Predators biggest failing is that it manages to make its sci-fi violence absurdly boring.

At the very least, Cyrus forces one of these man-children to face a younger version of himself, and find a grown-up compromise.

Starts out strong and boasts a convincing picture of the post-war world as an anarchic desert. But it comes to ditch its fun stylization for vague themes of religiosity and morality, leaving you with a disappointingly muddled movie.

Those expecting a return to the depravity and menace of Abel Ferrara’s 1992 notorious original will be disappointed.

Betty White is what makes this film memorable as Andrew’s grandmother. She steals every scene, and adds the sweetness that a film like this needs.

Predictable, and stereotypical.

If you have a propensity for motion sickness you would be best served staying away. This movie is Tarantino on speed, and without focus and style. It is in-your-face and proud of it with no apologies.

While the concept is interesting, the whole thing comes off as a rather hilarious, um, disaster.

Parents might like the film, but will be too busy explaining the complicated plot to their children to really enjoy it.

The controversial subject matter will undoubtedly hit close to home for many people, but a few genuinely uncomfortable scenes will either provoke the audience into serious thought or just cause them to leave the theater angry.

Just because it’s less campy doesn't mean the acting isn't awful.

There’s an over-abundance of dialog that can be downright boring, especially when it’s sandwiched between fast-paced car chases and all-out gun fights.

Dawson is lovely to watch, and when Smith isn't furrowing his brow and looking concerned, he's not so bad himself.

The religious symbolism couldn't be more obvious (or disturbing). Keep your religion out of our vampires, Hollywood!

While Repo! is obviously no "Zauberflöte," it does offer up spectacle on an operatic scale.

The lack of insightful commentary keeps the spotlight focused on Maher. That's not restraint; it's a missed opportunity.

The arc of the story mirrors "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset," but the writing isn't nearly as strong, nor the characters as believable -- or likable.

It's clear the creators wanted to bring our hero back but were uncertain where to put him. Sadly, Indiana Jones is not relevant amidst the atomic blasts and disillusionment of the Soviet era, and he's not even recognizable in the pixilated universe of recent cinema. To quote the great Dr. Jones, "It belongs in a museum!"

There are moments where Spacey and Bosworth have their fun in spite of the film -- they both adopt Southern "characters" as disguises at one point, which is a hoot -- but overall, 21 is a busted hand.

Although McDormand's performance is consistently focused -- one would expect no less from the actress -- the movie itself can't settle on whether Miss Pettigrew is Mary Poppins minus the sugar spoonful or just plain Carrie Nation.

Rambo is surprisingly effective as an action movie precisely because the villains seem truly dangerous and the "mission" truly a death wish.

A chick-flick on a sugar high, so giggly-bouncy and nostalgic for the fantasy-girlhood of its audience that the DVD, which should follow relatively quickly, should come packaged in big pink bows and include a coupon for a free pony ride.

An inoffensive piece of seasonal movie-muzak.

Ultimately fails as a film in its broad strokes and inadequate scene development.

You won't see the twist coming, thanks to a clever and precise piece of casting, but that's the best compliment that can be paid to Awake, a plotty and unfocused medical thriller.

For those who loved his singing in "Velvet Goldmine," Rhys-Meyers once again proves that he has pipes.

Ultimately Hitman is about bullets, blood, and bombs. For die-hard fans of the videogame, there is much to relish in terms of cobblestone car chases, punishing fistfights, cool weaponry, impossible physical feats, and ear-popping gun battles that rage through exclusive hotels in exotic locations.

I like a good flying, fire-breathing dragon as much as the next fellow. Beowulf's excesses, though, are such that the film ought to carry the subtitle …But This Is Ridiculous.

The problem here, which vitiates the picture's ingenuity and causes it, finally, to sink like a stone, is in the physical execution of the material.

Lambs feels five years too late.

The result is oddly schizoid, but also so insubstantial that to call it oddly schizoid suggests a weight it doesn't have.

Though the series seemed like a great concept three years ago, it's now just a repeated assault on the senses, designed strictly for the gross-out crowd, and disturbs rather than scares.

If it makes anybody feel better, one character in the picture does point out that the whole "extraordinary rendition" concept originated with Clinton. So there's balance for you.

This handsomely mounted film, in its cute ADD way, soon forgets its half-hearted attempt to make History Relevant to What Is Going On in the World Today and morphs into a sort of Classic Comics on acid, or, as a friend so brilliantly put it, "the longest Eurythmics video ever made."

It's the sourest and most borderline misogynist picture the Farrellys have yet made.

