The problem is, there's just not enough Burton in Big Fish.

There's as much to draw us in, but far less to put us off. [13 Jun 1997]

More humdrum than horrible. It isn't futuristic film noir; it's just everyday film beige.

The Black Phone is an enjoyable watch, for sure, but it lacks a certain agility, which keeps it from being as great as we want it to be.

It is a sadly out-of-touch tactic that recalls an old man yelling at the clouds (or, more accurately, cloud computing).

Duke rarely operates at more than a TV movie-of-the-week level of originality, but Hoodlum is still an easy movie to enjoy.

Thrilling when we’re on and around the plane (seeing that giant CGI bird splash down, especially on an Imax screen, makes you realize how improbable the whole enterprise was) and too often thudding when we’re not.

Smartly cast, in the sense that Reeves, gloomy and pained, and Harrelson, confused and explosive, both seem befuddled while Downey, as the devious, intellectual Barris, is befuddling.

Actor Liev Schreiber’s voice-over narration is filled with sonorous urgency, but as the film’s commentators acknowledge, some ideas are a hard sell: How do politicians and regulators convince the public on the benefits of a financial diet when a spending spree sounds much more fun?

The laughs in Working Girl are the laughs of near-recognition - just good enough to make us wish they were much better.

In a film that offers itself as a Gump-esque moral fable, Phenomenon could serve as a case study of When Smart Films Fail.

Informative and swiftly paced documentary.

A beautiful muddle.

The tension fizzles as The Sacrament narrows into predictability, indulging every cliché of found-footage filmmaking and Jonestown-styled cult apocalypticism.

Casting By is also something of an elegy for a lost era, when talent, even at its rawest, stood far above prettiness as the primary reason for getting the part.

This is a movie fantasy, folks -- like James Bond, without the smarm and martinis.

The wonder is that the cast -- a terrific ensemble with talents honed on such hallowed stages as the Abbey Theatre -- brings it off with far more verve than the slight tale deserves.

Most British actors are awfully good at underplaying the overwritten, and this group, headed by Matthew Macfadyen, Rupert Graves and Daisy Donovan, is no exception -- where others would mug, they demitasse.

Like his characters, Lin may be an overachiever and the strain of trying to do too much shows. He merges genres the way Ben juggles extracurricular activities.

After all, it’s a movie about professional wrestling – the blows may feel real, but the match is fixed from the very beginning.

Save for some halfway inventive touches, such as a meta-turn that evokes Chuck Jones’s surrealist Merrie Melodies short Duck Amuck, Sponge Out of Water coasts on its 3-D CGI shtick, sacrificing the giddy whimsy that recommends the SpongeBob series for more boringly Hollywood whiz-bang action.

Although the screenplay by Andy Breckman and Michael Leeson is wittier than most, it overshoots its screwball target by a wide margin, and what was initially blithe and charming ends up as merely silly. [24 Dec 1994]

It's obvious Some Kind Of Hero was never meant to be more than what it is - a cute "uplifting" comedy - but Pryor's performance pushes your expectations. It makes you wish someone would give him an honest dramatic part, and that he could work with a director who wouldn't let him get away with his transparent heart-tugging tricks. Director Michael Pressman has a good touch with his actors, but falters structurally to accommodate Kirkwood's script. [3 Apr 1982]

The film is not quite a medallist. But it’s certainly a spirited contender.

My Science Project leaves you wishing it was a better movie, and that's a commendation. It has something that allows you to hope for more, namely a performance by John Stockwell (Christine) that earns him a spot among the fine young actors in Hollywood. [13 Aug 1985]

Love, Rosie’s early charm fades by the end, given that, as time (and the movie) wears on, neither Rosie nor Alex get any more mature when it comes to matters of the heart.

This good movie could have been great if writer Akiva Goldsman had been able to -- or been permitted to -- dump the boundaries of the TV source altogether.

Alison Klayman’s documentary about the making of Jagged Little Pill should be as raw as its source material, but plays it incredibly safe instead.

The problem is that the movie plays down almost everything that made Cash great: the train rumble of a voice, the direct, poetic truth of his best lyrics, the invention of his outlaw image and his constant creativity.

As a portrait of a deliciously eccentric individual, Gods and Monsters features a vivid performance from Ian McKellen that makes you think not of James Whale but of Ian McKellen.

A mildly enjoyable if toothless adaptation of a much better book.

Initially, the quick dialogue and strong cast obscure, at least partly, the fact that the plot is itself a dirty trick, a bit of a con game. Once the deception is seen through, the movie ends up inadvertently mimicking its subject matter: Like politics, it too leaves you disillusioned.

It’s just so extra in depicting a story about two gay men in love, and seeking validation from their family. It’s both its drawback and delight.

I'm not saying that a date with this picture is all pleasure; but it's not all guilt either.

The tenderest thing Taylor-Johnson does in Back to Black is remind us how very young Winehouse was when she wowed the world.

