Bright, who reworked co-writer Stephen Johnston's screenplay, changed all the names except Bundy's so he could "make up stuff," but the irony is how close to the facts -- at least to the degree they're known -- he stays.

Ultimately Stokes remains true to his music video roots and relies on the film's flashy voltage dance scenes and frenetic pacing to keep viewers' attention from wandering.

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.

It's hard to say whether the Wachowski brothers' live action take on the Japanese Speed Racer cartoons is more irritating because it looks like a Hot Wheels video game or because the brothers seem to think that there's a powerful family drama humming away beneath the flashing lights and spinning wheels.

The movie has only a few bright moments, mainly provided by the fine group of supporting actors. Pryor displays none of his old manic energy, and the film follows suit, proceeding with murderous deliberation.

An insult to the intelligence of most moviegoers.

There's nothing hugely wrong with this picture, if you allow for the fact that it's derivative, predictable and crude. There just isn't anything especially right with it, except for a pretty creepy black-and-white nightmare sequence and a scene that reveals more than most people want to know about vampires' urinary peculiarities, but is certainly something you haven't seen before. Unfortunately, both occur within the last 20 minutes of the film, and there's a formulaic lot of nonsense to huff and puff through first.

This dreary satire of the post-war American family has a small but devoted following. Writer-director Tony Richardson has constructed a complex screenplay based on an even more convoluted novel by John Irving. It's a fairy tale about virtually everything and, as such, will not satisfy everybody. The film is laced with blackly humorous takes on heterosexuality, homosexuality, incest, abandonment, Nazism, masochism--a veritable laundry list of contemporary neuroses.

Here we go again--it's time for a 747 to meet disaster once more with a host of colorful characters to worry about as they go down--and this time they go down 50 feet into the ocean.

An uncomfortable go at romantic comedy that belabors the same mistaken-for-gay premise as"In & Out," but without much of that film's charm.

Brassy and energetic, first-time director Mars Callahan's vividly photographed ode to the seductive allure of professional sharking succeeds in making the game seem genuinely kinetic and thrilling.

It's a compelling story, and very of its tumultuous time.

This megastar mix of CGI animation and live action is remarkably faithful to the spirit of the original.

Even the inclusion of Simon's classic songs isn't enough to solve all the problems of this comedic misfire.

Even by the debased standards of preachy sports movies aimed at kids, this is pabulum.

Five people were credited with co-writing TURNER & HOOCH, and rarely have so many labored to so little effect. There's barely enough to make up an agreeable made-for-TV movie in this film.

[A] sleazy, generally embarrassing Hitchcock knock-off.

This live-action cartoon tries to walk the line between pleasing the faithful and appealing to a broad-based action audience. It fails on both fronts: It's too lifeless and watered-down to stand on its own high heels, but commits the cardinal sin of messing with the original.

LOVERBOY's "comedy" is a blend of genre-cliches and slapstick, and, not surprisingly, the film delivers few laughs.

Even by the standards of pop-moral parables passing for entertainment, this is bland stuff.

Big, dull, and noisy, this comedy-romance has chases galore, but its comedy is flat and its romance is grating and graceless.

The story's rhythm is so bogged down in unnecessary characterization that the film can hardly breathe.

The film delivers a few slick thrills before beaching itself on an ending that would be chilling if its depiction of unimaginable horror's lingering legacy weren't so muddled.

What a joyless, fussy contraption of a movie!

The bad news is that the racing scenes are repetitive and it takes some serious concentration to figure out which character belongs to what club.

Mines familiar territory and does nothing especially new with it. On the plus side, Kishitani is a spectacular villain.

The film works best when it's sticking to the guns and poses conventions of macho crime pictures. When it reaches for emotional resonance, the results range from unconvincing to ludicrous.

It's a complicated plot, but one that leaves plenty of room for everything a fan could want: gunplay, swordfights, brutal mano a mano fisticuffs, motorcycle races, car chases, Japanese gangsters eating sushi off of topless women, and that old standby, a decapitated head in a box.

Ambling but never less than endearing.

It's hard to know who bears the brunt of the blame for The Eye's stunning dullness.

As a director Prince doesn't show even a rudimentary sense of visual style, and his acting skills equal what his direction calls for. The whole film plays exactly for what it is, one long essay in ego massaging.

The less said about Simpson the better; whatever her talents, she can't sell a simple reaction shot, and, perhaps sensing this, Coolidge's camera tends to drift south of her face.

Even Mo'Nique's outsize presence isn't enough to make ancient gags about stuck-up popular girls or about voluptuous vultures clearing a whole buffet table in one fell swoop funny.

