderson and the Brothers Grimm with pop-culture references and wisecracking anthropomorphic sidekicks.

Another tale of Tinseltown drugs, sex and excess - has transferred itself to the screen with mind-boggling, laugh-inciting horribleness.

Little kidniks with an appetite for zap-pow silliness might find this to their liking. Everyone else, beware.

Unfortunately, this all proceeds at a supersonic tempo, with Shyamalan's directorial finger stuck on the fast-forward button. Significant plot points whiz by in this movie equivalent of speed-dating.

Just a big chunk of waste flushed from a Hollywood studio.

You haven't heard anything until you've heard "Play That Funky Music" on the accordion.

It pains me to tell you, But really, it's true: The Cat in the Hat Is a piece of dog doo.

It runs a fast 88 minutes, is broad as the waistlines of its stars, and is remarkably family-friendly if you don't mind bathroom humor.

Harlin, with his customary visual brio, has created a film that is deliriously watchable. It's just not all that interesting. In the end, The Covenant is simply a glossier version of TV's "Charmed."

Long, lumbering and endlessly unfunny.

So bad you're nostalgic for "Gigli." So painful you need an epidural. So mindless you'll lose yours wondering, "What were they thinking?"

Really lost in space.

The scenario looms as a brain-dead invitation for the stars to embarrass themselves, and Company Man wastes little time in fulfilling that glum suspicion.

Affleck, for his part, behaves as if a Zero from "Pearl Harbor" dropped one too close to his noggin. He looks permanently shell-shocked.

If the '60s sitcom McHale's Navy was a poor man's Sergeant Bilko, the new big-screen McHale is a poverty-stricken, starving-to-death, brain-dead person's answer to last year's not-so-hot Steve Martin movie, Sgt. Bilko. [19 Apr 1997, p.D08]

The jokes are framed by a silly plot about a missing jewel - a prize sought by assorted thieves and law enforcement types and unwittingly protected by Magoo. Of course, Nielsen saves the day, but there's no way he can save the movie.

A piece of schlock from Garry Marshall.

88 Minutes proves itself to be a maddeningly mediocre, ineptly manipulative "real-time" thriller.

A tad more character development would have been nice.

The unintentional effect of movies like Bless the Child is that they are enough to make agnostics out of true believers.

Struggles mightily to find its loony essence. But Bullock's apple-cheeked larkishness is all flailing limbs and bug-eyed reaction shots - there's no there there. Cooper's character is woefully underwritten, Church's is yet another vain anchorman-wannabe cartoon.

Dark and murky, grainy and grim.

Has a dark, low-budget feel and an incongruous combination of self-consciously jokey patter and gross-out gore.

This salt-and-pepper buddy movie set in the scenic environs of downtown Brooklyn and the Australian bush is a crowd-pleaser -- for the elementary-school set.

Has the incoherent look of a movie thrown together by a committee whose members weren't on the same page.

Gets stupider as it moves along. By the end, you just don't care whether that cold-hearted snake Petrovich (that would be Reno) gets his comeuppance. Just bring on the Battle Bots, please!

As far as director Nicole Kassell and writer Gren Wells are concerned, the C in Big C must stand for cute. The film reaches into the pits of moviegoing hell when it finds Marley on a celestial white couch, ringed in billowing white curtains, communing with God. And God is embodied by Whoopi Goldberg.

Awesomely ridiculous thriller.

In this frothy beach movie, they make pop-music lite together but create an utterly unconvincing romantic couple, seeming more like siblings or best friends. From Ruben to Clay might work better.

"Zis is not verking! Zee glitter cannot overpower zee artist!" That, in a sentence, sums up what is wrong with this picture.

Much of the dialogue is the silliest sort of fantasy mush, and a good deal of the picture appears to have been shot while the lighting guys were out to lunch.

The highlights of the movie are a great song, Sam Phillips' "I Need Love,'' which comes at the end, and Stiles' affecting crying scene.

Slackers is, well, consummately cheesy. Ugh.

Totally lame.

Lewd, crude, blessedly brief.

Even Boll seems to lose interest as the story unravels. By that time, the supernatural cliches, plot inconsistencies, dead ends and red herrings have piled up so high you can barely see the screen.

Plodding and virtually plotless (employee gets caught in maw of machine, blood squirts, boss tells everyone to get back to work, employee gets caught in maw of machine...), The Mangler might have been amusing if it had been played for laughs. Instead, this dreary yarn is hardly played for anything. [6 Mar 1995, p.D02]

Though Hilton may be a model, if her work in Hottie is any indication, she is no actress.