A bit thin on plot, but an unequivocal technical tour de force.

Miss Johnson may not be an actress, but her lack of emotional resources and her bland ingenuousness conspire to give the manipulative, sentimental, unconvincing conceit of Ice Castles a naive force that occasionally approaches the simple pleasures of Rocky. [29 Jan 1979]

It's more like a filmed allegory.

The couple are the movie’s saving grace – especially Lillian, now 87, who regales in every story.

It is probably silly and certainly counterproductive to reject what Cry Freedom is merely because of what it is not. If it is not a great political film, it is an honorable attempt to add to political debate; if it is not a definitive biography of a great man, it does contain a mesmerizing incarnation of Biko in the person of U.S. actor Denzel Washington. [06 Nov 1987]

With her high forehead, pale eyebrows and solemn face, Stiles could have understudied Cate Blanchett as Elizabeth -- another dignified smart girl surrounded by conniving idiots.

With high seas and crashing waves created by Canadian special-effects company Fusion CIS, there's nothing wrong with the nail-biting side of the equation featuring a sequence of distinct maritime accidents; it's the rest of the plot that is taking on water.

We’re not sure what sister and brother ultimately learned about their much different sibling, and one is left with the feeling the trip was more in service of the film’s narrative than a dream-fulfilling jaunt for Tom.

Some kind of mess...terpiece.

The best gal wrestlers had their signature moves: Ida May Martinez, with her flying drop kick; Ella Waldek, with the "short-arm scissor lift." Filmmaker Leitman, for all her good work, is in need of a close-out manoeuvre of her own.

The movie trots pleasantly along, but it never races.

All the kids here are terrific, significantly better than the actual movie that surrounds them. Although ostensibly fashioned by Abrams, it's really a summer-weight Spielberg yarn.

Unfortunately, despite Egerton’s most dedicated efforts to pump some life into his hero, Rogers is the blandest kind of capitalist hero. Meanwhile, the various Soviets and Brits caught up in the Tetris antics are just one graphics card away from being Super Mario Bros.-ready boss-level villains.

As Dobbs's chain-smoking and hard-eyed enabler, a quietly spooky Christopher Walken manages to straddle the genres more effectively, gently toying with the stereotype of the rough-edged showbiz manager.

The cast is proficient, with Balk especially adroit at giving her demonic gifts a gleeful twist. And director Andrew Fleming keeps the special effects on a low boil, effective yet not ostentatious, while taking allusive advantage of the competing (and sometimes complementing) tension between the school's Catholic imagery and the girl's pagan icons. But as our heroines lose their grip, so does he. [03 May 1996]

Norm of the North will occupy the attention of young audiences while getting a message across to them about the dangers of humans going where they don’t belong. Older audiences are less well served; they’ll just have to grin and bear it.

If I may persuade you, however: Watch the film for whimsy. Read the book for passion.

The characters in Wonderland show an intelligent complexity and sharpness of contemporary observation that transcends romantic-comedy clichés.

The film manages to showcase Scarborough’s beauty, even when things look bleak.

Although it works well as an encore, the likelihood is that this thing isn’t over until the Fat Amy zings again.

Has a subtle magnetism, and a real human pulse, especially as it concentrates on its two main characters.

Not once does anyone question the war or their involvement in it. We can't depend on big answers from filmmakers, but to not ask big questions seems like a dereliction of duty.

Turns a blind eye to the very history it pretends to teach.

The missing ingredient, of course, is script.

This is the kind of film where the audience has to sort through the sequences, like visiting the green grocer's: liked that bit, can do without those.

Hollywood's big-screen answer to France's 1983 charming film Les Comperes is a wacky star vehicle wildly out of control. [9 May 1997, p.D1]

Fabulous idea/faulty execution is the review.

The acting is uniformly strong and the camera work is winningly claustrophobic, but the film is one note.

Consider it a more family-friendly "Guardians of the Galaxy," with the added kiddie appeal of a big, inflatable windbag to laugh at and love.

It does the job just fine. That job, as director George Lucas freely admits, is quite simply to thrill the beating hearts and the inquiring minds of 12-year-old boys.

Kasparov is a compelling film subject: suave, sardonic and as emotionally high-pitched as he is intellectually gifted.

Sometimes, you'd swear he's (Penn) reprising his performance as a mentally handicapped man in "I Am Sam."

Scratch off Lewis as a contender for the new Bond actor. As for McGregor, he may have failed his audition as well. Our Kind of Traitor is tense enough, but lacks lustre and pizzazz. Perhaps a better-utilized Harris could have popped things up.

I’m not sure audiences are getting what they deserve with this plodding, so-so action-thriller, but they’ll get what they’ll pay for: Washington as a relentless old-man on a moral-code mission of setting things right (and sometimes setting things on fire).

