The production design is phenomenal, reproducing the series' swinging '60s decor and techno-geek flourishes, from the launch pad under the swimming pool to Lady Penelope's pink roadster, which turns into a mini-plane.

Despite its admirable sobriety for most of its running time, the film's climax is a parade of ludicrous clichés.

Hardly a feather in the cap of anyone involved, the film starts out well enough, but the last half degenerates into complete implausibility.

Cronenberg's brand of body horror isn't to everyone's taste, but to call him a reactionary anti-sensualist who metes out grotesque punishment for sins of the flesh -- as detractors have -- is to miss the point.

It's little more than a disjointed succession of kick-ass action scenes.

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

The verdant, lush Hawaiian setting is visually stunning but the slapstick is forced and unbecoming.

Only a riveting performance by Jodie Foster lifts THE ACCUSED above the level of a television movie.

The supporting cast is a riot of stock exotic characters, verging on the offensively stereotypical.

A sluggishly directed look at life and death in the 21st century.

CHAPLIN is the cinematic equivalent of a whistle-stop tour of Europe--the kind that takes you to ten cities in five days at such speed that everything melts into a vaguely entertaining blur.

Breezy and carefree, THEY ALL LAUGHED suffers from a weak, hard-to-grasp structure. As lovable as the characters and their situations are, one is never quite sure where the film is leading.

Director/co-writer/co-producer Jon Gunn's Christian agenda is evident without being intolerably sanctimonious, and he's a competent filmmaker who shows sign of having a little style.

Sensitively played but ultimately undone by its unconventional approach.

A goofball gore picture with aspirations to cult status.

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

This picture was the third remake (out of four) of the Peter B. Kyne story, with its Three Wise Men parallel.

First musical to win Academy Award reeks of mothballs, but is undeniably the basis of perhaps a hundred others. At least there's an old curiosity shoppe charm and a few classic tunes.

Renny Harlin's big, chaotic pirate flick is best understood as an attempt to revive the waning career of his wife, Geena Davis, but he's done her no great favor. As Morgan Adams, a sort of distaff Errol Flynn, poor Geena gets lost in a hectic scenario that's littlemore than an excuse for a series of thunderous explosions, clanky sword battles and run-of-the-mill spectacular stunts.

FOOL FOR LOVE is a great play, and the performances from the cast are solid--especially Stanton's and Shepard's--but as a film the whole thing seems rather contrived and stiff.

A slam-bang action film with some stunning scenes of mayhem and violence.

The set design, by future director Derek Jarman, is probably the most successful element of the film.

CAREER OPPORTUNITIES is an entertaining film with interesting characters the viewer can actually care about.

This is a shameless, straightforward soap opera (no Almodovarian excess here!), but it's pretty entertaining on its own sudsy terms.

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.

A romantic comedy distinguished by the particular roadblocks writer/director Kevin Smith throws up in front of his characters.

An unvarnished look at the emotional havoc that ensues when middle-class housewife Kira (Stine Stengade) returns home after a lengthy stay in a mental hospital, anchored by devastating performances.

Granted, it's unfair to compare an actor's precocious child persona with his awkward 14-year-old self, but Osment relies so often on his furrowed brow to convey emotion that you have to keep reminding yourself that the technique actually worked in "The Sixth Sense."

Features phenomenally beautiful background animation and complex characterizations, and offers glimpses of a poverty-stricken Tokyo underclass that's rarely featured -- let alone portrayed sympathetically -- in mainstream Japanese films.

It's as hard not to ask what former New York Doll David Johansen is doing in their company, prancing his way through an irrelevant version of Howlin' Wolf's "Killing Floor," as it is not to wonder why the audience is so overwhelmingly white.

It's a deftly executed crowd-pleaser, but it's dishonest to the core.

Lunkheaded but entertaining action flick.

The typical "invisible" special effects are employed, though this time with a little more humor.

A western for people who are completely ignorant about the genre. Costner's direction is barely competent and frequently clumsy.

To call Christian's film unpolished is an understatement.

Rarely has a film so ineptly directed produced so much intentional laughter.

Given his way with witty banter, Stoppard's obvious, even leaden, dialogue is especially disappointing; director Michael Apted's handling of the story's frequent flashbacks is equally infelicitous.

Film feels like a parody of Mamet mannerisms, and the trouble lies with the play, which Mamet first penned some 25 years for an Actors Equity showcase.

