Like Dupree himself, the film wears out its welcome a little, but is still entertaining.

Owen Wilson manages to break his customary comic relief persona and is adept at playing a little "Father Knows Best"; the yellow lab does a good job too.

Scott doesn't bring much to the table as an action director, and his keen storytelling abilities go invisible here.

The drama aspect is necessary to the story, but it just drags on too long.

The handful of comic moments will serve up a few good laughs.

Camp may not be great cinema, but it's passionate and original enough to be special.

One casting wild card is the country singer Tim McGraw, and he's very solid in the role of Katie's horse-rancher dad, the kind of guy whose hard-headedness can't mask the size of his heart.

Made with obvious passion and humor (and a side of fries), Super Size Me is a mostly entertaining look at fast food, the billion-dollar businesses behind it, and its warped effect on our culture.

Gothika deserves credit for embracing the ghost story genre so whole-heartedly, but as any ten-year-old girl can tell you, there's nothing original here to see.

While this Kid isn't up to "Spy Kids" standards, the good news is the film hews closer to the high-concept kids' movies of the 1980s than to all that Disney Channel goo that's been repackaged for the big screen lately.

It’s very colorful, for sure, but the dialogue is lead-footed at best.

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.

Jersey Girl may have come from his soul, but it contradicts the charm of a Kevin Smith movie.

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

Imagine what someone like Danny DeVito might have done with the material, taking it in that darker "War of the Roses" direction instead of languishing in this sunny, not-nearly-sinister-enough "Legally Blonde" territory.

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.

Since the story really is about nothing more than who ends up with which bag of money, those eccentric details--that cow, the butchers' language--don't feel organic, but rather cosmetic. They're glamour to conceal the mundane.

Moves easily between manic humor and soft, touching moments that get to the heart of what it means to be a parent.

The movie is a mess, but Harnett and Ford are likable enough to make Hollywood Homicide a unique addition to the cookie-cutter spectacles that usually grace theaters during the summer months.

If you were hoping to find another "Nemo," you're likely to be let down by this insincere and borderline unpleasant alternative.

Had the picture maintained a sense of lightheartedness, it may have better lived up to its genre. But, as is, Alex & Emma is flat, neither whimsically romantic nor consistently comedic.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

Summing up, yes, the effects are shockingly bad here, but the real tragedy is that this is a good story that was made into a movie by the wrong people.

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.

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.

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

The result is more bawdy diversion than historical fable.

Ultimately even the strongest characters deliver mixed results.

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.

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.

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."

There's a lot to be said for a movie that isn't after instant fame, but only wants to make audiences feel good.

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

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

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

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.

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!"

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.

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

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

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.

American audiences have seen Ju-On. And The Grudge just goes to show why remaking it is such a frivolous idea: What's the use in wasting so much energy if the filmmakers aren't going to fix what was wrong with the movie in the first place?

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

It's really rather dull, lacking in any originality or flair that might draw attention to the cause. It's lightly comedic, lightly dramatic, lightly tragic, and, therefore, lightly entertaining.

Borderline reprehensible, High Tension is a living nightmare, but then, why else would you see it?

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.

If only the love story were a little more convincing, she might have saved the world and the movie.

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.

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

Those who have never seen the series should either swim rapidly in the other direction or be willing to dive right in and suspend disbelief about the multitude of things that just don't make sense.

One of those slow-baked Southern character studies about taking an old flat tire of a man and finding some way to love him anyway.

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.

The entire film is a thrown-together collection of gunfights and in-jokes. The film is more concerned with expanding this universe of seedy tequila bars and dusty city streets than it is in telling a narrative story.

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

It's too bad that the movie induces eyeball-rolling almost as much as it does armrest-clutching.

Overburdened with themes and symbolism, Baltasar Kormákur’s latest effort seems more apt for a term paper than a movie review.

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.

Everyone involved figured that sentiment trumps sloppiness. Original Soundtrack

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.

When it's all over and it's apparent that entire sections of the film are irrelevant and the paper-thin love story leaves you unsatisfied, hold your tongue, and try to remember that this film is v-e-r-y important.

Spoiled by its own insatiable desire for envelope-pushing flair; it’s wider-scoped when it should be intimate, splashy instead of subtle, icky but not scary.

Lambs feels five years too late.

Bloated with too many pratfalls yet too little plot, and neutered of its most viciously hysterical moments.

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

Wants to be at any given moment--wrenching, thought-provoking, surprising, heartbreaking--all it ever is is tastefully lifeless. It’s been beaten into a coma by its own scruples.

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

There were times watching this movie when I felt I was being force-fed 30 pounds of crème brûlée. Which isn’t to say I choked on every minute: I chortled heartily at the thread about the comeback of the washed-up rock star (Bill Nighy).

Rojas is played by Penélope Cruz, who's endearing enough, but still comes across coarse and irritating every time she attempts a role in English.

At heart, a light, watchable film.

The beauty of You Got Served is that it delivers the moves from every vantage point.

Too-laborious meditation on life and death.

Lords of Dogtown may pop for the skateboarding crowd. It fizzles for the rest.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Viewers should hope Jeepers 2 is the final act in this series. The once-promising Creeper, who we see up close this time, has emerged as a garden-variety killer.

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

Are these iconic, antihero relics smartly satirized in a post-slasher, or is FVJ just more dated, third-wave trash? Disappointingly, it's the latter.

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

The period sets and costumes and the arch dialogue are exaggerated as if to underline the movie’s satirical intent—but in fact it has none.

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.

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.

Might have been a tasty black comedy if treated as such, but the twisted sense of humor is never allowed to elevate beyond the cutesy sensibilities of a romantic comedy.

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.

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.

The new film is also sleeker, sexier, and, thankfully, shorter than the original.

Skillfully manage to adapt some key details of the show -- namely, the high-flying car chases and hillbilly narration.

Irritatingly, Fleder's flair for broadcasting plot twists treats the audience with the same patronizing indulgence as Hackman does his potential jurors.

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.

Too bad the movie was assembled by Hollywood types -- Joel Schumacher directed, Jerry Bruckheimer produced -- who like to have things 15 ways at once. Hollywood types don't like journalists, so while they're lionizing Guerin, they go out of their way to make almost every other journalist depicted in the picture despicable.