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.

Gitai uses fictionalized characters to dramatize historical reality, and while minimalist in its presentation, the film becomes nearly operatic in its intensity.

Fresh-faced leads Muniz and Bynes are charmers, Giamatti makes Wolf into a splendidly loathsome adversary, and the film is refreshingly free of bodily function jokes.

Davis not only wrote and directed the film but edited it as well, all of which is no mean feat. Too bad she couldn't have lent some of her own gumption and self-assurance to her pathetic heroine.

A spectacular natural disaster spiraling out of control, a crime gone wrong and a poor jerk caught in the middle: Yes, it's a standard action-picture recipe. But what a difference a cast makes.

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.

Offers up more of everything: more bloody zombie dogs, more crazy corporate evildoers, more Milla Jovovich unclothed and more over-the-top action scenes.

There may be a way to remake 1973's cult thriller The Wicker Man, in which a deeply Christian cop has his religious convictions shaken to the core as he investigates the disappearance of a child from within a cheerfully pagan community, but Neil LaBute didn't find it.

Though consistently handsome, the film never quite achieves the shallow but hugely seductive intensity of its MTV-style opening credits sequence.

It's all pretty rough going, but even with its microbudget there's enough blood, booty and bling to satisfy fans of the genre. It's also never dull, thanks to Silvera's restless pacing and a great reggae soundtrack.

The film is never dull.

The film desperately needs a stronger script; one with a few funny jokes would be nice.

Kids might find the sight of monkeys -- sorry, apes -- wrestling in outer-space funny, but unless they're unusually sophisticated, much will probably just confuse them.

Director Stephen Purvis and writer Chris Haddock never rise above the material's inherent pulpiness, but they keep the twists coming until the very end.

When Prince really performs on screen, he's terrific. If he'd take some acting lessons and team with a competent scriptwriter and director, he might be capable of creating a first-rate musical.

True to its serial roots, this equally silly but undeniably entertaining sequel to "Underworld" (2003) picks up right where its high-grossing predecessor left off and offers more of the same.

Obviously aware that he was hung out to dry with an awful script, director Phil Joanou tries to make up for this handicap with some startling camerawork. Much of it is overdone, but the result is one in which Joanou's visual style transcends the vapid script.

This flashy and ultimately conservative morality tale relies on shockingly frank sex talk to cover the fact that the characters are shockingly poorly developed.

Features generally crisp dialogue, solid performances by a mix of newcomers and familiar character actors, and Provenzano's direction is strikingly accomplished.

Disco gets its due in this lightweight but entertaining look at the underground dance culture that flourished in New York City throughout the 1970s.

Danny Glover is an adequate straight man, as both Lethal Weapon pictures demonstrate, and Martin Short can certainly be funny. But they don't really play as a team; you get the feeling that their sheer physical disparity--tall, dark-skinned Glover and tiny, red-haired Short--struck someone as so inherently funny that it didn't matter that the two of them don't ignite comic sparks.

While one could wish the film offered something more original than its strictly formula heroics, it benefits from a generous portion of charm. And most kids attending 3 Ninjas are likely to stand up and cheer the rousing, action-packed finale.

Pakula again uses big-name stars to deliver a political message. This time around Fonda and Kristofferson are involved in the world of high finance that teeters on the brink of disaster when Arab countries threaten to pull their money from US banks instead of letting it "roll over."

Rodney Dangerfield has always had the potential to be one of the funniest men in American movies, and when filmmakers have taken advantage of that potential, the results have often been hilarious. Unfortunately, LADYBUGS squanders his talents in a cheap and crude comedy.

The narrative is cluttered with backstory, and the endless digressions overwhelm the efforts of a generally strong cast.

All the usual business canards and stereotypes are represented in this lackluster, witlessly directed production. Only Fox is worth watching, but his role is more suited to a one-act play.

The entire movie is one big build-up to a twist that, while not exactly cheating, plays is an awfully cheap trick.

Though his film is breathtakingly art-directed, Greenaway wallows in epater le bourgeois nastiness -- his inner naughty child could use a good paddling.

Soulless, sleekly executed product.

In an age when special effects and flashy cinematography often trump narrative, there's a particular charm to the plain-Jane story of self-discovery.

To cash in on footage from a film Lee did not finish before his death, producer Chow puts in a double and uses out-takes for this kung-fu mess.

The medium overwhelms the message, but music video director Hype Williams' feature debut still has far more on its mind than it first lets on.

More a sequel to the original than an extension of the action in Part II, The Karate Kid Part III is half-hearted and very dull.

