A sharp-witted satire of celebrity journalism.

This latest installation in the “Big Fat Greek” franchise is colorful and celebratory, eager to entertain and wears its heart on its sleeve. There’s something to be said for that.

There's a psychological undercurrent. The movie occupies a zone where science fiction and nightmares collide and intertwine.

Williamson's script, which he also directed, is spiteful and shallow.

Awake fails only in the sense that it’s a movie in one note, and thus its story only knows one direction, which is downhill.

It's astonishing what little impact even the most imaginatively choreographed and well-filmed aerial escapades can have when they're presented as neither an expression of a character's personality, nor in the context of a compelling mission.

Looks fantastic, but the film suffers from the TV-to-feature transition.

Hernandez's debut feature is a thuddingly slow, often wordless portrait of emotional pain.

If For Greater Glory were a person, it would be wearing two different socks. It is a scattered mess, as earnest as a folk song, but like a folk song that goes on for two hours and 23 minutes. Not only does it never justify its epic length, it gets even the small things wrong.

In the end, Venom exists in what may end up being regarded as a no-man’s land — too much like a superhero movie to appeal to people who despise the genre, and yet too deliberately silly to be taken seriously by superhero fans. There’s nothing memorable in Venom, nothing to talk about the next day. But if it happens to hit you right, its lightness is refreshing.

Goes south as a sci-fi film.

The problem with Birth of the Dragon, George Nolfi’s largely fictionalized account of a 1964 fight between an Oakland martial arts instructor named Bruce Lee and San Francisco instructor Wong Jack Man is that Lee...is the third-most important character in the film.

The movie has that fatal triptych that is becoming Reiner's romantic-comedy signature: drippy sentiment, zany scenes that trivialize the characters and a horror of adventure.

What has gone wrong in director Matthew Vaughn’s process that he can offer up an awful mess like “Argylle” and just hope that nobody will notice? He must notice.

No target is too obvious for Salvation Boulevard, a farrago of cheap shots aimed at Christian fundamentalism. It's a blunderbuss satire that criminally wastes a talented cast.

An action movie has to be taken on its own terms, and on its own terms The Perfect Weapon still amounts to a 90-minute bore. [16 Mar 1991, p.C3]

When the end finally arrives, it brings no sense of completion, just a sort of numb awareness that the pain has stopped.

A well-oiled, loudly revving summer action vehicle that does all that's required, and then some, within the confines of PG-13: It cracks genitalia jokes, messes around with toys and blows stuff up.

The best scenes are the ones that Fox shares with Tamala Jones, Wendy Raquel Robinson and the full-figured Monique as her sassy girlfriends. There's a ripe, crackling spontaneity when these women get together.

Mirthless and barely musical.

Do you really want to spend money watching what is essentially marginality, or would those dollars be better used to see a better film or even buy a good book?

Pet Sematary Two' follows the usual horror movie pattern: The first half is a pleasure, because you know what has to happen and you can't wait. And the second half is a bore, because you know what still has to happen and you can't wait for it to end. [01 Sept 1992, p.E3]

A thriller without thrills. It's also a thriller that cheats. The story is stretched to feature length only by having the film's incidents arranged in such a way as to reveal as little as possible.

With Lake at the center, something that could have been innocuous becomes painful, and a sure shot at mediocrity is transformed into one of the worst films of the year.

The only performer who breathes any life into the proceedings is Vincent Perez.

The story is unbelievable and phenomenally silly, not a good combination.

A movie for teenagers, and, as these things go, very entertaining.

The direction, by Ben Nott and Morgan O'Neill, is average, except for the surfing sequences, which are easily as striking as what we see in documentaries about the sport. Another positive is the soundtrack, with amusing high-energy rock tunes of the era.