Despite strong performances and impressive cinematography, the film ultimately has a paint-by-numbers feel that detracts from its overall effectiveness.

The classic fairy tale and its straightforward but powerful lessons in self-confidence, perseverance and the power of imagination provide an alluring foundation for ambitious and visually stunning storytelling. It’s sad that, watching this version, you wouldn’t be able to tell.

Lack of originality and self-awareness prove to be a fatal combination. There is something way too familiar about Hoffman's rites-of-passage portrait of wasted youth, with its inevitable soundtrack of fashionable angst-rock and predictably retro-cool cult-movie influences.

With its measured pacing, focus on family and repurposing of familiar horror conventions, the film represents a rather adult offering that can’t manage any memorable frights until well into the first hour of running time.

The film is the sort of mindless, glossy entertainment tailor-made for streaming, even if its large-scale action sequences and exciting locations would look great on the big screen.

The cinematic axiom of diminishing returns appears to be catching up with Robert Rodriguez’s Machete franchise in only the second installment, as the series’ engagingly lowbrow concept gets overwhelmed by episodic plotting and uninspired, rote performances.

A tad too conservative and calculated. CGI delivers best on moody sets and a noirish atmosphere achieved by lighting, backgrounds and visual effects. But the characters look like plastic dolls, and the story is recycled sci-fi.

Those looking for big, loud sci-fi action will find plenty to like here as director Peter Berg (Hancock, Friday Night Lights) pumps up the volume on clashing military hardware and flag-waving heroics.

With the exception of a decent train-top chase, Torque is all vroom and no action.

Ethnic and sexual stereotypes receive equally clumsy treatment in this Canadian comedy.

What might have achieved a degree of cult status across the pond when it was aired in 10-minute installments, struggles to pass big-screen scrutiny.

The jittery storytelling and indifference toward illuminating character or plot detail would already be tiresome even without the gratingly actor-y performances, the director herself being the main offender.

Flatly staged, patchily acted and hobbled by a script (by Meyers-Shyer) that substitutes strained cuteness for wit and texture, Home Again is like a feature-length sitcom sans laughs.

Although not without a certain cheeky, outrageous charm, Chris Kennedy's film isn't nearly as much fun as it seems to think it is.

Hardy brings sufficient charm (and witty voice work) to his symbiote-inhabited character’s internal battle between id and superego to make each entry diverting enough, even if they leave little aftertaste. And so it goes with Venom: The Last Dance, which caps the trilogy by going gleefully out on its own.

For all the authentic genre tropes on display, Marlowe never comes to life on its own, lacking the verve or wit to make it feel anything other than a great pop song played by a mediocre cover band.

Ashes makes no claims to be an entirely accurate biopic; it's a speculative, impressionistic portrait without a lot of dramatic force or psychological depth. But it's an elegantly designed film that fascinates as often as it frustrates.

Instead of being drawn in by Daniel’s spiral, we observe it from a distance. The result is that Longing, presumably intended as a cathartic meditation on grief, simply feels absurd.

Unlike so many of Anderson’s efforts, In the Lost Lands isn’t adapted from a video game. But it sure as hell feels like one, and not one that would be fun to play.

What should be a clammy exercise in claustrophobic, queasy tension becomes, in the hands of writer/director James DeMonaco, an underpowered compendium of over-familiar scare tactics and sledgehammer-subtle social satire.

The actress, wielding a pair of swords like a chef from Benihana, remains a striking action heroine, though she's more convincing visually -- those taut thighs are weapons unto themselves -- than vocally.

Stand Up Guys never wobbles into maudlin or cheap-n-easy sentimentality. It is an entertaining yet sobering portrayal of not-so-wise guys who do not go gently into a no-good night.

Director David Mackenzie's film about two rival band members handcuffed to each other takes too long to find its footing.

Arquette is charmingly endearing as the frustrated Jeanne, Wilson movingly conveys his character's vulnerability as well as his bluster and McLean is terrific as the beleaguered young girl desperate to have a mane like Farrah Fawcett's.

A lifeless period romance of the cutesy-cantankerous persuasion.

In Bodyguard, Khan seems to have a tongue-in-cheek awareness of his major strengths - able comic timing and a cartoonishly muscular physique - and in case that's not obvious enough, he flexes his biceps to the beat in the film's opening song and literally winks at the camera.

Though their resolution is a little too neat to be believed, the filmmakers' way with their cast makes this debut a promising one.

Although some of the supporting performances can be a bit choppy, director Schirmer sets an effectively unsettling naturalistic visual tone, bathing all those dark impulses in sunny Indiana daylight.

The story has little resonance or depth. The R-rated movie comes off as exploitative and derivative.

This $50 million Ridley Scott production does benefit from strong performances and a few worthy scenes that director Daniel Espinosa (Safe House) pulls off with an effective amount of grit. Yet the movie doesn’t really captivate the way it should, and as the manhunt stretches on it actually diminishes in suspense, ultimately overstaying its two-plus-hour running time.

