The problem with Clara's Heart is that it grows increasingly sentimental and improbable. [16 Nov 1988, p.D05]

The animation is dull, the thought is fuzzy, the storytelling is vague and the music just plain stinks. It's not "National Velvet," it's sure not "The Black Stallion," it's not even "Dances With Wolves."

The increasingly unlikely escapades culminate in a finale that's as narratively lazy as it is morally questionable, lending further credence to the voices that proclaimed Haggis absurdly overpraised for the 2004 Oscar-winner "Crash."

It's an odd concept, turning a zombie movie into a downbeat actor's showcase, but first-time director Henry Hobson gets great work from a subdued Schwarzenegger and an even better performance from Abigail Breslin in the title role.

What's unusual about DamNation isn't its politics but its production and distribution. It was financed by Patagonia and its chairman, Yvon Chouinard, and will be screened in Patagonia stores.

The newest, and probably first, true cheerleading movie.

The highlights are the writing and the performances. There are real laughs to be had -- several scenes end on sharp, witty shards of dialogue. And whenever Eckhart, Northam or Ehle is the focus, the thing soars.

Tasty, but, finally, a little unfulfilling.

The script is simply shameless, taking some of the details of the Shues' lives and then slathering them with a thick layer of Hollywood frosting.

The hearty performances are undone by the forced eccentricity of the sets, the clothes, the music and, especially, the characters. The film is ugly and facile and childish in its love of its own naughtiness. Only Jill Clayburgh, as a creepy woman in whose home Augusten must live, feels human. The rest is no more real than a "Simpsons" episode -- and offers fewer laughs.

Anyone looking for a full-bodied account of the woman, her deeds, and her place in history shouldn't be encouraged to linger too long with The Iron Lady.

It's such a delightful, amusing fairy tale that it leaves you wanting more.

As an action spectacular, Exodus is on par with Scott's other forays into ancient times, "Gladiator" and "Kingdom of Heaven." But as a believable human drama, much less a worthy exploration of Judaism's origins, it falls flat.

No one joyfully embraces this absurdity better than Michael Sheen. The actor finds a ridiculous-yet-perfect way to deliver every single second of his performance as head of the global vampire council -- He's all over the film's finale. It's fantastic.

There's a handful of good scenes (some of the vengeance that's wreaked is priceless) and it's generally well-played. But the soul of the thing isn't distinct enough from the bitterness it portrays.

A tedious let-down that will bore adults and only mildly amuse children.

Go only if you're really, really willing to suspend disbelief. [16 Jan 1998, p.23]

Hook is full of funny and engaging moments, but they are separated by too many moments that are neither. It should have been written to be shorter, perhaps a brisk 90 minutes instead of the 135-minute behemoth it is now. [13 Dec. 1991, p.AE08]

The movie swings back and forth from awesome to awful so regularly and rapidly that it's like a jai alai match.

The Rock charms you through the worst of it, but the effects are cheap, the dialogue is about as challenging as a "Hannah Montana" episode, and the pace manages to be both brisk and numbing.

Though intermittently entertaining, it's too long and rarely insightful in new or meaningful ways.

Whatever the faults of Goya's Ghosts -- and there are several -- you've got to hand it to director Milos Forman: It takes real chutzpah to cast Randy Quaid as the king of Spain.

To some, this will seem the height of aesthetic experimentation; to others, the most unendurable arty hogwash.

Meadows loses control as he goes along, veering into assorted noodling and sacrificing the knife's-edge clarity of the early going for something arty and artificial.

The story of the rescue of these priceless artifacts is absolutely worthy of as much attention as Hollywood can provide. But by the final, self-congratulatory, groan-inducing scene, it's more than clear that this telling of it is a monumental mess.

There's a nifty shootout at the Guggenheim Museum and a lot of scenic travel, but little in it compels.

Betsy's Wedding is a literate, nicely acted, thoughtful and mostly charming comedy with a little drama. Its intelligent wit will be familiar to Alda fans. [22 Jun 1990, p.F15]

The movie wobbles as it approaches the home stretch, but, thanks to its leading man, manages to stick the landing.

The new film is a nauseatingly unsteady medley of brilliance and foolish nonsense.

You either come into Nacho Libre ready to surrender yourself to Hess' quirks and smirks or you don't. Middle ground is virtually impossible to imagine.

To be fair, the film is trash and doesn't aspire to very much, but it's bad trash -- inept -- and that really isn't forgivable.

