The first full-fledged Indian musical coproduced and distributed by a major Hollywood studio, this fanciful love story takes its unlikely inspiration from Fyodor Dostoevsky's short story "White Nights."

Disjointed and underdeveloped. John Badham's direction is equally uninspired, though the climactic race, shot on location during the Coors International Bicycle Classic, is filmed with an abundance of breathtaking helicopter shots that capture the beautiful scenery.

Director Emile Ardolino largely saves the day by coaxing winning performances from an excellent cast. Goldberg's work here never loses its edge or originality, allowing her to shine opposite Smith, who is so good that she barely seems to be acting.

Essentially an extended trailer for the 2008 Cartoon Network animated series.

There are some very funny bits, but they're interspersed with long stretches of exposition that drag the whole thing down, down, down.

It's seldom boring and always beautifully photographed, but it's also considerably less than satisfying, perhaps because its internal logic never comes into focus.

Suffers from wishy-washiness.

Situations don't come much more claustrophobic, and if the payoff doesn't quite live up to the build-up, the film is still an enjoyable exercise in claustrophobic suspense.

It's an amiable enough picture, and genuinely insightful about the emotional appeal of devoted fandom.

A pleasant comedy, but any film starring Matthau and Jackson--and written by such funny men as Shulman and Epstein (among others)--should have been much funnier.

Elegant, stylish, and ultimately boring adaptation of the James novel.

Mindless but likable comedy about a failing Washington, DC, cab company that is revitalized when the eccentric group of cabbies work together to save it. A good cast makes the most of the uninspired material.

The film is surprisingly successful in developing a sense of mounting dread.

A formula B movie about race car drivers, it's competent, but unmemorable as anything other than a footnote in Cronenberg's development.

A smash success as a stage play, JUNO AND THE PAYCOCK did not translate well to film, even under the sure hand of master filmmaker Hitchcock.

BETTER OFF DEAD possesses a fairly strong cast, some good gags, and a quirky sense of humor, but it suffers from the stereotyped characters and familiar situations that plague most movies about teenagers. What is refreshing about BETTER OFF DEAD is a deemphasis on sex and drugs. Unfortunately, only about half of the many jokes and gags in the film are actually funny.

For all the updated riffs and personal noodling, it's best when it doesn't stray too far from the original material.

Ivory's last minute decision to render his hero sightless may make certain symbolic sense, but creates an even greater distance between Jackson and the woman he must inevitably come to love; their dull self-restraint makes "The Remains of the Day" look like soft-core porn.

Violent, kinetic, and occasionally clever, KILLING ZOE is no match for either RESERVOIR DOGS or PULP FICTION, but it's a zoned-out rollercoaster ride of the first order.

Walks a thin line between refreshing irreverence and shameless exploitation of offensive gay stereotypes.

It's not an openly meta take on the genre like "Scream," but it's a slasher movie for people who love slasher movies, and if your heart will flutter when a woodchipper casually appears in the first act, it's probably worth watching.

Small children should be delighted by the menagerie of chatty critters, but their parents may be less than thrilled by what the animals have to say.

A pleasant, mindless diversion.

The film's center will not hold. Either crucial scenes were cut (perhaps for length) or Kapur has a problematic sense of narrative structure; sometimes it's unclear who's doing what to whom.

The result is strictly for those who like their comic-book movies short and stupid.

A good concept fails to become a good movie in this predictable tale of corruption in college basketball, featuring the ubiquitous superstar and corporate pitchman Shaquille O'Neal.

Egregious kiddie slapstick, punctuated by shameless overacting.

While there are a couple of genuine laughs here, this AIRPLANE!-style collection of gags and blackouts is strangely sour and ultimately wearisome.

(Salerno-Sonnenberg's) determination and resilience should speak to a broader audience.

The only good thing about this would-be camp version of the classic 1936 serial is the impressive production design by Danilo Donati.

A rambling revisionist western whose episodic nature was only marginally successful and which didn't come close to BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID on any level.

Played for comedy, the film never quite works, and Curtis can't quite handle his role.

This is silly stuff, and the gooey special effects make it ever sillier. Director Girdler--who died in a helicopter crash before the film was released--does a respectable job of making it all look rather slick and professional, but the big budget and all-star cast only add to the overall absurdity.

The bones of a great Western remain barely visible under the layer of mush he and screenwriter Ken Kaufman smooth over them, reminders of the viciously memorable film that might have been.