Ultimately, The Jane Austen Book Club amounts to little more than a lukewarm collection of half-realized rom-com scenarios not fleshy enough to warrant their own movie.

In my cut of the film, it ends after Jones opens the parcel from his son that's been sitting on his kitchen table since shortly after he left. I recommend viewers leave the theater at that point. You won't be sorry that you did.

As a bonus, it contains, at least, the best death-by-carrot scene in the history of film.

Ultimately even the strongest characters deliver mixed results.

The movie becomes less fizzy once DeCillo decides to make A Statement (a rather incoherent one at that).

The Ten has one foot in "Monty Python's Meaning of Life" and another in their "Life of Brian," but ultimately we get the David Letterman School of Comedy: mediocre jokes continually repeated until they sometimes become uncomfortably funny.

The kitchen action here is pretty diverting -- everybody involved seems to have boned up on their Bourdain and Buford, and having done so, sanitized what they've gleaned with Hollywood polish.

A mistake was made: Evening is a book that would have been best left on the page.

The film wraps up in a neat, environmentally friendly package that might keep some kids entertained but will leave adults yawning.

Directed with little flair, a one-sided perspective and a questionable sense of moral responsibility by Dan Klores (his negligent lack of an editorial voice in the couple's lunacy reeks of train-wreck exploitation), Crazy Love is a disturbingly captivating tabloid horror, but that's not Klores' doing.

Even Depp's increasingly tired antics can't lighten the dour mood; in fact, Sparrow is completely overshadowed here by Rush's lively turn as Barbossa.

As a fan, it's upsetting to admit that Dumont's ideas and insights have narrowed with this picture, his relaxed pacing now lethargic, his physically and mentally thick characters too familiar, and his ice-water shocks a bit predictable. It would seem self-parodic if it weren't so damn tragic.

The actor that comes off the best in The Ex is Grodin, who spouts some hilariously cranky one-liners that sound too off-the-cuff to be scripted.

This tale has been told so often (in fact, its roots can be traced back to Fellini's 1953 coming-of-age classic "I Vitelloni") the only way to keep it remotely fresh is to keep changing the time period and the professions of the principal characters.

Constructing the narrative (made up mostly of dramatic reenactments, although given the static nature of many of the scenes, the word "dramatic" is pushing it) obliquely, Devor and co-writer Charles Mudede weave in the thread concerning the individual referred to as "Mr. Hands" into the film almost casually.

Meet the Robinsons is a mess -- a sometimes fun but mostly frustrating mess.

That it's so flat as an action movie probably has a lot to do with why people might prefer to jawbone over its putatively controversial aspects--there's really not much of a “wow” factor to revel in.

While each actor is talented in his own right, the on-screen friends' relationship is barely developed.

Earnest, respectful and thoroughly dull.

The music is catchy. The actors are likeable. It's all pleasant enough to watch but ultimately it's about as substantial as a pop song. Though it's unlikely to stay with you quite so long.

To be fair, Smokin' Aces isn't a complete train wreck. Carnahan stages a handful of strong action set-pieces, most notably a close-quarters elevator shoot-out involving Liotta and Flanagan, that are a blast to watch.

The Hitcher's main problem is that many of the title character's dirty deeds are done off-camera. Instead of seeing Ryder trap his victims before he kills them, the audience is treated to plenty of butchered corpses that seem to magically appear after Ryder leaves a room.

We can only speculate why McConaughey chose to play the role this way, but in all honesty, it's a good thing he did. His loony performance is the only surprising thing about this otherwise paint-by-numbers inspirational drama.

I hold Soderbergh in high esteem, but as handsome a technical achievement as it is, The Good German plays to me as a failed experiment.

You're most likely find that Eragon is less a gem and more cubic zirconia -- nice to look at but not as preeeecioussss as its recent fantasy bretheren.

Ledger turns in another stellar performance and Cornish is heartbreakingly good also in this well-crafted film. But once that first plunger is pushed, the surprises are few.

From the beginning, something doesn't feel quite right about their latest romp. The characters are sketchier, the situations more contrived and the laughs are fewer and far between.

Finney, only seen in these flashbacks, is pitch perfect.

Technically, it rewards with nothing less than painterly cinematography and a seamless surge of organic soundscapes, but the story is entirely predicated on a weather metaphor so obvious that even an unplugged Doppler radar could detect it.

There's no question that Death of a President fulfills its objective as a conversation starter, but as a movie, it's sketchy at best.

Cocaine Cowboys might work better as a miniseries for television; as it is, the two-hour running time is fatiguing and some of the later material gets lost in the onslaught.