Rat Race isn't a stupid movie -- it's an aggressively stupid movie that journeys into realms of absurdity that are, well, aggressively funny.

Does at least come bearing two gifts: the rolling beauty of Tuscany and the understated elegance of actress Diane Lane. The rest of the film is fit fodder for the Oxygen Network.

For children old enough to get the jokes about Vicodin but young enough to innocently fantasize about movie stars, Win a Date With Tad Hamilton! will be a perfectly pitched midwinter treat.

There are several things to enjoy here. The use of motel service-industry code words by the safe-house staff is dryly funny.

It's a long film for such a familiar story.

While it's nice to see Reitman try to branch out from the hip, acerbic humor of "Juno" and "Young Adult," his clumsiness with this more earnest material is an unpleasant surprise.

Aggressively loud, terminally mediocre.

A recent article in Film Comment magazine praised Saint Laurent for avoiding "banal psychologizing," but Bonello avoids any insight into his subject's state of mind, banal or not.

The film looks old-fashioned, too, with cinematography and special effects so reminiscent of old-school, live-action Disney flicks such as "Something Wicked This Way Comes" that you wonder if it was an aesthetic choice or a budgetary concession. Either way, it doesn't work.

Pleasant and light and builds nicely within its own self-circumscribed intent.

A featherweight comedy in which he fetches coffee for twentysomethings and calls them "ace" and "boss" without a hint of irony. It's painful to watch for anyone who remembers the thunder De Niro used to have at his fingertips.

Beauty plays like a costumed version of "Melrose Place" or "Dynasty." But despite the film's gaudy, trashy excesses, and despite the constant flash of flesh for the men in the audience, this one is really for the women. [06 Mar 1998, p.25]

The movie runs the risk of coming off as misogynistic tripe, especially considering it was written by two men and directed by another. Somehow it avoids that fate, rising to the level of a serviceable YA fantasy about the way mortality gives meaning to life.

For all the film's patness and lame predictability, Candy gives it a strange charm. He seems to be inherently funny, and his subtle weirdness, so useful on SCTV, is handy here as well. It helps make seeing Uncle Buck marginally worthwhile. [18 Aug 1989, p.E13]

It doesn't help that director Ken Kwapis stages everything like a sitcom, has no sense of pace, and buries the theme of late-life friendship under a haze of sentiment and trail dust.

An ambitious but shapeless mix of road movie, romance and critique of black male-female relationships. [23 Jul 1993]

Vastly entertaining, slightly overlong.

Cage is superb as a hollowed-out, ferocious man of action chasing his demons recklessly with machine gun firing away.

Two-thirds of the way through, it falls apart into TV-movie-of-the-week land, even with the rhapsodic Nastassja Kinski in the lead.

With strong performances, the gorgeously overwhelming environment (the sounds of wind and flies are practically supporting characters), and at least one agonizingly long close-up, Age of Uprising unsettles as it raises troubling questions about the price, morality and flexibility of a "principled stand."

The result is minor Gilliam: still more engaging than most moviemaking, but nonetheless a letdown after such a long wait.

It's a clear and moving story, although the messier edges of the man have been smoothed out, and some of the victories may have been exaggerated to provide a happier ending.

Also effective is the romance between Gere and Lillete Dubey, an Indian actor who play's Patel's mother.

As it stands, the film is more often self-absorbed than self-aware.

Feast is set and was shot in Portland, and if nothing else it makes the case that we live in one gorgeous city.

It offers the small delight of watching a master step back from more ardent work to put together a diverting miniature. And in the scheme of things, that's actually more of an accomplishment than it might sound. Minor Mozart, after all, is still pretty darned good.

Still, this feels like minor Phillips to me -- something in the neighborhood of 2006's "School for Scoundrels," quality-wise, though with a much grimmer heart.

Fabulously acted throughout.

The Baxter is so ineptly conceived, staged, written and played that you suspect it's part of a psychology experiment to see if people will laugh at anything.

There's plenty of sweat but no blood or tears in Love. Without talented actors or a compelling story, it's not love. It's just sex.

As is, the slapstick humor and mild repartee won't please many with a mindset above that of a 10-year-old, while the level of (admittedly fantastical) violence might be a bit much for the pre-teen set.