There's just too little wit here amid all the cutesy misunderstandings and farcical mayhem to make Love Wedding Repeat anything but tedious froth.

Displays moments of cleverness but not enough to sustain its feature-length running time.

Turns out to be something like a comic riff on "Training Day." Leaning more toward Hart's brand of slightly raunchy humor rather than Ice Cube's equally popular family-friendly fare, the PG-13 film exhibits broad appeal.

As Mr. Woodcock demonstrates, a great premise can generate a lot of goodwill and almost overcome an uneven script. So too can expert performances.

Ultimately, none of the storylines offers a surprise or tells us anything we don't already know, this many years into America's opioid ordeal. And arriving at a moment when Crisis could refer to so many other calamities, its failure to illuminate anything makes it feel like a distraction.

Charmless sequel.

The film ultimately suffers from its overly contrived plot mechanics, but the expert performances by its ensemble make it go down as easy as a smooth glass of Bordeaux.

A well-meaning but hopelessly stilted melodrama, Hate Crime sacrifices good intentions with its mediocrity of execution.

Exerting significant control over the film – from a screenplay filled with modern resonance to very effective production design – Lee just barely manages to overcome the jarring problem posed by its (mugging) American cast.

The result is a solid entry in the Clancy screen canon — gritty, briskly paced, laced with vigorously choreographed fight scenes, explosive weapons action and twisty political intrigue that seems prescient as it taps into the most strained period in U.S.-Russian relations since the Cold War.

An aimlessly wandering DIY-indie that will send viewers retreating to popcorn movies at their local multiplex.

Fleshing out now-familiar tales of misconduct and bad judgment, Palin investigation is entertaining but holds no dramatic discoveries.

An affecting drama marked by solid performances and a refreshing restraint in the way it delivers its religious message.

Feels jammed into a sitcom-shaped bid for laughs.

Amusing but scattered and unconvincing comedy.

Featuring many of the same grandiose elements as those predecessors, Moonfall looks and sounds like a would-be cinematic blockbuster but comes up painfully short in its ham-fisted execution.

Although she lacks the imposing height and fierce muscularity of Nielsen, her predecessor in the role, Lutz makes up for it with impressive physicality and excellent thespian skills, the latter of which come in handy while she’s striving to keep a straight face during the absurd events here.

By the time director Alexandre Aja brings together the pieces with an illuminating pang of emotion, most viewers’ confusion will have given way to indifference.

Essentially a telenovela with cinematic pretensions, La Mujer de Mi Hermano (My Brother's Wife) is a vapid slab of soap depicting a love triangle among three remarkably uninteresting characters.

It plods along at a sluggard's pace through a weak premise with crude execution and even cruder characters to arrive at an unearned sentimental ending.

Generates a fair amount of tension and produces the kind of nationalistic outrage that rock-ribbed Americans will feel in their guts.

The film delivers almost exactly what fans of the first installment are hoping for.

Garant and Lennon’ script, with its insistence on constantly repeating the same gags, rapidly wears thin.

The film's generosity toward Christina's decision-making is, however true to life, dramatically unsatisfying.

The film becomes a hodgepodge that will enlighten few viewers.

Delivering a fully committed, moving performance, Thomas Haden Church makes you pay attention to a figure you would otherwise pass by without a second thought.

Featuring an excellent performance by veteran British actress Sheila Hancock (The Boy in the Striped Pajamas), who is clearly up to both the challenging emotional and physical demands of the title role, Edie earns points for good intentions but never quite succeeds in managing to scale its thematic summit.

Likely to be popular among kids, as well as the aforementioned slugs, Stay Tuned is an amiable, end-of-summer, lite refreshment making good fun of suboobia. [17 Aug 1992]

Although Gregorini is very clear on where her lead characters are coming from, it’s where they’re headed that remains entirely vague, an oversight that leaves them unfortunately adrift.

There's really not much of an audience for this picture. The movie demands that its viewers put the fragmented images and information together like an intellectual jigsaw puzzle, but it never gives those viewers a good reason to do so.

Like many a stage mother, Thom Fitzgerald's comic drama is pushy. It tries too hard, in all too obvious ways, to win over the audience.

A ho-hum horror flick.

Standup star Jim Gaffigan, who mines domesticity for laughs so successfully onstage, would seem an ideal choice for a man with twice the responsibilities and one big secret to hide. But Bailey and Lakin give him next to nothing to work with, and the result flops where it should crackle.

While this heartfelt, rough-edged tribute to now largely-forgotten Hollywood actor Sal Mineo isn’t without interest, it’s too small-scale and sketchy.

Lacking objectivity and the necessary contextual information and commentary that would provide a balanced examination of its subject matter, Hare Krishna! mostly preaches to its robe-wearing choir.

A relatively lame exercise that never achieves comic traction.

The plot, of course, is merely an excuse for an endless series of gags, and the percentage of them that score is fairly high. But since the jokes are based over and over on the fact that Lloyd and Harry are really, really dumb, a certain repetitive factor sets in.

