Under the tight wraps provided by a veteran director and a generally clever script, he (Arnold) has, in The 6th Day, his best picture in many years.

Final Fantasy doesn't pop.

In retrospect, and with no disrespect meant, it may have been a mistake to entrust a story this polarizing to Bill Condon, the filmmaker who most recently made “Twilight: Breaking Dawn,” and “Dreamgirls.”

Scenes will wander from gross-out gag to sentimental schmaltz to pervy leer to cheap nostalgia within a 30-second span, utterly free of clear directorial guidance. Even worse, very little of it is remotely funny.

Rush gives everything he has and manages to make Oldman (such an obvious name) into more than an automaton. Not so Sylvia Hoeks, who struggles to make Claire any more alluring than oil dripped on canvas.

We have reached a point in history when an ordinary TV show is often as good as or even better than an ordinary movie. And movies don't come much more ordinary than The Sentinel.

Some of the performances -- Mitchell, Fischler and especially Lucas -- are lively, but Barr never gets under Kerouac's skin to show the pain of an artist who can't hold his life together. It's a tragedy, played entirely on the surface.

The movie is well-acted and a bit frustrating, but also a pleasant little surprise.

Flashes of dark humor and steady, grounded performances make it a welcome return for Miller, making her first film since 2005's "The Ballad of Jack and Rose."

Quality-wise, the crime drama Broken City lives in a frustrating mid-range area: It's too complex and competently crafted to dismiss as junk -- but it's also nowhere near sharp enough to work as the serious grown-up detective movie it clearly wants to be.

It's frustrating and still oddly likable.

A movie that drags.

Doesn't add much to the oft-told story of a boy and his dog, and it never establishes the rules of the dogs-in-space myth it creates, but it is perked up by the gentle intelligence of writer/director John Hoffman.

In the hands of a less-skilled director, this Hollywood-mandated need to impose order could have ended in disaster.

Grim, post-apocalyptic, special-effects extravaganza.

In a film marketplace where even the best superhero movies tend to do a lot of the same stuff, I really admire Will Smith and bad-boy director Peter Berg for trying something different.

There’s a lot of hate in this film. But a lot of talent, too. It borders on despicable, but you can’t ignore it.

There are two halves to La Rafle. The successful one involves the personal tribulations of the families and other souls who were jammed into a Paris velodrome for days under intolerable conditions.

It's not a disaster: Branagh is an actor's director, and there are biting moments throughout and solid performances from Caine and Law.

You never really end up rooting for their happiness, as a couple or individually, so emotionally there's not much at stake.

The clothes are worth it; nothing else is.

Much of Words and Pictures is second-rate. A subplot involving a sexual harassment case is clumsily handled and a talented supporting cast, particularly Bruce Davison and Amy Brenneman, is underused.

As it progresses it becomes a sloppy mix of modern and antique, and the limits of its lead actors and its script become evident.

Texasville is replete with events and complications, but the same three or four seem to recycle themselves every 15 minutes for two hours. The film is already written off as a bomb, a sunbaked soap opera. Its often sly humor does not offset the sense of slow repetition. [12 Nov 1990, p.C07]

Chris Rock probably has a solid writer/director effort in him. This isn't it.

It's the film, though, that remains handcuffed. The early part of the story -- with Riddick stranded on an unfriendly planet -- is taut enough, but hampered by flagrantly unreal effects and Diesel's punch-drunk narration.

For all its bells and whistles, only when it lingers on Jones' dry wit and pained, rheumy eyes does this film about aliens ever seem alive, let alone human.

Dumb, enjoyable kids fare; Jackie Chan's fanny-kicking world tour is a textbook example of how a movie can be "fun" without, strictly speaking, being "good."