The biting satire and absurd situations in Waters' movies always dwell self-consciously on how media images and stereotypes affect viewers' notions of reality. Polyester is much more cliche-ridden than his other films, however, and so is less successful as satire.

Though full of atmosphere, mood, and attitude, THE FABULOUS BAKER BOYS is all dressed up with no place to go.

Director Ken Wiederhorn is a competent, if unremarkable, talent who handles the action scenes in a professional manner. His writing talent, however, is not equal to that of the first film's writer-director, Dan O'Bannon, and the sequel lacks its predecessor's snappy, biting dialog and O'Bannon's satiric edge.

A sweet-natured coming-of-age/raising-of-consciousness drama.

Destined to be a crowd-pleaser though it may be, this collection of Irish quirks and "charm" tied together by a slender plot also leans heavily in the direction of predigested commercial claptrap.

There's no faulting this movie's Capra-esque concept, equal parts optimism and sad recognition of the world's intrinsic harshness, but its manipulative execution may rub you the wrong way.

For a teen film to resonate, it has to feel honest, and I Love You, Beth Cooper simply comes off as too paint-by-numbers to achieve any level of emotional authenticity.

While no masterpiece, My Girl is a fine example of compassionate and tasteful filmmaking which features a number of charming moments, most of which are provided by Anna Chlumsky and Macaulay Culkin, while Dan Aykroyd (in a mildly eccentric but subdued role reminiscent of his recent turn in Driving Miss Daisy) and Jamie Lee Curtis lend able support.

The group's credo, "Live free, stay high," only confirms your worst suspicions about their real motives. And that makes it hard to feel any nostalgia for the good old days or condemn the members who came to their senses and moved on.

The film collapses midway--because of unsure and sloppy direction, splintered story continuity, and the overacting of Adams, Cartwright, and others. The battle between Sutherland and the aliens in the "pod factory" at the end is simply absurd and sophomoric.

Tommy Lee Jones is superb in the title role, but writer-director Ron Shelton unwisely chose to structure the film as a two-character piece, thus placing undue attention on the lackluster character of Cobb's biographer, Al Stump.

The film is juvenile when it should be adult, coarse when it ought to be bubbly, and upfront when witty circumspection is indicated. The result feels a bit like a drag show, a camp blend of pitch-perfect mimicry and anachronistic raunch.

Polished, pokey and cloyingly formulaic, Denzel Washington's directing follow-up to "Antwone Fisher" is a Harpo -- as in Oprah spelled backwards -- Production all the way.

The story is beholden to the trendy steroid-and-TV world view: pump it up and cut it fast. Still, the dialogue, while fitfully glib, is wry and engaging, like a profane Raymond Chandler on speed. No one acts (in the Stanislavsky sense, anyway) but all perform well.

Arguing that you shouldn't expect rich characterization from a comic-book movie misses the point: Vivid relationships separate the graphic novels from the funnies and, in the end, spectacular set design is just window dressing.

Fascinating but thoroughly unbelievable.

All of this is played for laughs, and the songs aren't half bad.

It's clever, in a "dare you to name this hommage" kind of way, but it's fundamentally heartless and coldly hollow.

This coming-of-age drama scores big points for trying to honestly tell a story rather than just pass the time.

This solid, if familiar, neo-noir premise is nevertheless given a fresh spin by the funky NYC locales, the dubwise hip-hop soundtrack, the terrific chemistry between Brody and the underrated Seda and the one and only Pam Grier.

It's impossible to overstate how deeply dumb all of this is, but it skims along at a brisk clip and manages not to overdo the nudge-nudge, wink-wink humor.

An equally discomfiting mix of popular science and ballyhoo, serves up amazing images of the bizarre life that flourishes in the deepest ocean depths.

Overall, it's a seriously flawed but impressive and promising debut.

The story wears thin long before it's over, but Machado draws strong performances from his leads and makes excellent use of its rundown locations.

This unlikely love story never really pays off, largely due to Lawrence Kasdan's contrived script. To their credit, a very subdued Belushi and an appealing Brown do their best to add a patina of light charm to this minor effort, and largely they succeed.

Siegel develops some interesting themes that he would later explore in John Wayne's outstanding final film, The Shootist.

But the soundtrack will delight anyone whose blood stirs at the strains of "I'm Coming Out," "Le Freak" or "Doctor's Orders."

