What begins as an entertainingly contrived lark soon feels like a poorly plotted muddle.

Plenty of bone-crunching brawn, but not a brain cell in sight.

It won't take genre fans long to unravel the mystery, but the pleasures of this film lie elsewhere. Its images of the gleaming, depersonalized Tokyo in which Mima lives out her superficially charmed but lonely life are haunting, and the characterizations are unusually strong. There's plenty for anime newcomers to enjoy, and fans won't want to miss it.

Overall it's a colorful, diverting cautionary tale.

Feels soft without being especially affectionate, and only sporadically funny.

A very sweet, very funny coming-of-age story, featuring Kiss as the Great White Whale of adolescence.

The not-so-incredible story of two girls in love.

God moves in mysterious -- some might say positively spiteful -- ways in this trio of scabrous tales adapted from short stories by "Trainspotting's" Irvine Welsh.

It's enjoyable poppycock.

This loving parody is steeped in comic book trivia and lore: The more you know, the more heartfelt your response to the film is likely to be.

(Rohmer's) simple script and methods capture a sense of place and character that eludes far more conspicuously stylish directors.

A sloppy, self-indulgent valentine to the theater, delivered with all the grace of a letter-bomb.

A rare adaptation that actually improves upon the original material: It's everything a good children's adventure tale should be, and a powerful fable for adults.

Buried deep inside this ponderous, repetitive psychological thriller is a fantastic half-hour "Twilight Zone" episode.

A topical comedy that's about 25 years too late.

Lack of chemistry between Richard Gere and Julia Roberts sinks this souffle.

A slow and pensive tone, but for all its lyrical pretensions it lacks real poetry.

The characters are two-dimensional and the story is intensely formulaic.

What a joyless, fussy contraption of a movie!

Screenwriter Lona Williams doesn't seem to have gotten much beyond the petty absurdity of theme headdresses and ludicrous talent competitions.

The massive sets and extensive special effects are certainly... massive and extensive. But watching them is like watching the wheels and gears inside a hugely complicated clock: It's interesting and even beautiful, but can hardly be called scary.

It's an amiable, middle-class coming of age story, soft and sweet and ultimately a bit inconsequential.

While both the novel and the film are weighted in favor of Bill's (Cruise) character, it's Kidman who gives the film's standout performance.

It's as chilling as Algernon Blackwood's elegantly unnerving "The Willows," played absolutely, unsettlingly straight.

Smoothly enjoyable, undemanding entertainment and features a couple of knock-out giant croc attacks.

The folks at Jim Henson Pictures have wisely opted not to mess with the late Jim Henson's winning formula; the crowd-pleasing soundtrack features hot '70s funk classics, the Muppets are as cute as ever and there are more than a few flashes of adult humor to keep grown-ups laughing right along with the kiddies.

A successful thriller makes you forget such impossibilities, but here they poison every scene.

Alternately sweet and raucous comedy.

A beautifully realized tale focusing on an ambitious but unfulfilled group of intellectuals, who react in differing ways to the illness that befalls their mentor, a brilliant writer (Francois Cluzet).

A tabloid slice of tabloid life, ragged, vivid, awkward and punchy all at once.

The quintessential cotton candy movie: It's pleasant, brightly colored and the minute it's done it's as though it were never there.

Brilliant, in its own twisted way.

This stage-bound farce could easily be an American sitcom: It's all slamming doors, eavesdropping and stupid miscommunications, garnished with a heavy-handed helping of comedy of humiliation.

It's not nearly as funny as "The Waterboy" and has little of "The Wedding Singer's" goofy charm, but die-hard Adam Sandler fans -- whose numbers are legion -- will find plenty to laugh at.

The result is a confused mess of mixed signals that substitutes a brutal climax for any kind of satisfactory resolution. Parents should be warned about the frequent gunfire and a grisly death by hanging.

The whole lurid business is undeniably entertaining, but it leaves a bad taste.

The film's extra-special trick, the one that kicks in under your radar because it's so busy with all the flash, is that it makes you care deeply for Lola and Manni.

It's lavish, clever entertainment, a welcome opportunity to laugh without shame.

Girard and his collaborators are so focused on the stunning tableaux that all other considerations fall by the wayside, leaving their visual achievements -- miraculous on such a small budget -- mired in the elaborate but maladroit storytelling.

Would be too long even if it were twice as funny. And that about sums up the movie.

In search of inspiration and the human spirit triumphant, they managed to cook up a pot of sanctimonious, reductive claptrap (which the credits confess was only "inspired" by Quinn's book) that's not in the least instructive or entertaining.

Cleverly mixes footage from various recording sessions and interviews with live performances in Amsterdam and New York City's Carnegie Hall.

There's an argument to be made that the film's ending is the logical conclusion of its notion that everyone's trapped in a limbo of disappointment, uncertainty and paralyzing fear of change. But it feels like a cheap cop out: The cast, and the audience, deserve better.

Roberts fans will, of course, be delighted to see her in a role that plays to all her strengths -- fresh-faced looks, charming gangliness, air of infinite approachability -- and neatly sidesteps her glaring inability to act by having her more or less play herself.

Despite earnest performances by Mueller-Stahl, Bierko, Mol and Vincent d'Onofrio (in the duel role of a programmer and a VR bartender), the movie feels like a bit of a rehash.

Aggressively non-linear and heavy on the visual flair, Mike Figgis' allegorical voyage through the mind of a filmmaker alternates between the tawdry, fake sophistication of fancy perfume commercials and an unholy regurgitation of the worst excesses of European art cinema.

Angelopoulos' leisurely pace and trademark long takes add up to a film guaranteed to please filmmakers nostalgic for the bygone glory days of European cinema.

It's a kiddie movie rejiggered for childish grown-ups, of whom there are enough to make it a hit. How such childishness has become a virtual secular religion is hard to imagine.

