Unfortunately, this low-lowbrow comedy, which tries to pass itself off as a "Friday" crossed with "Legally Blonde," also does nothing to distinguish itself from recent urban flops "The Wash" and "Pootie Tang."

Prinze and Forlani coast on charisma alone, but even their charms can't coax magic from the prosaic dialogue and romantic clichés that clog this listless comedy.

It's a tedious experience in almost every way: The acting is numbingly one-note, the CGI work is unconvincing and often downright shoddy, and the action is poorly staged and framed so close you can never tell for sure who is lopping off whose head.

The script drowns out its ideas with arch melodramatic devices and ridiculous twists while Babbitt smothers even the daylight scenes in an oppressive gloom.

There's a vicious, crude nerve that snakes through this sequel and it leaves no group unscarred -- but unfortunately, women and the handicapped take most of the thrusts.

The script is fatally stupid, most of the gags fall flat, the secondary characters add little, Hudson fails to make anything interesting out of the exasperated heroine, and the endless references to McConaughey's sexual prowess finally become revolting.

The whole affair comes off as thin and artificial as a super model after a botox party.

Like shave ice without the topping, this cinematic snow cone is as innocuous as it is flavorless.

This half-baked production sat on Miramax's shelf for a couple of years. It's no more done now than then, merely more stale.

I can imagine the pitch meeting: "It's 'Kramer vs. Kramer' meets 'Forrest Gump.' No, wait, 'Rainman' has a baby!"

There's not an authentically scary moment in it.

Beck wants to dazzle the audience. I'd settle for a story.

What finally sinks the film is that the more it tries to dazzle us, the more uninterested we become.

Though a hypnotically beautiful film, it's dramatically listless and dull, and completely lacking in passion.

Plays like a feature-length sitcom with gay double entendres.

A decidedly mixed bag.

The script starts repeating its best gags about halfway through, and the direction gets ever broader as it goes along until the film finally loses all effectiveness as satire.

As stiff and slogging as animated films come.

It is so contrived and utterly stupid in every way that it surely must be the nadir of the genre.

The script is soggy and sloppy and Waters is no master of suspense, but he does have a pair of engaging stars flirting in a world of chic New York glamour.

The actors, all unprofessional with the exception of Kim Chan as the Zen master, step on each other's clipped lines so regularly that it becomes a stylistic affectation, like Mamet directing Beckett.

Even though the supporting cast is likable and the film hits all the beats of its formula, it's weak, as if everyone has been to the well one too many times.

Anyone in the market for a bittersweet romantic comedy could do worse.

Levant turns up the slapstick, doubletakes, and epic fart jokes to a tortured extreme.

This isn't a movie, it's a marketing ploy. Would you like a plush Garfield toy with that popcorn?

The unlikely marriage of Murphy and Craven is indeed strange, and it results in what often seems to be two diametrically opposed movies in one. Still, it's not quite as bad an idea as it sounds, and the movie is passably entertaining. [27 Oct 1995, p.30]

Sour slapstick assault with a tin heart and counterfeit sentimentality.

Crossroads may now fall into the same paragraph as "Glitter," Mariah Carey's disastrous star vehicle.