Trumbo, directing his first film, drives home his points in a somewhat obvious, often awkward fashion that is overly talky, but so disquieting is his story and the reality underlying it that it is difficult not to be moved by the film and Bottoms' fine performance.

The result is often quite funny, without ever managing to say anything especially new or perceptive about fame and the culture of celebrity.

Strictly for the young ones.

The oddest thing about this movie isn't that the familiar characters have been transformed into aliens, or that dogs and cats possess human traits: It's the odd sight of futuristic fantasy in 18th-century dress.

Although Eaten Alive is not so unusual or terrifying as Texas Chainsaw, Hooper does a fine job of building up the Southern-gothic atmosphere and continues his brilliant use of sound to enhance the sense of unease and suspense.

The alien costumes are clever and show some real imagination in their design. Yet the filmmakers have forgotten a key element. Without an interesting story or characters, special effects aren't enough to sustain a feature film.

This might have been a terrific movie. It has all the right ingredients: a beautiful woman in an odd situation, a background as colorful as any movie ever made, a script by veterans Lorenzo Semple and David Newman, and a historic comic strip. So what went wrong? Blame must be laid squarely on the shoulders of John Guillermin, who directed the movie as if he weren't sure if it was adventure, comedy, or camp.

This beautifully shot, 70-minute black-and-white film remains deliberately inconclusive.

At a certain point, its sheer can you top this excess, and credibility files out the window three's no reason to continue paying attention.

An intelligent story for the kilts-and-corsets crowd.

A mixed bag of mixed moods. The somberness of Dickens's oft-filmed seasonal cautionary fable works at cross purposes with the Muppets, keeping their usual gentle anarchy at bay.

Director Altman's work, with its lack of focus and its spontaneous shooting style, can either fascinate or infuriate an audience. Unusually told and well-acted, this film, nevertheless, is forgettable.

Dillon makes an assured directing debut, neither indulging in unnecessary stylistic flourishes nor allowing scenes to run too long, a tendency in actors-turned-director.

All that charm is wasted in careless scenes that don't make much sense and the whole thing feels slapped to together with chewing gum and spit.

The film is carried by Downey, appearing in his first starring role. Ringwald, while performing adequately, just doesn't seem right for the part. Toback has devised an interesting premise that draws parallels between risking one's heart and one's wallet, but the picture itself risks little.

Colors has a tentative, ambivalent feel to it--as if Hopper merely considered himself a hired gun who should avoid imposing too personal a vision on the material.

Widely noted as a politically correct animated feature, FernGully is entertaining enough to make its occasionally overstated message palatable.

Die-hard fans will appreciate this rare glimpse of the great band at work, while mavens of unique musical instruments will delight in seeing Page "play" the seldom-used theramin (previously restricted to the Beach Boys's "Good Vibrations" and schlock horror movie soundtracks). Also, it's kind of fun watching the backstage hysterics of band manager Peter Grant, the man of legendary bad temper who was the basis for Spinal Tap's manager, Ian Faith, in THIS IS SPINAL TAP (1984).

While the original was a rather cerebral exercise in suspense, the American version has predictably been given a more visceral dimension. The new version is more simplistic, but still works on its own level.

Too disturbing for most children, too suggestive of cornball kiddie fare for most adults, this oddly affecting film is unlikely to capture the audience it deserves.

Runs out of story a good half hour before it runs out of spooky images, but it comes to a quietly chilling conclusion far more haunting than any bloody mayhem.

It is message filmmaking so blunt you might be tempted to root for the parasitic reprobate over the saintly old man, and that's just not right.

Hawn makes the most of the script, written by Nancy Meyers, Charles Shyer, and Harvey Miller, providing many funny moments in her performance.

Without Azaria's comedic gifts, the movie would be close to unendurable.

Keaton and Holmes have some sweet father-daughter moments and the supporting cast gives its all.

Fans won't want to miss this addition to the canon.

Stanzler's ideas about the psychic legacy of 9/11 are so confused -- that by the time he unveils the final plot twist, his film has lost every shred of credibility.

As sequels go, Critters 2: The Main Course is particularly bereft of imagination. Save for the opening 20 or 30 minutes, the film is pretty much a clone of the original.

At the end of the day, people who want to see this movie aren't looking for something original. There's a certain familiarity that makes the romantic comedy a perennial favorite among audiences.