Flags of our Fathers really loses its way in the final half-hour, when the point-of-view abruptly shifts to James Bradley (played here by Tom McCarthy), who takes on the role of narrator, informing us of what happened to each of these men after the war ended and their names became yesterday's news. It's a jarring switch.

It's great that the comedian felt the call of a higher office, but it's a call that apparently only he can hear.

Ma, who portrayed the stone-faced General in the Coen brothers' comedy "The Lady Killers," once again plays his role largely silent. As the despondent Ed, Ma says more with a few facial expressions & twitches than most performers could hope to with a three-page monologue.

One could argue that you shouldn't expect a teen comedy to offer a nuanced depiction of the role of education in public life, but in response I'd refer you to "Election" and "Clueless."

It really never amounts to more than a barely warmed over rehash of teen dance flick moves.

Somehow the movie ends up feeling like a museum piece or, worse still, a work of fiction.

So if you like Ferrell or Cohen, go ahead buy some popcorn, check your brain at the door, and you will laugh.

Part of the Clerks charm was that Kevin Smith made it for $27,000, and a bigger budget doesn't really help this kind of tale's authenticity.

My Super Ex-Girlfriend was written by longtime "Simpsons" scribe Don Payne, but you wouldn't know that based on the finished film, which lacks the intelligence and sly wit that has kept Homer and the gang on the air for all these years.

Dead Man's Chest is best summed up by the scene where Sparrow and Will battle each other atop a runaway water wheel. Like the characters, this movie is just running in circles.

So stupendously funny at times that she (Streep) nearly salvages the whole thing.

The problems with Tokyo Drift start with its ostensible hero; during the course of this movie, Sean makes so many dumb decisions it's a wonder that anyone wants to be associated with him.

When he runs out of material to tickle with, Black dips into his musically tenacious "deedle-diddle-dee" for some sure-fire ridiculousness.

Peyton Reed's The Break-Up proves there is nothing particularly funny or charming about two people splitting up, even if the couple is played by Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston.

At root, novelist Dan Brown’s story is an entertaining one--whether you believe any of these ideas are real or not. And in the end, it’s that standard movie trope (good guys must solve dire puzzle while bad guys give chase) that makes The Da Vinci Code an okay film.

The Proposition can be appreciated as a strong technical exercise, but it fails to resonate on any deeper level.

Director Shortland frames the story against the apt grey, off-season ski town, but her attempt to match it with deliberate pacing just makes the film feel chilly and too long, just like Heidi's depressing routine.

Even if its premise weren't so achingly familiar, the film's bland humor and oddly conservative depiction of its central character, a flamboyant drag queen named Lola, would still make it seem like a museum piece.

A clichéd rock-star film.

Though McConaughey has proven himself game for romantic comedy contrivance in the past, his charisma is all wrong for the immature Tripp.

Farrell and Hayek are two beautiful people with absolutely no chemistry. Even when they're lying in bed together, they're so far apart that they might as well be in different movies.

Surrounding Council and Moore in this cacophonous, bleak New Jersey are a set of cops, neighbors, and relatives played by actors that the unimaginative Roth yanked directly from various TV gritty crime shows; it's like he thought HBO was his personal casting agent.

Ironically, for all of Stranger's faults, director Simon West has probably made a perfect date movie: just suspenseful enough to keep you arm-in-arm with your beau or belle; but silly enough that you'll both laugh about it afterwards.

At heart, a light, watchable film.

What made Aeon Flux compelling and special as an animated series had everything to do with the medium and the freedom Chung was given to shape the story as he pleased. Take away those elements, and Aeon Flux becomes nothing more than middling science fiction, which is unfortunately what the film is.

The moviemakers are accomplished enough to make something coherent out of this tonal mishmash, but I was left with a "was this trip really necessary" feeling for all that.

In the film, the cleverness just isn't there. There's still a lot to like about Chicken Little - the animation is top notch, and the characters, if somewhat recycled, still generate the requisite sympathy and chuckles.

That Jarhead is an impressive technical achievement is a given, but ultimately this picture is the last thing any war movie should be: innocuous.

Their movie is cold, and I mean that not as a weather pun, but in the sense that it's impossible to warm up to a character who sees the awful things happening around him strictly in terms of how they affect him.

A quarter of the way through the film, it’s all just too much.

I'd like to say that Flightplan is one of those white-knuckle, edge-of-your-seat thrill rides that critics are always raving about, but instead, it's more like a transatlantic flight with no clear destination, where the cabin noise makes it impossible to sleep and the in-flight movie is a rerun.

The image of Gwyneth Paltrow looking anguish-stricken has become such a cinematic meme that it hardly bodes well for Proof that it opens with this sight.