The aroma of hagiography is unavoidable.

It seems that with Part 4, Freddy Krueger has just about run out of gas. Getting further and further away from creator Wes Craven's original concept, the series has declined into a plotless series of special-effects set pieces featuring Freddy slicing and dicing a variety of teenagers in their dreams. What the films lack in narrative, however, they make up for with pure cinematic panache, and the latest installment is no exception.

A privileged peek into the glitzy world of Texas's ultra-rich, minus the melodrama.

Braff and Bateman have a good, darkly comic chemistry, but there aren't nearly enough moments like the brutally funny, "Murderball"-style wheelchair basketball game to sustain the entire film.

The camerawork and cutting during the intense racing scenes are particularly strong, but racing fans will probably find the film more enjoyable than those looking for an involving plot.

For a slick pop entertainment, more than the usual quotient of timely ideas rattle around between the relentless product placements and futuristic geegaws.

The plot soon dwindles down to little more than a flimsy, Austen-esque comedy of circumstance.

Though conceptually clever, the results look stagy and schematic and recall nothing more than a pale imitation of Terry Gilliam's "Brazil" (1985).

It's mostly forced humor all the way, a movie that rarely measures up to adequate kitsch. Aimed at younger audiences, Spaceballs misses its mark.

The very sentimental Charly has not dated well, but still remains intriguing for its premise and for Cliff Robertson's Oscar-winning performance.

Oddly, the most appealing thing about the movie is that in an age of ever-escalating special effects, it's refreshingly low-tech, more like a '70s action movie than a modern-day one.

Without the gloss of novelty, the film's underdeveloped characters and thin -- though busy -- story are forced into the foreground, and its 88-minute running time feels far longer.

8-year-olds of all ages, prepare to storm the multiplex!

This violent action is stylish but painfully formulaic, even by the undemanding standards of video-game narratives.

Never boring, often excruciating and occasionally transcendent.

Unfortunately, Hu and her army of co-writers saddle the story with a tired romantic subplot and fail to develop meaningful characters.

Considering the standards set by the first two Superman films, Superman III is a disappointment. The story's mythic qualities had worn thin by the time this film was made, so the makers had to rely on Richard Pryor as their audience grabber.

Offers substantial food for thought on the subject of prison reform, and Ariel and Menahami close by noting that Bedi's example has been followed in Thai and -- surprisingly -- U.S. prisons with encouraging results.

Thank God for Brooke Shields: Spitting spite with every remark she hurls at her long-suffering mother, she's a revelation.

Bindler's slice of the American pie is a slim one, but it's fascinating none the less.

The story is formulaic, but this brutal, fast-paced thriller makes excellent use of Li's martial arts prowess.

An intriguing genre hybrid boasting a stronger than usual cast and excellent, atmospheric direction from Finnish newcomer Renny Harlin, Prison is an impressive piece of low-budget genre work.

Raimi is a master at pacing this kind of material, however, and never allows it to become redundant.

Ironically, it's most engaging when the focus shifts to Hurt's matter-of-factly amoral enabler, whose glistening suits and jewel-colored shirt-and-tie combinations suggest a particularly poisonous tropical reptile.

The humor is mostly visual -- 70s relics like Pong, Shasta and men's platform shoes compete with the sight of Ferrell squeezed into tube socks and short shorts.

The film's much-vaunted stunts are deliberately unrealistic, from over-the-top wire-work to CGI-soccer balls that streak through the air like flaming cannon balls.

It's repetitive and obvious but somehow endearing, like a truly ugly dog with sweet eyes.

In the end, Spacey's devotion to Darin may have blinded him to the bigger picture.

Connery delivers his usual charming performance, and Brandauer (MEPHISTO, OUT OF AFRICA) makes a great Bond villain. Gone is the excessive gadgetry that mars Bond films, and, as a result, the characters are more prominent and colorful.

For all its maturity - and nice performances from Johnson and Phoenix - the film winds up dancing around the 500-lb gorilla in the middle of the room rather than facing the pathology of its real subject head-on.

Hallstrom's leisurely adaptation of John Irving's unconventional coming-of-age novel is so well crafted and intelligent that it feels churlish to point out that it's easier to admire than actually like.

Gets the details right while missing the big picture.

Overall it's slick, brainless entertainment.