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

With its thumping soundtrack, absence of body hair and a camera that practically pants over every bulge, curve and crack of the male form, the film is really closer to porn than a serious critique of what's wrong with this increasingly pervasive aspect of gay culture.

But for those jonesing for a loosely connected string of comedy sketches, heavy on the scatological humor, this is the fix.

This convoluted, time and continent-tripping tale is heavy on the adolescent angst and swoony romanticism.

Team M-I knows its way around James and ignores the lazy stereotype of Americans as gauche rubes bumbling around Paris like barbarians at the ballet in favor of sly digs at French and American mores alike.

An exciting, although pointless, race through the dark and menacing streets of Chicago's West Side.

The basic flaw in Falling in Love, however, is that no one in the film--including the lovers--seems to be in love.

It is a small film, with small, and at times cliched, ideas about rural life, but there is a sweetness about it that is an appealing and refreshing change from the usual roller-coaster films that bombard audiences in the summer.

After Bruce Lee's death, a gaping hole plagued the martial arts genre, but former karate champ Norris helped close that gap.

One of the most downright sleazy major films in recent memory, 52 PICK-UP works mainly because of its vivid villains, who are more intriguing than the hero. Glover is superb as the totally amoral blackmailer who uses his superior intelligence to keep his dimmer comrades in check.

Brian Robbins (Varsity Blues) actually has a clear sense of the way 21st-century teenagers behave, and his sleek style keeps the film moving briskly.

This one is superior in almost every respect to the first, with slam-bang action, many humorous moments, and an excellent performance by Steve James.

Slight, genial documentary portrait of a man and his dream.

Satanic silliness undermines this gloomy horror picture.

The film makes no real impression; it's amiable, occasionally funny and indistinguishable from dozens of other romantic comedies just like it.

Clearly Phish's appeal is fundamentally experiential, and the experience doesn't lend itself to being captured on film.

The whole thing whizzes by in such a panicked rush that there's no time for anything so immaterial as character, but what little we do learn about Chev works against the film.

Twenty-five years on, hardcore continues to be the soundtrack of choice for extreme, white-supremacist groups hoping to tap into teenage rage. With no one on hand to counter the argument, this may go down as hardcore's lasting legacy.

A tricky thriller, Malice begins well but betrays its coolly calculating premise and degenerates into a silly horror story.

There's no point to any of this other than simply having fun. It's like a comic book come to life, complete with colorful villains, mindless violence, nifty gadgets, sparse logic, and some wonderfully silly dialog.

Most of the cast of accomplished actors are wasted in these roles, although two do manage to stand out: Ryder as the innocent-savvy Myra and John Doe, in an underplayed performance, as her father. The musical sequences are entertaining and energetic.

The only surprise here is how a film with so much promise could ultimately settle for so little.

Be sure to stay for the coda, a damning piece of newsreel that casts much of what went before in a whole new light.

In this quartet of scary tales, two stories work and two don't.

Sweet-natured and as inconsequential as can be, shored up by smooth, low-key ensemble performances.

This psychological horror picture is harrowing and occasionally macabre -- you'll come away wondering what kind of father would cast his daughter in such a sexually brutal film.

There are fewer laughs and more lectures -- but there's plenty of sass and soul in between.

This is a smart and witty romantic farce that mixes sweet and sexy with surprising aplomb.

Craven builds an interesting premise, but the ending is lame and unsatisfying. Outstanding cinematography and a good musical score enhance the film's mood greatly.

The film has a certain easygoing charm, choppiness notwithstanding, and delivers several big laughs; if leads Cuthbert and Hirsch were as charismatic as scene-stealing supporting players Olyphant and Marquette, it might have joined the ranks of memorable teen comedies.

Unfortunately, this earnest but short-sighted documentary by New York-based painter-turned-filmmaker Stefan Roloff touches only the tip of a very large iceberg.

The film's dark heart is Valentinov's mephistophelean scheming: He sets about sabotaging his former protégé's game for no apparent reason except sheer malice.

Without understanding his motives, it becomes easy to lose patience with a character so obsessively devoted to a single, largely meaningless goal. Ultimately, RUDY is an inconsequential, if moving, contribution to the sports-movie genre.

The premise is pretty simple, and at two hours the murky sound, muddy low-light images and frequently dreadful acting are a little tough to take.

This flashy fright flick doesn't break any new ground, but puts an attractive gloss on genre conventions.