Loud and brassy, Wayne does a good job in his broad comedy role, although it is doubtful that the picture could have gotten away with the spanking scene if it were made today.

This doesn't come close to the original in wit, style, or farce, although if the former had never been made, THE MOUSE ON THE MOON could weakly stand on its own as a mild comedy.

GAMBIT was a slightly-veiled copy of TOPKAPI and RIFIFI, down to the elaborate planning sequence in both films. The major difference is that this picture had some very funny dialog. A delight to the eye and ear.

Much could have been done to enliven this film if the script provided more satire instead of parading the same inanities with a smirk this time around. It's harmless but in need of a transfusion.

Beautifully acted, structurally sophisticated heart-tugger.

A stale rehash of Woody Allen-style "he's a neurotic Jew, she's a flaky shiksa" gags.

Here the message -- it's not nice to ridicule, mistreat or ignore people just because they're different -- verges on the oppressive; more of the Farrellys' trademark over-the-top comedy would have lightened the load.

Director Tom Mankiewicz brings little innovation and no surprises to Dragnet. It simply doesn't come off, and the viewer will be left with an empty feeling, a vacuous notion that somehow the laugh scenes slipped by unnoticed. They were never really there.

Things quickly degenerate into a series of juvenile jokes about flatulence and bosoms, and by the end the cast is reduced to frantically manhandling a corpse for yucks. Not funny.

Generous, slyly tough-minded documentary.

A ludicrous foray into psychological horror.

Veteran conspiracy buffs probably won’t find much of Stone's material particularly new, but Stone’s film does serve as a neat summary for the rest of us while offering a number of intriguing insights into how conspiracy theories work and what they say about specific cultural and political climates.

Kazan is particularly good at balancing the incongruously sunny surface of the Reardons' privileged lives and the growing sense of darkness seeping out from every unsealed corner of what is apparently a picture-book existence.

For every bit that works there are three that don't, and the movie becomes somewhat tedious at times. Hamilton, however, is obviously having a good time with his role and has a field day with the Bela Lugosi accent.

What will really shock Western viewers are the luxurious trappings of Handong's world: The tailored suits, Mercedes Benz and expensive Japanese sushi bars have little to do with age-old perceptions of the PRC.

Watching this string of sketches about small town wackos is like channel surfing a heavy sitcom zone.

A tragicomic Holocaust fable that's by turns silly, triumphant and achingly sad.

A gloomy, preposterous psychological thriller.

Funny without out ever making fun, Vardalos mixes elements of ethnic stand-up, Cinderella romance and Bridget Loves Bernie-style situation comedy, all grounded in something very real.

We only experience the horror of the genocide through several layers of artifice -- first Saroyan's, then Egoyan's own -- a sad acknowledgement that with each story told, we're drawn that much further from the truth.

Robles and Hidalgo ring enough changes on a stock situation that you're never sure where it's going.

The final scene, when Kaffee locks horns with Jessep, more than makes up for the predictability of what's come before.

It's so cool all the life has drained away, leaving nothing behind but a faint whiff of attitude.

This disappointing sequel to last year's horror sleeper gets trapped in the clichés it's trying to send up.

Zahedi has been compared to Woody Allen, and he shares Allen's neurotic sense of entitlement and navel-gazing fascination with his own sexual peccadilloes. Whether you find either man funny or infuriating depends in large part on whether you identify more with their narcissistic quests for self-knowledge or the collateral damage left in their wakes.

The movie is a good idea, but a good idea does not always result in a good movie. The picture was miscast. Hutton is just too young to be believable as a man of science.

How about something a little nasty for the holidays?

Though the material is nothing special and relies on the avenging angel mystique that had been established for Eastwood in the Leone films, director Post squeezes out some fine and memorable moments in the film

This slick remake of the ebullient original falls short of being the film it could have been, despite the presence of master filmmaker Wilder and his engaging costars.

One of the more successful attempts to bring Hemingway material to the screen, this story of a writer who has lost his intellectual and emotional bearings after enjoying early commercial success works splendidly under King's sure directorial hand, and is enacted with power and conviction by Peck.

Richard Benjamin's direction surprisingly provides a dizzy pace and inventive set-ups, aided greatly by cinematographer Gerald Hirschfeld and editor Richard Chew.

A deeply moving film, marked by superb direction of its intricate story from Mervyn LeRoy, and by the strong performances of Colman and Garson.

Its talky, sluggish script is so bereft of thrills -- intellectual or otherwise -- that even the film's one masterfully staged sequence... falls flat.

