No one and nothing can be taken at face value in Beach's twisty tale of secrets and lies, which buries its very interesting idea in a welter of ludicrous dialogue and skin-flick imagery.

The trouble isn't just that this haunted-house story, written by Mark Wheaton and directed by Hong Kong filmmakers Danny and Oxide Pang, is both formulaic and derivative. It's that it's completely free of atmosphere, the very thing that their 2002 "The Eye" had in such creepy abundance.

The film's performances are uniformly strong and remarkably coherent, given the conditions under which they were delivered. The actors shot for eight hours straight in a fully lit and set-decorated house, each individually miked and followed by his or her own personal camera operator.

The lesson -- that three into two won't go --has been learned by other improbably attractive couples in "bold" movies about youthful experimentation and its long-term consequences, but the word never seems to get around.

It's the movie equivalent of fast food -- nobody needs this to be good, just adequate. And Ghosts of Girlfriends Past is nothing if not thoroughly adequate.

Without Bullock, the film's frantic antics would be painful to watch; with her, they're just trivial.

A preposterous wilderness adventure (the kind that makes kids think sneaking into the zoo's bear pit is a cool idea) laid over a touchy-feelie story about good parenting.

Let's be blunt: Bass can't really act.

Repetitive and uninspired, it panders to the lowest expectations of horror buffs and squanders the efforts of a competent cast.

A benign, mushy gruel that tries desperately to maintain the sticky sweet consistency of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" but ultimately ends up coasting on the "kefi" of that previous success.

M. Night Shyamalan's sixth film mines a rich lode of end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it clichés, but while the set up is spooky, the development is heavy handed and marred by Shyamalan's inability to write natural-sounding dialogue or convincing characters.

A totally inane script designed to cash in on the rollerboogie craze.

This feeble attempt to revive the characters from the popular TV series "Get Smart" copies the show, but without the sharp humor that made it so popular.

Will put the kids to sleep, but may kill you.

About 10 minutes into DEEPSTAR SIX, it becomes clear that the film is yet another uninspired variation on ALIEN. The mechanical screenplay and flat direction fail to build suspense, and the characters are routinely drawn. While the technical work, relying heavily on miniatures, is competent, the rendering of the monster is hardly worth the wait.

The main characters are defined by their problems, and the secondary characters (notably Brigette's parents) are so crudely drawn it's hard to imagine what Cates was thinking.

Compulsively watchable.

Herzfeld's sophomore movie is one long howl of rage over the relationship between criminals, journalists and thrill-hungry audiences.

It's notoriously difficult to balance lighthearted humor with the spookiness a good ghost story requires, but director Rob Minkoff is surprisingly successful, delivering a satisfying mix of laughs and mild scares aimed at a young audience.

Predictable and ultimately saccharine, but occasionally enlivened by Wayans's rather vicious comic sensibility.

In its noisy, pointless way, STREET FIGHTER does come close to the frenetic meandering of a video game scenario--which is precisely the problem. Video games are always more fun for the players involved than onlookers; consequently, this whole subgenre seems inherently self-defeating.

The special effects are good, with some nifty computer-generated animation, but they're an empty, ineffective crutch on which to support an entire film--and besides, better visuals had already appeared in THE LAWNMOWER MAN.

Lurches queasily between ghastly broad gags and oddly engaging, character-driven laughs born of clashing cultures and expectations.

The pleasant surprise about Demolition Man is that both the script, and Stallone, are funny; the film blends big-budget action and tongue-in-cheek humor in the way that "last action hero" tried, and failed, to do.

Since BLACK SHEEP was directed by talented Penelope Spheeris (WAYNE'S WORLD), we had some hope that we'd find it marginally less distasteful than TOMMY BOY. We were disappointed.

Audiences flocked to see Kristel bare it all in an R-rated film, but "stunt" double Judy Heldon actually does the dirty work.

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.

CELTIC PRIDE supplies predictably lowbrow yocks for jocks, and its rather disturbing racial implications go entirely unacknowledged.

The best of the sequels to Carpenter's seminal slasher movie...Directed with flair by Little, who does not blatantly ape Carpenter's style, the movie delivers a number of effective chills without relying too heavily on the kinds of tired tricks and bloody gore that have made this genre a boring cliche.

