De Niro is constantly upstaged by the showstopping, sunburnt duo of Streisand and Hoffman, but even their material is so recycled (more Focker puns, etc.) that it doesn’t matter who steals the most chuckles.

Girard gives feisty life to the battle-weary professor, but Rousseau just follows the drill--he is glass-eyed to the point of distraction. And for all its intellectual maneuvering, the film never regains the simple power of its opening salvo.

The ending of Teacher's Pet, like the rest of the film, feels a bit rushed. Then again, the movie is geared toward a population with small attention spans and smaller bladders.

It’s an uneven outing from the Frat Pack, and an equally sad commentary on the state of American comedy: This run-on mess is the funniest film of the last six months.

While basketball fans might have trouble recognizing the sport as it's played here, the games certainly aren't dull. Unfortunately, most of the off-court sequences are.

Depends on how you're feeling about Tom Cruise--as opposed to the character he's putatively playing.

Nothing happens as you might expect it to, but the Pinocchio ending is definitely out.

As endearing as Ferrell and Kidman are on their own, there's just no chemistry between them onscreen.

Whatever planet these dance sequences are happening on, their cuckoo surrealism is the movie's saving grace.

If the raison d'être of Leatherheads was not to add something to the football movie canon but to have Clooney and Zellweger engage in a screwball banter-fest, then there's no excusing the paltry number of zinger missiles fired over the course of the film.

Though director Irwin Winkler takes pains to accurately present Cole's life (unlike "Night and Day," the 1946 biopic starring Cary Grant), the film has its shortcomings. First of which is pushing the love story, when it's clear Linda's feelings aren't reciprocated.

There's too much going on to take it all in. It's a shame, really. Robots boasts some of the most vibrant visual design ever captured on screen.

An enjoyable mess that aimlessly goofs like "Men in Black" when its script calls for "Black Adder."

The Aristocrats lies halfway between two potentially great films: it's neither a smartly austere succession of jokesmiths with all the critique left to the audience, nor a deconstructionist essay on "crossing the line" and the language of comedy itself.

Marketed as a combination of a popcorn-munching actioner, but that's somewhat misleading -- it's also a well-researched historical thriller. Unfortunately, it ends up not succeeding as either.

Strikes me as more of a thesis piece than anything LaBute has put his name to thus far. Its characters don't seem to be people as much as they are stand-ins for ideas.

Has masterfully polished mechanics, some of the most seamless CGI effects in recent memory, and the Wells veneration is admirable. However, the film takes far too many creative shortcuts, like bookended narration and aliens that make strategically humanlike mistakes, completely incongruous to their technological superiority.

It may be a crowd-pleasing escapism, but it's that feel-good shmaltz that ultimately plays the film off-key.

If The Prestige is something of a let down as a magic trick, it's more successful as a tale of obsession. The rivalry between the magicians is brutal and bloody and Bale and Jackman do their best work when they're plotting each other's downfall.

War is like Statham's other actioners "The Transporter" and "Crash" -- fun, but not big or dumb enough to be glorious.

Perhaps Highmore could have tried a little harder to make us doubt for a moment that, once again, Good will inevitably overcome Evil.

Like any coming-of-age story, there's enough drama, comedy, and, of course, romance to be entertaining. But moreover, Sisterhood furthers an honest dialogue among young women.

Fans will cheer at Schumacher's faithful inflation of Webber's vision, which interprets all that pomp and bombast as if the show were some sort of overblown Vegas attraction.

The courtroom scenes are the animated ones…and said animation looks rather cruder than your average PS3 game.

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

It's basically just another watered-down version of Dead Poets Society and countless other inspirational-teacher films, but its emotional impact is undeniable.

Where the film falters is in Alejandro Agresti's overly deliberate direction, which threatens to drown the drama in amber sunsets and self-conscious camera framings. The film looks great, but it lacks spontaneity, an important element of the most memorable screen romances.

Vacancy could have been some sort of satirical masterpiece had this whole scenario been finally revealed as an extreme form of couple's therapy designed to get Beckinsale and Wilson back together.