This satirical attack on Hollywood and the film industry, however, lacks the biting edge and fresh characters necessary to make it work.

This darkly effective horror drama holds plenty of interest, even for those who find Anne Rice's gothic cult novels unreadable.

Bleak political parable.

Goofy, raunchy and very Japanese, Miike's film will probably play best to fanboys who love "Power Rangers" and "Ultraman" -- and there are plenty of them to go around.

Cudworth's script gives the characters more depth than is the genre norm, and the ensemble acting is terrific.

It lacks the emotional impact and suspense of its predecessors and is spoiled by a disappointingly inane ending. What ultimately saves the film are its extraordinary sets and phenomenal Oscar-winning visual effects.

This taut crime thriller is a welcome antidote to brainless action extravaganzas in which the mayhem is the message, and rests on two shrewd, perfectly modulated performances.

The Man Without a Face marks a solidly crafted directorial debut for actor Mel Gibson, who approaches his melodramatic story with commendable restraint.

This film is no exception to the rule that philosophical debate seldom spawns compelling cinema.

Briskly directed by "Sex and the City" veteran David Frankel, the movie is far better than the source.

Plummer's fearlessness is awesome -- just try to imagine another actress willing to bare so much bony flesh wrapped in clanking chains -- but her character is nevertheless a ranting bore.

An engrossing, if occasionally ludicrous, hit tearjerker with Pollack, Streisand, and Redford doing a good job of bringing Arthur Laurents' script to the screen.

A good example of the now-neglected caper genre.

Overall, how funny you find it will probably depend on whether or not the mere sight of Stiller sucking in his cheeks, widening his eyes and striking preposterous poses makes you laugh uproariously.

A thoroughly respectable affair: Your high school English teacher would approve, and parts are terrifically enjoyable.

The film does, however, feature revealing performances from its leads, authentic production design, and atmospheric photography by Sven Nykvist.

It's a richly textured, psychologically acute film that takes an unblinking look at the tattered life of the returning soldier, and it's boosted by two powerful performances from Phillippe and the increasingly impressive Tatum, a former underwear model who has somehow turned into a fine actor.

Numbingly predictable.

The filmmakers' attempts come to terms with a recent catastrophe of indeterminate meaning but global consequences are often fascinating.

It's a clever legal thriller, one that thankfully doesn't twist itself into a knots trying to keep audiences off guard.

Mendez directs with remarkable assurance, using B&W footage to suggest the monochromatic clarity Santiago craves, as well as color to depict the riotous reality that threatens to overwhelm him.

But in the end it all comes to naught: Tantalyzing though the leads are, the paintings remain elusive.

Roth's screenplay, steeped in the peculiar rituals, lock-jawed repression and smug sense of superiority of the WASP ruling class that both shaped America's intelligence community and made it vulnerable, is less interested in derring-do than back-room deals and the day-to-day drudgery of spying, driven by the notion that espionage is a cynical high-stakes game played with people's lives and the ante is human decency and connectedness.

Jeremy Gosch's documentary about the origins of professional surfing shines a light on four wave riders – three Australians and a South African – who helped transform a counter-culture life style into a billion-dollar industry.

Lots of violence, typical of the Corman exploitation mill, but the film still shows the budding talent of Scorsese in his use of moving-camera and period detail.

Deftly employing split-screen and slow-motion techniques, Aldrich makes the most of Tracy Keenan Wynn's incisive script, aided by fine cinematography and tight Oscar-nominated editing.

Nicely directed with a great sense of the oppressiveness of the outdoors. Nature is the villain in this well-filmed second feature by Australian director Eggleston.

The original seemed to convey more tension and suspense. In the film everything is painfully predictable.

Day Of The Locust exudes authenticity, from the costuming to the cars, from the exotic clothes to the marcelled hair styles.

Claustrophobic and nightmarishly atmospheric, ISLE OF THE DEAD is kept moving along by director Mark Robson at a deliberate pace which becomes more and more creepy until the moment of the premature burial.

The story isn't particularly believable, the revelations not fresh or profound, but the film succeeds anyway because of its strong lead performances. A true family picture in the most entertaining sense, VICE VERSA provides laughs for both kids and adults.

Kindergarten Cop is actually fairly entertaining, buoyed by Schwarzenegger's self-deprecating charm and easy chemistry with his capable costar, Pamela Reed, and the hammiest bunch of tykes ever assembled for a movie.

The images of gods and ordinary Tibetans that Bush captures are more eloquent that his turgid narration, and overall the film works better as a travelogue than an introduction to Tibetan Buddhist beliefs or history.