While Anderson excels in the film’s many moments of digital doom-and-gloom, he can’t deliver a single authentic emotion between the two star-crossed leads, leaving us with a sooty aftertaste of having sat through one very loud rendition of Titanic in togas.

A disappointingly dreary affair.

Nothing is bleaker than failed black comedy, which this is.

Effectively moody but offering frustratingly skin-deep chills, The Woman in the Window underestimates its hero in more than ways than one.

If its summary approach is less than penetrating, its underlying message of tolerance and open-mindedness is commendable.

It’s too blandly acted and directed to make much of an impact.

The film moves swiftly enough, with the gags coming at such a consistent pace, that inevitably some of them land. And the performers certainly know how to sell the material, with Cohen amusingly leaning into his character’s humiliations, Pike appealingly reveling in her character’s dominance, and the top-notch supporting cast going through their paces like the pros they are.

Any movie starring Penelope Cruz or William H. Macy can't be all bad. And Sahara, which stars both Penelope Cruz and William H. Macy, proves the point: It isn't all bad.

More often than not, I Still Believe feels like the cinematic equivalent of the sort of Christian pop songs its main character performs, filled with soaring choruses and heavy-handed lyrics. Every emotion is telegraphed to the hilt, with results that feel more manipulative than affecting. The fact that it's a true story only partially mitigates its more cloying aspects.

Unfortunately, the whole seldom adds up to the sum of its illustrious parts, and Jarmusch's trademark deadpan quirks seem to have gotten lost in the translation.

Follows the same formula as the first, with one difference: They've managed to ramp up the action and vulgarity beyond the insane heights of the original.

A crass, sophomoric and, more to the point, offensively unfunny parody that sets out to remake Shaft and his blaxploitation ilk as a Jewish action hero.

For all its cumbersome scope (realized on a shimmeringly large scale by Lawrence of Arabia cinematographer Freddie Francis), the film remains an intensely personal epic, Lynch's uncommon emphasis on characters rather than effects lending his exposition a rather remarkable lucidity.

While those in the know will undoubtedly find something to appreciate in the film's wide-ranging if amateurish stabs at satire, the vast majority will feel left out of a private joke.

While Passengers offers a few shrewd observations about our increasingly tech-enabled, corporatized lives, its heavy-handed mix of life-or-death exigencies and feel-good bromides finally feels like a case of more being less.

Australian theater and film director Simon Stone’s blandly glossy, capably acted adaptation, co-written with Joe Shrapnel and Anna Waterhouse, is mostly a pedestrian affair that waits until the denouement to crank up the suspense and show some teeth.

A campaign movie for viewers who, if they care about politics at all, certainly don't require the full Sorkin treatment.

Gigandet, whose star has been rising thanks to his roles in such films as "Twilight," "Burlesque" and "Easy A," delivers a sensitive portrayal that proves he's more than just a hunk. Malone is as appealing as always, and Hartman is wonderfully fun as the Buster Poindexter-like singer. But the script lacks the depth to transcend its cutesy gimmick.

While Wedge’s animation background comes in handy during some inventive chase sequences (shot in rural British Columbia), Monster Trucks is otherwise a clunky nonstarter.

Lead actors Cole and Latimore are competent enough, but they don’t come close to approximating the original film’s stars’ charisma or likability, with the result that their characters’ ill-advised activities leave a sour taste. This is one party you can’t wait to be over.

There also are hints of Doug Liman and Tony Scott to be found in this hopped-up, bullet-riddled crime thriller, but while certain sequences pack an admitted visceral kick, the prevailing effect is one of utter overkill.

Bonnin, who adapted the script with Dimitri Lucas from her César award-winning short, offers up a boilperlate coming-home scenario bolstered by a few keen observations and a fair amount of charm.

What's most remarkable about this big, dumb exploitation movie is how carefully anything approaching psychological texture appears to have been peeled away.

There's seldom a dull moment -- but nor are there any that allow viewers young or old to invest in its elite team of furry characters to any satisfying or lasting degree despite the presence of an energetic voice cast.

Gareth Dunnet Alcocer's script has a tidy, programmed feel that results in a feel-good version of a grim and sordid modern yarn.

Writer-director Rowan Joffe’s adaptation of S.J. Watson’s bestseller honors the lurid spirit of the page-turner enough to satisfy fans, but he doesn’t transmute the material into something richer and deeper the way.

Alternately both repetitive and repulsive, this home-invasion thriller never quite hits its stride.

Bad enough to create one of the most joyless Christmas movies ever, but then to go for an unearned feel-good ending adds insult to injury.

Though less funny than the first, it will play well to those who are in the mood.

Battles are sickeningly brutal, and viewers who have no ethical problem with that may object to their sheer lack of imagination.

As homage, the film is visually striking, littered with moments of real cinematographic intelligence, and always watchable, in a nasty sort of way, but as a thriller, its ambitions of intensity are thwarted by a plot which becomes increasingly out-there as the twists and turns pile up.