Baby Mama is the most disappointing movie of the year so far--which, granted, isn't saying a lot in mid-April.

Even at his most indulgent, Malick brings something to the movies that no one else ever has, a way of looking at the world that is easily imitated but has never been equaled. It’s worth sifting through the sometimes half-baked philosophizing and breathy poeticism to see through his eyes.

Noise is never quite as smart as it tries to be. But as summer and its mouth-breathing blockbusters loom large on the horizon, there's something touching about a movie that even tries.

The movie seems to love its main character without bothering to understand her.

Rambling and conflicted as it is, it's one of the most entertaining African-American comedies of manners ever made.

It's coarse, primitive, regressive, often very stupid, and sometimes, against all odds, really a hoot.

This isn't an objectionable movie, just a mild, obvious, and rather limp one, with plenty of little jolts but no ejaculatory payoff.

Idlewild has moments of sticky sentimentality and stretches of dull exposition, but you've got to give it this: It's unpredictable.

It is, as I suspected, a gargantuan hunk of over-art-directed kitsch, but it makes for a grandiose, colorful, pleasure-drenched night at the movies.

Like the monsters at its center, it’s built from parts that don’t always fit together, but dammit: It’s alive.

Unlike your average comic-book blockbuster, The Hulk isn't a bad cartoon. It's a bad modern Greek tragedy. It's a swing at the moon that looks (and smells) like green cheese.

For all the contemporary relevance of the issues it explores, there’s something morally and aesthetically muffled about The Reluctant Fundamentalist: Nair is so busy making sure we never lose sympathy for her handsome and charming protagonist that the film ultimately founders in a tangle of humanist platitudes.

Volcano is just another $100 million genre movie, and a pretty lousy one, to boot.

At times this multiple-plot meander through the glorious labyrinth of the Eternal City can feel aimless, even lazy. But in the film's best moments, that willingness to wander works to its advantage.

Milla Jovovich is not quite up to the task of playing a nuanced and thoughtful Joan.

It’s just a deeply misguided mode of franchise-building.

Groove offers the most wholesome vision of orgiastic oneness imaginable -- it's a raver's version of "The Love Boat."

Has anyone involved in this disaster ever heard a real story?

Snyder’s Justice League is more, more, more in a way that most films wouldn’t dare, and, after a year of no theaters at all, a movie that makes me long to return to a multiplex—to see more movies that commit so completely to a vision that it’s impossible not to be swept away.

The scale of the enterprise is thrilling; it's too bad the movie is so muddled on so many different levels.

With its featherweight premise, casually amoral heroes, and exotic locales, it conjures up an era (the '60s and '70s) when twisty, romantic heist pictures were routinely ground out as tax shelters.

It skips lightly over the surface of its rich material, more preoccupied with making pretty pictures than dipping below the surface so that you can experience the world through the eyes of its traumatized, yet increasingly savvy, heroine.

Misanthropy can be incredibly entertaining, so long as that hatred draws blood. But that extra percentage point of venom has skewed Clowes and Zwigoff's aim.

The screenplay doesn't lack for memorable zingers, and thanks to Cody's script and Streep's performance, Ricki emerges as a complex, self-contradictory person (even if most of the supporting characters don't).

Sarah spends her downtime drawing her friends and family in her sketchbook - the art is by Brown - and the figures she makes are not stylized or caricatured but just well-observed, scruffier versions of real life. It's fitting that those same drawings adorn the opening and closing credits of this sweet and sympathetic movie.

The movie itself is not unsatisfying, though it’s less fun than previous Jackass films, and has a worse title.

The Australian actress Radha Mitchell is the only reason to see the movie: She has an extraordinary open face and a way of mixing dreaminess with sudden bursts of lacerating emotion that recalls Jessica Lange.

The humor of Brüno is arguably crueler and more misanthropic than "Borat's."