Boasting some of the best use of rugged landscape since the westerns of Anthony Mann, First Blood is an effective, if outlandish, picture that exists merely for its big-screen thrills.

No matter your age, this is one great AGE to be at.

The simple story is enlivened by an intelligent, compassionate screenplay, whose sole deficiency is that it makes no attempt to represent the management point of view. Field's performance is flawless.

A barrage of pop-culture jokes, time-travel high jinks and plucky orphans that's as confusing as it sounds, and riddled with plot holes to boot.

A drum-tight, extremely grisly thriller. And odd as it may sound given the subject matter, it's also surprisingly funny.

No amount of style or good acting can disguise the fact that this downbeat Israeli comedy is little more than a sudsy soap-opera with a distinctly unsavory aftertaste.

It's a solid depiction of a relatable story, and it's absolutely modest about all of it, especially stylistically, where things stay remarkably reeled in.

For a movie rooted in reality, Italian filmmaker Saverio Costanzo's taut psychological drama is in desperate danger of drowning in metaphor.

As lightheartedly as the film plays, Morrison manages to say quite a few serious things about immigration and otherness.

If the idea of playing Scrabble conjures up dreary images of dull evenings with aged family relatives, you haven't met the subjects of Eric Chaikin and Julian Petrillo's irresistible documentary.

The film's characters, computer-animated over motion-caputure footage of flesh-and-blood performers, are as blank-eyed and rubbery-looking as moving mannequins -- the stuff of nightmares, not dreams.

In less assured hands, this could have wound up as a disaster, but director Edouard Molinaro was skillfully able to film the long-running play and wring every drop of humor from it.

Written in the aftermath of a bitter divorce, Mamet's paranoid rant -- an explosion of middle-aged, white-collar, white-men's rage at losing ground to everyone, from women, hustlers, African Americans and homosexuals to the younger generation nipping at their heels -- is as bilious as ever, but time has overtaken and defanged it.

Somewhat overly sentimental, lacking the novel's subtlety, and less interesting when the action leaves the ball park, Barry Levinson's beautifully shot film is nonetheless a charming fairy tale.

Director Peter Yates takes Tesich's basically wobbly story and makes much more out of it, driving the tale and the characters at a hectic pace and providing some truly unnerving moments.

Unlike his brilliant work in directing westerns, Eastwood falls victim to stodgy pacing and ludicrous acting. The Eiger Sanction does, however, contain some brilliant, breathtaking mountaineering sequences in which Eastwood did his own stunt work.

Well-crafted and competently acted, Kill Me Again is anything but a terrible film; however, like so many other films that have struggled mightily to pay homage to the great films noir of the past, it fails to come to life on its own terms.

A deeply personal coming-of-age story steeped in heady nostalgia and all the creative myopia that too often comes with it.

Depending on one's mood, or level of sobriety, it can be a hysterical picture that pokes good natured fun at American movies, TV and commercials.

This exciting, if conventional, teen thriller effectively makes its points about the dangers of the nuclear age. It features a fine performance from Lithgow as the brilliant yet troubled scientist, and writer-director Marshall Brickman does a nice job of emphasizing human values.

A gorgeous feature that's both passing strange and undeniably beautiful.

Banned for many years in director/cowriter Alfonso Cuaron's native Mexico, his debut feature is a bawdy comedy that pivots on the comeuppance of a serial philanderer.

A fairly interesting, but somewhat muddled, road movie starring Newman as an ex-cop who now drives cars from Denver to San Francisco for a living.

The film nevertheless exerts a strange sort of power that makes for compelling viewing, even as its images force one to repeatedly look away.

Like The American Friend, Wenders's previous meditation on American genres, Hammett is less concerned with its storyline than it is with focusing on an American myth. As such it is not to be missed.

The on-ice violence is hyperreal, the emotions believable, and the laughs plentiful in this slightly off-the-wall comedy.

THE IDOLMAKER takes itself too seriously, but is nonetheless one of the best and most energetic film treatments of the early days of rock 'n' roll and a fine depiction of how performers are groomed for stardom (far superior to THE ROSE).

Restrained and decorous to a fault.

Exactly the kind of sporadically clever, button-pushing fright-fest that keeps genre fans hanging on until something more fulfilling comes along.

This is solid entertainment, and the time Caviezel and Pearce spent training for their sword fights pays off handsomely.

Production-designed within an inch of its life, this remake's best conceit is the casting of Crispin Glover as its socially maladroit rat fancier.

The result, a dissection of the complicated dynamics of sexual and economic exploitation, is pitiless and occasionally inspired.