Much could have been done to enliven this film if the script provided more satire instead of parading the same inanities with a smirk this time around. It's harmless but in need of a transfusion.

The plot is simply an excuse for a string of good-natured dope jokes (come on -- you have to love that their hookah is called Billy Bong Thornton) and goofy sight gags inspired by everything from Jerry Garcia to Jerry Maguire, most of which are undoubtedly funniest if you're eight miles high.

Zsigmond's superb photography conveys much of the lyrical quality of the story but the screenplay by Sharp ("Night Moves") falls short by comparison.

Poison Ivy doesn't exactly keep one at the edge of one's seat throughout, but it certainly holds the interest.

Like most anthology films, this thematically linked trio of shorts is a mixed bag.

While certainly not as interesting or accomplished as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Funhouse is a cut above the average slasher film.

The problem is, some of the truly horrifying moments slip through the censorship cracks, scaring little kids (and their parents), leaving POLTERGEIST a very disjointed, uneven movie.

In the grand tradition of "Beerfest" and "Bladels of Glory," this insistently ludicrous -- and not entirely unfunny -- two-joke comedy satirizes an old Hollywood standby: the big-comeback sports movie.

The result is unfortunate: Pinter can't find emotional depths that just aren't there, but dispenses with most of what made the original entertaining in the search for them.

Ho-hum country-music saga stars Quaid as an aspiring singer and McNichol as his pesky, ambitious younger sister, who drags him kicking and screaming (for what seems interminably longer than 110 minutes) to fame and fortune in Nashville.

Christine just boils down to another average adaptation of one of the increasingly weak Stephen King novels that hit Hollywood like a bad rash in 1983.

This intermittently charming look at East-meets-West culture shock in contemporary Beijing seriously overreaches its grasp.

While the dizzying array of design elements and magnificent vocal performances is impressive, 138 minutes is just too long to keep the interest of any but the pure opera devotee.

For all the complicated backstory, weighty themes, action set pieces and fanciful production design, the film is oddly unengaging.

Aimed at youngsters, this odd mix of fantasy and disease-of-the-week conventions doesn't really gel, though its ambitions are laudable.

A free-wheeling, uninhibited all-star romp, Ocean's Eleven set the pace for the "caper" films of the 1960s and 1970s.

The film ends before Franken can actually take the step from commentator to participant, which adds to its overall unfinished and unfocused air.

Reynolds' attempt to emulate Cary Grant (or Tony Curtis doing Cary Grant, as he says in the picture) falls flat, though the picture is entertaining in spots, especially those with Niven.

Slightly better than average Presley fare, Roustabout boasts a better cast than most of the King's films--with Stanwyck's presence lending the production status.

Though it occasionally goes over the top with its melodrama and lacks some technical credibility, On The Beach remains a powerful, well-acted, deftly photographed film

The rockabilly killer is probably the most entertaining slasher ever to grace the screen--sort of like Elvis Presley playing Norman Bates, complete with musical numbers. Usually it's no mystery why some films go straight to video without theatrical release, but this movie is far above the caliber of most straight-to-video releases.

Despite strong acting (the slapstick energy between Ford and Connery is wasted), obligatory chases and stunts and splendid art direction, the virtuoso technique evident in every frame remains formulaic--unaccompanied by revelation, epiphany or surprise.

Sax keeps things moving, but the best thing about the film is the British cast.

While the film delivers some sharp dialogue, overall it's soft and slightly unfocused.

The prodigiously talented Allen, Bates and Lange give it their all, but there's a limit to what even they can do with platitudes and prefabricated homilies.

Kutcher's performance isn't terrible, but the brilliant, bewildered, increasingly desperate Evan is the film's center, and grounding its flights of fantasy in rock-solid emotional reality is more than Kutcher can manage.

In fact it ends, as all good romantic comedies do, with a wedding, though the identities of the newly married couple might be the least predictable thing about this cheerfully ham-fisted celebration of love and family in modern-day Madrid.

By the time the film winds itself up, the sophisticated fizz of its first 45 minutes has been smothered by explosive bombast.