If not an entirely successful film, it's a bold and haunting one.

The lame gags keep on coming and the mystery is both blindingly obvious and needlessly complicated.

Like Doom itself, the movie is rich in backstory, but sparse in actual story.

Perhaps a die-hard Freudian desperate for a laugh could find humor in this wretched attempt at a holiday heart-warmer. Unfortunately, that leaves the rest of us twisting in the wind.

Despite its ample flaws, Men at Work is never boring and often is a lot of fun; however, it would have benefitted from the pruning of a few of its misfired visual gags, particularly those involving excrement.

Ultimately aimed at a Christian audience looking for genre entertainment with a certain sense of propriety (which partly translates into there being no murders), the film tries to serve two masters and doesn't quite deliver for either.

Director Damiano Damiani occasionally conveys a few genuine chills between bouts of unintentional laughter, but overall the film is a failure.

Lacks a sense of bone-chilling dread.

The resulting collaboration is a strange beast;

The film is at odds with itself, trying to present transgendered characters as resourceful and tough as nails while the plot habitually reduces them to traumatized masochists and helpless victims.

While butching up their hero, Moreton and cowriter Dennis Hensley left out one key ingredient: charisma -- for all his macho swagger, the guy's unbearable.

Ironically, one of the film's best-developed characters is a mouse: The four-legged "Chizzler" actually has a legitimate story arc with a genuine payoff.

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

Gone is the joy and wide-eyed fun of the original; in its place is a hokey, ho-hum story that might have come out of a computer.

Although Death Warrant resorts to several familiar plot devices, its storyline is a little more complex than those of most films of this genre. Moreover, secondary characters like Hawkins and Priest are believable and likable enough that we care what happens to them.

The few minutes of footage devoted to a performance by bona fide jazz artist "Little" Jimmy Scott, an eccentric cult favorite, is more genuinely evocative than anything else in the film

As the mismatched interrogators, Travolta and Nielson seem to be in two different and incompatible movies.

Contains several profanely amusing moments, but they don't add up to much.

This is not a film for neophytes: It proceeds from the assumption that the viewer is familiar with the events and people of Jesus' life, and is probably right in doing so: Its intended audience is seriously Christian.

A minor disaster. Director Michael Mann presents a fantastic-looking movie, filled with great production values and lush cinematography. Unfortunately, these are combined with a totally incoherent narrative, punctuated by incredibly inept performances from usually fine actors.

The cinematic adaptation of the novel, however, is so laughably awful that Auel later sued the producers for creating such an inaccurate work.

The plot is full of huge holes, and the film fails to live up to its terrific opening credit sequence.

A high-profile cast can't save this multi-narrative drama about gambling addiction from its wildly uneven tone, which veers from high melodrama to hard-boiled pastiche so overwrought that it's unintentionally funny.

The first fruit of wunderkinder Alicia Silverstone's First Kiss Productions, this muddled thriller-cum-romantic comedy of errors suggests that she might want to lay off the producing for a few years.

There are no two ways about it: A chubby-cheeked dummy doing stuff it shouldn't be doing is spooky stuff. But Wan isn't on such sure footing with his actors -- Wahlberg is stilted as the tough-guy cop, and Kwanten is blandly uninteresting.

Lawrence is a comedian with talent who rarely uses it for anything worthwhile, and here he makes a halfhearted, paycheck-collecting effort that's actually in perfect keeping with the rest of the movie's tired, recycled tone.

Todd McFarlane's Spawn plays better on the page, but the adolescents of all ages who buy Spawn comics will probably enjoy the movie. Others should consider themselves forewarned.

Too dumb to take seriously, but just silly enough to be sort of fun.

Although the first hour of BAND OF THE HAND is fairly engrossing as we watch the rowdy, explosive teens slowly discover self-worth, respect for others, and teamwork under the stern guidance of Lang, the rest of the film dissolves into a teenage DIRTY DOZEN that seems to condone and encourage vigilantism. Major conceptual problems aside, BAND OF THE HAND does feature a solid performance by Lang.

Mildly amusing and as obvious as it is good-natured.

Unfortunately, the result is little more than a glossy parlor trick, a stripped-to-the-bone "Of Human Bondage" recast with two women.

This labored farce relies on an unpleasant collection of stereotypes for its comic effects, and Janger is a singularly unappealing leading man.

