Once you drink The Producers' Kool-Aid, it's a thoroughly enjoyable descent into madness.

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

An uneven love story but a picture-perfect love letter to Italy.

It is a cute, silly romantic comedy, with little suspense and nothing particularly new to add to genre.

It's an overall heady conceit about image and invention, clever and fun with compelling lead performances -- especially Reynolds, who finally gets to show some chops in a career littered with Van Wilder–grade junk.

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

In the end it's still Gilliam Lite, but Gilliam Lite is better than no Gilliam at all.

As coincidence would have it, Steve Carell's "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" spun comedy gold from a similar idea just last week. Virgin shares not only The Baxter's basic premise, but also two of its key cast members (Paul Rudd and the beautiful Ms. Banks), allowing audiences to see just how much better The Baxter might have been if Showalter had given us some reason to identify with his socially awkward protagonist.

The actors and acting are so attractive--as is, per usual in a Merchant Ivory production, the scenery--that the movie’s less deft handling of the scenario’s various themes, not to mention some stumbling in the final quarter, when the story’s tone grows a little darker, doesn’t stand out as much as it might have.

Before plunking down your cash for a ride on the Mamma Mia! express when it pulls into town, just ask yourself one question: Do I really dig ABBA?

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.

Favorably, Atkinson’s family-friendly, rubber-limbed professionalism can revitalize even the most vapid of material, which this certainly is. Anyone who has seen an episode of Black Adder can tell you that he’s leaps and bounds funnier than this sitcom-grade bauble.

This is a fun midnight movie. Horror fans, get your friends together and go see some gore and some naked chicks in three dimensions.

It's a captivating story presented with a fresh and artistic spirit, putting a human face on the man behind the theories.

For all its intelligence, Free Zone has disappointingly little to say.

As it happens, each one of these tales is also a love story, and The Fountain is Aronofsky’s profession of faith concerning love’s place in the idea of eternity. It’s a movie that’s as deeply felt as it is imagined.

All this is frustrating, as the picture contains a few grace notes that remind one what an acute filmmaker Wong can be.

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

There are moments so beautifully composed and so resonant in Jonathan Glazer's (Sexy Beast) sophomore effort, I can at least propose it's a "near-great."

The film stubbornly refuses to fill empty space with dialogue or adhere to any structure other than its own downbeat atmosphere, forcing viewers to be intensely patient or squirm. It's the best film I’ve seen in a while that I wouldn't recommend to anyone.

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

The beginning is a little slow, but after Neeson starts his hunt and does his best wrath-of-God impression, it doesn’t skip a beat.

Step Brothers is a hard R, for good reason. While it's somewhat sweeter, if you will, than a typical Apatow flick, the ludicrous situations call for equally ludicrous behavior and statements.

Earle fans might see this film as a satisfying portrayal of a man they know and love, but those unfamiliar with the man and his music will likely leave the theater without much more interest in him than when the movie began.

Listen up, fanboys and enthusaiasts of sophisticated visual wizardry: this theological noir-horror actioner-a stand-alone, rapturous good time-craftily and accurately captures the straight-faced camp, wry wit and episodic structure of its source material.

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.

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.

Over the years, Pacino's Method has become his madness, and now, whether he's playing Shylock or Satan, he doesn't become the part so much as the part becomes him.

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.

Scarlett Johansson looks lovely and hasn't much to do besides that, McGregor only starts having fun when he's playing the "original" of his clone.

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.

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.

The reason for all this dull-to-offensive story stuff is, of course, the dancing, which has its moments but overall seems so calculated to impress that it loses all other reason for being.

Suffocatingly boring.

Isn't quite self-aware enough to be really funny, and certainly isn't serious or genuinely exciting enough to be thrilling because of it's action.

Two-hours of trashy eye-candy that, while fast and loose with the truth, functions as a perfectly adequate divertissement in a time of year when studios tend to unleash their worst.

Law owns every scene he’s in--which is literally all of them--plus a decent supporting cast and dapper dialogue truly make for a breezy good time.

Takes a long time to say nothing new, which is a shame because it wastes fine performances across the board (it's a nice reminder that Farrell, can, in fact, act), and, well, a really effective score by Philip Glass.

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.

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.

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

Tron: Legacy will only be enjoyed by men in their thirties and early forties searching for a Proustian moment.

Ultimately all of the ado about men in shades and dark suits running around shooting and shouting at each other comes to a satisfying, if predictable, conclusion.

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

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?

Despite some laughably silly plot elements, McG has created an overall entertaining movie experience. It's a great kick-off to the summer explosion season.

This is a perhaps even more misbegotten remake than the Farrelly Brothers' update of "The Heartbreak Kid."

Tristan & Isolde isn't a ground-breaking film in any way, but even though the story is familiar and even if you don't like romances, good casting, an able director, and notable cinematography draw you in to the fairy tale feeling of long ago and far away. Pass the popcorn.

Chris Rock's I Think I Love My Wife is less interesting, and less successful, as a remake of a much-bruited '70s art film than it is as a compendium of Rockian observations on the current state of the African-American bourgeoisie.

Kids deserve an adventure movie like this, one that might inspire them to become junior inventors and ignite their interest in the world's many wonders.

You've got to give the guy (De Palma) some credit. He's made a bizarre, baffling and at times flat-out bad movie. But at least it's rarely boring.

You can't help but see this movie being crafted out of shards of movies past, seemingly in a cut and paste method. In the hands of a less skillful director, the film could very easily flop, but it doesn't.

A charming midlife crisis of a movie that bottles the "La Femme Nikita" director's typically high-concept inclinations in a modest indie package.