Seen from any chronological vantage, this isn't a superior flick - think of it more as great radio with average pictures. [16 Nov 1990]

Jane Campion makes a beeline for the repressed sexuality, and loses the nuance. [17 Jan 1997]

Very few movies end so much better than they begin. For that reason, and only that reason, this is an exceptional picture.

Thoughtfully crafted but ultimately lugubrious, Green's latest only really connects when the director sticks to the small stuff.

McCarthy delivers the moment of pathos in a totally different voice, tears staining her puffy face, as feelings awfully real and tainted in tragedy bubble up from deep within the comic persona. It’s startling, it’s wholly incongruous, yet it’s undeniably moving. God, how this woman can act and, within the brief frames of that different film, how we long to see the rest of it.

Lohan, in her third lead role in a year, is a good reactive young actress, and London, Ont., native Rachel McAdams is excellently evil, a dose of poison in a pretty lacquered container.

The problem is it’s not that bizarre a love triangle and the interesting tangle of supporting stories and complications get short shrift by focusing there in the second half.

While Bettany and Dunst are both appealing, their chemistry lacks much fizz. As it is, the pair seem less like lovers than bouncy transatlantic cousins.

The verdict? King Kong may be a great movie event in a "Jaws/Titanic" sense of blockbuster impact and cultural talking point, but it is not a great movie.

Perhaps Howard’s dutiful obligation to Brown’s treasure-hunt oeuvre will end here, with the temperate Inferno sparking a resurgence to follow. Dante wrote that “The poets leave hell and again behold the stars.” Here’s hoping that Howard has some shine left in him.

Rocky V, for all its faults, is not awful. It is inferior to the charmingly naive, Cinderella-in-sweat-pants opener of 14 years ago, but it's far superior to every other overdetermined installment. [21 Nov 1990, p.C1]

A feel-good flick that doesn't make you feel too bad -- in this genre, that almost qualifies as a ringing endorsement.

In this tale of two lives, Being Flynn gets the emphasis wrong. The success that has many fathers is altogether predictable; it's the despicable orphan of failure who has us in his thrall.

In five years’ time, it wouldn’t be surprising to see Far from Home ranked near the bottom of everyone’s favourite MCU efforts – the film evaporates, Endgame-style, immediately after viewing.

For those who enjoyed J.J. Abrams’s frisky relaunch of Star Trek back in 2009, the good news is that the new Star Trek Into Darkness is more of the same. The bad news is that Star Trek Into Darkness is, well, a bit too familiar.

The key to the franchise is that Mamma Mia! never takes itself seriously: This time out, the joy is giddy but the sentiments are cloying; the musical scenes are mainly delightful, but quieter moments often fall flat.

Made for ironicists, Turbo Kid, in its endearingly goofy way, says good things about the power reserves of our childhood – an inner superhero we can call upon when needed.

Clearly, Oppenheimer is an ambitious and courageous filmmaker – his chilling documentaries alone are enough to ensure his place in the pantheon. But so much of The End prioritizes purpose over execution, with the result stretched out over interminable lengths.

In an era when the words "President" and "penis" can occupy the same sentence and prompt nothing but yawns, this picture actually manages to surprise, to startle, yes, to administer a series of small but genuine shocks.

Watching it all unfold in my sweatpants while shoving frozen pizza into my gullet, I found it deeply, unshakably depressing.

Rallies in the last reel.

Perhaps it is Stallone's candor with respect to his commerciality that is the key to the success of both Rockys - they're not trying to con you behind your back. Right out in front, they are unpretentiously calculated, manipulative, unbelievable, faux naif, sentimental. And irresistible. Stallone's stitched-together innocence hides its seams. [16 June 1979]

That is what makes the movie highly watchable – along with Hemsworth's affable presence, backed by the always reliable Shannon and with Michael Pena and Trevante Rhodes as two of the soldiers, providing wry commentary from the sidelines.

The fascination of the film is to see his anti-Semitic development and how matter-of-factly and self-righteously he carries out his monstrous race-cleansing.

This movie is exceptionally brutal, cruel, savage and without conscience -- and that's just the comic parts. In contrast, the violent action sequences are quite entertaining.

In a movie world where every new release promises to be something you've never seen before, Twilight of the Ice Nymphs succeeds in being genuinely different -- even if you can't quite figure out exactly what it's supposed to be. [26 Sep 1997, p.E3]

The film is narrated by Whoopi Goldberg, who also shows up as an interviewee, and in a Sesame Street clip, which frankly feels odd. Worse: the script she has to work with is often lacklustre.

Here are a few adjectives that do not apply to the new Superman movie: Beguiling. Frisky. Nuanced. Quiet. Even the title, Man of Steel, sounds too flighty for this film. Man of Lead, or Man of Plutonium, maybe.

Real insecurities live deep beneath the frenemies’ cringe-worthy obliviousness, though all credit to the filmmakers for allowing their comeuppance to contain none of the empathy the girls deny everyone else.