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.

A clear, unbiased documentary examining of the UNSCOM debacle would benefit anyone attempting to make sense of the dire situation. This, unfortunately, is not that documentary.

All the conditioner in the world couldn't make it shine.

The results are only so-so.

A dumb end to a dumb series of movies that, in retrospect, play like the paranoid ramblings of a religious fundamentalist who sees unholy anti-Christian conspiracies behind every world event.

1941 is loaded with slam-bang sight gags and action, but comedy isn't director Steven Spielberg's forte and the movie isn't nearly as funny as it might have been.

Undeniably entertaining.

It's all pure, brainless fluff, but it's unpretentious and "Wannabe" is damnably catchy.

There's nothing very new or original in this dull sex comedy.

There's nothing under the goofball gags and gushing gore, and its welcome is worn out well before it's over.

Yet another variation on the woman-from-hell subgenre, THE CRUSH fails to come up with many new twists beyond casting a teenager as its villain. Dancing around its own salacious possibilities, the movie is only briefly offensive and rarely surprising.

Isn't nearly as bad as it might have been.

So bewildering it's almost entertaining, this comedy of fiftysomethings and their extramarital affairs is one of those films you can actually see flailing for life.

The film's liabilities include Lustig's excessive reliance on flashy editing, tacky special effects and a blaring alterna-rock soundtrack that's used to make the characters' thoughts and motivations painfully obvious. Among its assets are the clever premise and generally appealing performances.

The occasional amusing one-liner can't compensate for the broad caricatures and awkwardly structured story.

Pinup appeal alone does not a compelling movie make.

Mr. Destiny is by no means a good movie, but James Belushi is unquestionably a good actor, and his portrayal of Larry Burrows almost makes the film worth watching.

A goofball gore picture with aspirations to cult status.

The special effects are sub-Bert I. Gordon, but in color, turning THE PEOPLE THAT TIME FORGOT into the movie that people will forget.

Lame and surprisingly awkward from start to finish.

It lacks the courage of its swinish convictions, and abruptly acquiesces to bland rom-com clichés three-quarters of the way to its appointed end.

Utterly predictable, noisy and stupid.

It's painfully corny and surprisingly vulgar, but this embarrassing attempt at a father-son heart-warmer just happens to feature two Hollywood legends, and they're both in terrific form.

It's more silly than scary and relies excessively on surprisingly low-rent CGI effects and crude wirework to drum up interest in the slight story.

It's all about action and ogling -- Jolie's boobs, butt and thighs get so much screen time they deserve their own credits.

The poorly executed scenes in which Duff's singing voice was clearly post-dubbed and her own lack of emotional range keep the film from rising to whatever potential it may have had.

Flashy, "MATRIX"-style action sequences trump ideas; it's hard not to feel you've just watched a feature-length video game with some really heavy back story.

Despite the edifying square-up -- moral lessons about family, the legacy of violence and the tenacious power of love -- the appeal is freak-show all the way.

This strictly paint-by-numbers effort is further sabotaged by the grating, so-called punk rock performances--actually heavy metal--that pad out the running time.

There are some good moments in SOUL MAN, but Gross steals the picture; he has the best lines and makes the most of them.

The comedy is cruelly subliterate (powdered deer privates figure prominently), the action -- performed by an aging, dumpy Seagal -- pointless, and the story pieced together from moldy cliches.

If you've seen one of these, you've seen them all.

Lacking so much as a shred of wit and crammed with more product placements than jokes, this unendurable stoner comedy clearly disproves the movie-formula wisdom that two guys, one Xbox and a 2-foot-long bong add up to something funny.

The film pulls off a couple of "gotchas!", but the subtle creepiness of its predecessors is gone, replaced by a sense of numbing predictability.

The energy is infectious, and while the female empowerment angle is no doubt sincere, the whole up-tempo construction jiggles a bit too much to be taken seriously.

A bizarre hybrid between Euro erotic thriller and a parable of Jewish awakening.

A far cry from such sneakily subversive werewolf-sex tales as "The Company of Wolves" (1984) or "Ginver Snaps" (2000), this pallid little picture is all "Lost Boys" (1987) posturing by way of the sublimely ridiculous "Covenant" (2006).