The result is a soggy swamp of nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyahing, its only grace notes are Giamatti's fine, nuanced performance as Heep and Christopher Doyle's handsome cinematography.

The film is preposterous on so many counts that it's hard to enumerate them.

Harper (STARDUST MEMORIES; MY FAVORITE YEAR), a vastly underrated actress, clearly exhibits more talent than this film deserves, its only real standout. Rather than maintain the level of crude, campy fun in the original, SHOCK TREATMENT deteriorates into lame, humorless nonsense that bores rather than amuses.

Sassone's hit-and-miss ethnic comedy is actually a retelling of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, with the Italian neighborhood of South Yonkers, N.Y., standing in for Verona.

Such a compellingly repulsive freak show it's hard to pay attention to any serious concerns.

The breakout star is retired English bouncer Lenny McLean, 49, who memorably declares, "I f***ing hate violence."

Culkin's Alig has the face of a debauched cherub, but the former child star never quite captures the charisma everyone swears was an essential component in Alig's success. Green's St. James steals the picture out from under him (poetic justice of a sort), and the supporting cast is nothing short of amazing.

The able cast brings these emotionally complex characters to life, while making Shawn Slovo's occasionally lyrical dialogue sound perfectly natural.

Screenwriter Chris ver Weil's directing debut is good-natured and never dull, but its virtues are small and easily overshadowed by its predictability. It's the kind of film that plays better on video than in theaters.

Don Johnson and Mickey Rourke preen and posture on motorcycles and off in Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man, a futuristic action adventure that feels desperately like a vanity project.

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

There isn't enough by way of a story here to keep director Rosser Goodman and writer-star Brent Gorksi earnest but lethargic drama about a romantically stalled Angelino from petering out as well, but some decent performances from the likeable cast may be enough to hold your interest.

First-class stunts, fine photography, and solid acting by Weathers and Vanity combine to lift this action film above its ludicrous story. Had the filmmakers not undermined the project with inane plot twists, unexplained motives, and absurd coincidences, this could have been a real winner.

Outside of Fonda's minor role as an executive and Huston's equally small part as a newspaper reporter married to Winters, there isn't much to the ultraboring TENTACLES.

Director Rowdy Herrington lives up to his name: once he's seen to it that all the conventions of the western are in place, he presents an all-out brawl on the average of about every 12 minutes or so, and the battles quickly grow tiresome. Swayze is up to a part that requires him merely to show his muscles and dexterity, but Gazzara is trapped in his hopelessly evil caricature, leaving Sam Elliott (in a too-limited role) to provide the film's only real charm.

Yet another of Israeli-born filmmaker Amos Kolleck's pointless, meandering tales of eccentric New Yorkers navigating the treacherous waters of love and survival.

The unique musical ending is worth the wait.

While the transgressive trappings (especially the frank sex scenes) ensure that the film is never dull, Rodrigues's beast-within metaphor is ultimately rather silly and overwrought, making the ambiguous ending seem goofy rather than provocative.

Painfully cliched. The music is throbbing and the leads are cute, but there's nothing here viewers haven't seen before.

The film's strident tone also serves to undermine its generally above-average performances.

Just when the film seems to be getting bogged down in "before I made it big" anecdotes -- around the time she and Andy Dick, who was once dismissed from a food-service gig, spend a day operating a mobile lunch stand -- Gurwitch wisely broadens her focus, interviewing ordinary victims of corporate "right-sizing," plant closings.

The cast is unusually good for this sort of film, which only makes the poor execution more regrettable.

Lawrence runs through his usual repertory of mugging, seething and generally acting like a fool, only to be regularly upstaged by Arnold, Trey's pet piglet.

While the basics are pretty familiar, director Tom DeSimone does manage to create a few effective moments.

Whereas the badly miscast Stallone never gets a handle on the material (albeit there isn't much to get a hold of), Parton manages to rise above the script and is appealing. The multiple costume changes that she and Stallone make, however, are no substitute for laughs.

For all the film's cleverness -- and it's often very clever -- it's as thin as its heroine.

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.

Swank and Elba work hard for their paychecks, but Rea quite literally phones in his performance.

Cameron Diaz is the ideal guy's gal and Ashton Kutcher is, well, a guy. Together, they're a zero.

The results are, quite surprisingly, fairly charming.

The plot of STRIKING DISTANCE is full of implausibilities, but they're entirely beside the point, since the film delivers what it promises: tough talk, chase scenes by land and by water, plenty of explosions, and pretty girls murdered in nasty and imaginative ways, served up with a dash of sex and a generous helping of knee-jerk cynicism.

It's all mean-spirited, foulmouthed sniping.