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

And while the divas make their characters hugely entertaining, they're also such high profile actresses in such a soft-edged film that it's hard to actually worry about what's to become of them.

Noisy, spectacular and disposable.

There's about half an hour's worth of sickly amusing material here...Unfortunately, that leaves a solid hour's worth of witless screaming, running around and expiring in a welter of icky special effects.

It's the kind of film Hollywood doesn't make any more, and a pleasant retro diversion.

Handsomely appointed and faultlessly acted, but no more alive than a well-dressed corpse.

If this new film seems less prescient than its predecessor, it's only because reality is rapidly catching up with Cronenberg's warped imagination.

Surprise! An intelligent, well-written high school story.

Even Spade's most dedicated fans would probably be better off staying home and watching a "Just Shoot Me" rerun.

Contrived, meandering, clichéd and just plain preposterous.

Very possibly the most ruthlessly irritating comedy since the dreaded "S.F.W." attempted to put its finger on the pulse of young America, and that's saying something.

The overall effect of Demme's film is a little like experiencing Nazi prison camps through reruns of Hogan's Heroes, right down to the few bona fide laughs.

Only die-hard and undemanding Chan fans need apply.

A dark and edgy teen comedy that's also one of the most excitingly unpredictable American comedies since "Pulp Fiction."

Not even Drew Barrymore's million-dollar smile can save this humiliating comedy.

This slight story of youthful dreams and adult compromise is bolstered by finely modulated performances from the three leads.

The only serendipitous touch is the casting of New York's "quality of life" watchdog, Rudolph Giuliani, as himself.

Despite some lovely performances (though, sad to say, Patricia Neal's isn't one of them) and charming moments, this meandering ensemble piece and its Tennessee Williams-ish finale is oddly out of character.

This teen-oriented gloss on Shakespeare's tale is cute and occasionally quite funny, but it's undermined by slack direction.

This dazzling pop allegory is steeped in a dark, pulpy sensibility that transcends nostalgic pastiche and stands firmly on its own merits.

This intimate, bittersweet romance is proof that a familiar story and the trappings of a done-to-death era can still seem fresh and engaging in the right hands.

Like its star, Howard's movie is affable, but has limited range.

No one expects much from movie adaptations of TV shows but complete incoherence and boredom is a bit too much to bear.

An eccentric historical horror tale whose blackly comic tone wavers distracting.

Make no mistake: This slackly paced picture doesn't gel.

Eastwood, ironically, is the weak link in the cast, a less-than-ideal choice to play a screw-up who squeaks through life on personal magnetism: He's got star quality, sure, even a certain remote sexiness, but he's no charmer.

Garish, animated junk.

If the movie is remembered for anything, it will be for the feature-film debut of fiercely talented Jonathan Jackson: His performance truly transcends its dour setting.

Most of the extreme Trek fans it features are obsessed in a big way, and if they were your children you'd probably be thinking therapy.

The script too often sounds like an encrypted communique itself, and it's tiring trying to keep all the nonsensical space-jargon straight. The effort is more demanding than hanging onto a joystick, and not entirely worth the effort.

Formulaic and deeply unfunny.

It's not a cheap rip-off -- it's a credible sequel to a horror classic, and a sad reminder that some things never change.

Gives off an air of clammy desperation that feels all too authentic without being especially funny and bogs down early in repetitive shtick. (review of re-release)

It aspires to greater moral ambiguity than the average crime thriller, and if it doesn't entirely succeed it nevertheless avoids the lazy moral bankruptcy of movies like "Lethal Weapon 4."

Though not much about the film sticks with you, it's a reliable piece of fluff that delivers the goods.

It's tremendous fun, thanks largely to a smarter-than-average script and some fierce casting.

Ritchie appears to have been paying attention to what made "Reservoir Dogs" (a huge hit in the UK) work, rather than coming away convinced that the formula for success begins and ends with pop-culture allusions and scarcely digested "homages" to classic crime films.

Ridiculous haircuts and clothes can't compensate for the absence of real characters, which consigns much of the cast to cameo-like performances.

The film's most consistently entertaining element is Berkowitz's backer, a shady character named Elie Samaha who never appears on camera. Samaha's expletive-laden harangues, in which he orders Berkowitz to beef up the movie's T&A factor, are priceless.

Huppert's performance leans a bit heavily on the moist-in-the-eyes motif, but it's terrific none-the-less.

The superficially cheery “Boogie Nights” is infinitely scarier.

Attempting to force the story into a romantic comedy template compels Marshall to gloss over the disturbing aspects his characters' disabilities, frequently forcing Ribisi and Lewis to act the part of noble fools.

Even if it doesn't up live to its inspired beginning, Mike Judge scores something with all the marks of a workplace cult classic with his first big-screen, live-action outing.

The film's most fully realized performance is Chris Cooper's.

The movie's gossamer-thin plot, padded with dream sequences and flashbacks to scenes you saw less than an hour earlier, exists only as an excuse for obvious homages to better films, stunt casting...and what pass for clever remarks in circles unfamiliar with real wit.

This bizarre hybrid of romantic comedy cliches and less-than-subtle social commentary defeats their best efforts to make it sparkle.

The extremes of this production's assets and liabilities are embodied by Caleb Deschanel's cinematography and Gabriel Yared's score: One is as glorious and transcendental as the other is execrably sappy.

Based on a goofy '60s TV series and aimed squarely at vulgar 10-year-olds (and inner vulgar 10 year olds), this sappy comedy is relatively harmless and occasionally serves up a funny bit.

Though glossy and smoothly directed, this limp concoction has all the sparkle of flat champagne.

It careens from coarse comedy to smart-ass stylization to vicious violence without ever becoming convincing on any level.