The heretofore nothing-but-delightful Simon Pegg stumbles in the long-anticipated feature film directorial debut of -- ta-da! -- David Schwimmer, who takes the sow's ear of a script given him by Pegg and Michael Ian Black and deep-fries it into a burnt pork rind of a movie.

What once was a gifted comic's fluid improvisation is now a doddering old man so embarrassing he's uncomfortable to watch, and the surrogate father-daughter needling he has with Johansson is creepy when you realize Woody the director is shooting her seductively in that skintight bathing suit.

As for me, watching this overripe, ignorant parading of Hollywood privilege an hubris put me in mind of a different song--Neil Young's "Revolution Blues." Specifically the bit about Laurel Canyon being filled with famous stars . . .

Paths collide and allegiances form between the good, bad, and ugly, but under the incoherent direction of Chalerm Wongpim, a clunky dullness sets in whenever the action subsides.

While not a masterpiece along the lines of "The Lion King," and not a super-smart witticism-fest like "Lilo and Stitch," Brother Bear is deeply heartfelt, touching, and beautiful.

Doesn't always work -- like its title, the movie straddles two separate worlds, landing squarely in the dreaded realm of "dramedy" -- but it's a noble effort.

The film feels like a natural successor to "The Wedding Singer's" strange blend of humor and humanity, a gently silly comedy that's actually romantic without making anyone sick in the process. And that just might be a first.

When confronted with real problems--and there's enough melodrama here to top a movie-of-the-week marathon on Lifetime--these otherwise empowered characters seem helpless to defend themselves.

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.

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.

One suspects the truth will only be revealed if or when Phoenix starts acting again. Certainly on this evidence, he's no great shakes at hip-hop.

It's the details that make Dummy such a winner. By way of comparison, consider last summer's "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," in which each actor put a heartfelt spin on his or her one-joke character (the father who believes that Windex cures everything). Well, here's an entire movie built on nuggets like that.

There are so many facts presented that many of them feel forced and trivial. We were also a little disappointed with the twist ending.

For a movie built around a brightly-colored, magical toy store, Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium is surprisingly forgettable. In fact, it's most wondrous feat is just how it manages to waste good actors and fine performances.

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

Filmed in 2005, the first of two Cusack widower flicks this season (the weepier and more indie "Grace is Gone" hits theaters in December) Martian Child is also a Franken-schmaltz monster of cobbled-together Cusack movie parts.

After a slow start, this feel-good family film is a nice postcard from the Big Apple that may benefit New York and the Museum of Natural History as much as it does 20th Century Fox.

In the scenes where Efron isn't on screen, things tend to get boring. Plus, we could've lived without having watched so many scenes where Zac is showing off his basketball skills.

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.

The movie does feature a nice, teasing chemistry between veteran actors Voight and Mirren (who clearly relishes the chance to break out of stuffy melodrama), but this shallow, empty puzzle requires more than playful banter to satisfy audiences willing to pay to play.

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

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.

If you are a big fan of country music, you will enjoy it for the Taylor Swift, Rascal Flatts, Billy Ray Cyrus and of course, Miley Cyrus performances.

Chris Columbus, true to his namesake, has chartered new waters of lazy hackdom with this "Clash of the Titans" remade as a CW tween soap.

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."

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

This is very much a French intellectual cineaste's idea of a B thriller, and hence is as far from innocent in its genre as you can get. Which is not to say that Assayas deals in bad faith.

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

The film's lack of focus leaves most, if not all, of the characters just a hair less developed than they should have been; the plot holes just a bit more conspicuous than they might have been; and the ending just a touch less poignant than it could have been.

Ginnifer Goodwin gives a standout performance--and that’s saying a lot considering the large cast--as the insecure, neurotic female looking for love.

On the plus side, there are these super-scary mechanical octopus-type things with a billion eyes and metal tentacles that fly in great awful swarms and look like the non-organic versions of the flying-brain-and-spinal-cord monsters that made the otherwise laughable '60s sci-fi flick "Fiend Without aFace" so cool.

Like the equally dull romantic drama "Catch and Release," which was in theaters for a nanosecond back in January, In the Land of Women strains to convince the audience to that it's telling a real story about real people. But with its glossy visuals and photo-shoot ready cast, the movie ends up presenting us with the very opposite of reality.

Lambs feels five years too late.

In this sequel, as Elle uses her good-hearted pluck to work toward her goal, Witherspoon is a sheer delight, all charm and light and loveliness; you just want her to win.

A riveting urban drama that tackles a myriad of sociopolitical issues -- conflicts of race, sex, class, marriage and politics -- without spreading itself thin.

Part of what makes these kind of war movies such cinematic comfort food (aside from the moral certainty they strive to convey) is their familiarity. But I wonder if said familiarity is what compels contemporary filmmakers to overstuff the material -- Flyboys is a good two hours and 20 minutes.

While the movie will definitely not be to everyone's taste, black-hearted romantics will find Choke easy to swallow.

This is Gere’s movie, and Sarandon and Lopez graciously let him dance away with it.

Halloween is a real, classic-style horror movie, not an exercise in gross special effects. Oh, and for those who’ve missed Carpenter’s classic, this will scare the candy corn out of you, but the original is still champion.

The real top billing, what audience-goers are obviously shelling out to see, is the computer-generated chaos, and as they should: Digital technology has caught up with our collective imaginations Now More Than Ever.

The family dynamic, paired with a few delicious action scenes, is engaging enough that we hardly notice the fillm's major flaw, a rather flimsy and sometimes jingoistic subplot having to do with California's independence.

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.

Feels more practical than whimsical, more politically correct than sweep-you-off-your-feet romantic.

Not even within earshot of a masterpiece, Man on Fire, based on its ratio of production costs to quality alone, may prove to be the worst movie of 2004.

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.