This 90-minute exploration of the myriad ways Lego is great suffers from a relentlessly annoying narrator and a punishingly peppy tone. Still, if you're an AFOL—that is, an Adult Fan of Lego — or even a KFOL — you can figure that one out, right?—there's plenty to make it worth your while. If you're not, don't bother.

Scattered and silly. If it evokes any strong feelings from you, it will probably be hunger -- the food all looks so good.

The stories don't resonate, the film has a drab look and feel, and it lacks the passionate zing with which the least of Almodovar's works teems.

I can see how Mamma Mia! might be a fun stage musical. As a movie musical, it's a train wreck.

It's written almost without wit or romance, it's populated by bland actors, and it's photographed as if through a Jell-O mold. If this is adolescence, then senility can't come soon enough. [29 Jan 1999]

This is a totally predictable exercise if you're not in the target market.

It’s still worthwhile to see such seasoned screen professionals working to create something meaningful.

Everything feels flat and listless, like an August afternoon in the city with no air conditioning. Hoffman shambles through his scenes, no spark in his eyes, getting it done without the energy and spirit that was his stock in trade.

As before, Uys succeeds in creating uncomplicated, largely visual comedy through clever contrivance in a simple landscape that is somehow full of surprises. [13 Apr 1990, p.R13]

Made with disarming craft and cunning. Intermixed in the memories it leaves of horror and disgust are glimpses of impressive technique and savvy psychological insight.

For those disappointed in the grim, gritty feel of the latest James Bond movie and who long for the absurdity of the Roger Moore-era entries, Transporter 3, ought to fit the bill.

Wants to be a sex farce, a sports film and a serious meditation on Catholicism. To its credit, it succeeds as all three.

Gallo makes some fatal mistakes in his direction. As Griffin talks, he adds sound effects that are distracting and annoying. It's actually an insult to the comic -- as if his jokes aren't clever enough on their own.

As it unwinds, What Lies becomes both masterful and preposterous.

It's a heck of a character to chew into, and Spacey, never afraid to play a devil, enjoys himself a great deal.

There's only one direction for the movie to follow, and it heads there on a beeline. We could use some more information about Ivy, if we are going to take her seriously as a human. Instead, she's demonic and without history. That makes the enterprise resemble a comic book: a tale from the crypt, perhaps. [09 May 1992, p.C10]

While it's hard to dismiss his intention or effort, Harrelson's one-note performance sinks the film.

It's not a five star film, but it's no Motel 6 either.

Levinson keeps the film locked into a sort of low-key middle-age depression.

Though The Hard Word feels flimsy at times, its breeziness and humor, along with Pearce's performance, make it infinitely more amusing than it's got any right to be. You get the feeling that these actors had fun making this film, and that fun is contagious.

The film manages the rare trick of improving as it unrolls from the utterly putrid to the barely tolerable. And, friends, I wish to say that sometimes that is as good as you can hope for in this racket.

It's almost like you're watching a 100-minute trailer for a much better six-hour miniseries.

It's a shame that a movie centered on such a powerful and unique work of art is itself so obviously a corporate product.

Conrad seems to have used whatever clout he got from "The Pursuit of Happyness" to fund something personal and sincere -- a story that's ultimately about victories of character and suppressing your worst impulses.

If you might wish the film got deeper under the skin of the characters, you also feel grateful for the fact that you'll never get closer to them than watching it.

Free Zone is similar to the car-based films of Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami but with a more improvised, less-finished feel.

It's an ambitious, passionate, grief-stricken work of film art.

The young guns on board are Wong Kar Wai and Steven Soderbergh, and it's sad to report that they massively outshine the nonagenarian Antonioni.

The best-looking, best-scripted and funniest of Smith's pictures, it's also Smith's sharpest.

Whether Elia Kazan could have done something memorable with this script will remain an eternally open question. This film, though, is most effective as a reminder that Williams' works emerged from a certain time and place, and to approach them from another is fraught with peril.

It's a stylish and sweet film with moments of affecting brilliance that counterbalance its flaws.

Wahlberg is the centerpiece of Fear, director James Foley's surprisingly taut new thriller that's equal parts "Cape Fear," "Endless Love" and "The Wild One." [12 Apr 1996]

This overwatered trifle is doomed to wilt and fade quickly from memory.

Phantom may not be the best entry in the series, but it's the most technically accomplished, and it makes you as hungry for the next film as you've been for this one.

A fairly good movie about an evil subject.

While Predators isn't nearly as vivid or fresh as the original, it's certainly its strongest sequel.