A reasonably entertaining way to kill an hour and a half.

Resembles the giggly teen romances that saturate the Japanese market with a coolly alienated French twist.

So inconsequential that it starts evaporating from memory the minute it's over.

While the film's exploration of Irish religious intolerance takes it to many familiar areas, the specifics are unfamiliar and fine performances -- especially those of leads Cunningham and Brady.

If you know there's so such place as Avenue E in the East Village, or if you've ever taken a bath in your kitchen, this one's for you.

The film is by turns strident, obvious, righteously angry and inspired.

There is practically no plot, and even less character development, but the script is based on a novel, most likely a thin one.

A humorless Greek-tragedy western with little going for it save its inexorable momentum toward the obvious end.

Bad Taste was probably intended as camp, but its humor falls flat even as a parody of the horror genre. It is best viewed as a film strictly for movie makeup and special-effects aficionados.

Basically a formula film with all the usual car chases, knock-downs, booby traps, etc. If you like John Wayne, you'll love Brannigan. If you just think he is...well, only all right, you'll be better off reading a book. This is not one of the Duke's best.

Ultimately, though, the film is forgettable even by the standards of prefabricated pop ephemera.

Slow, solemn going, despite its best efforts at thundering soldiers and comic-relief kings.

But by the time the big not-so-surprise ending rolls around -- no, nothing that happened was exactly as it seemed -- most viewers will have long since stopped caring.

An old man's movie, filled with regret over things lost, corrupted and spoiled.

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

This one-joke film beats its punch line to death, playing its gay character for big laughs with generally predictable and boring results. Hamilton (who coproduced) chews up the scenery with relish, and the bland supporting performances yield to his campy caricature, But the subtle element of self-parody that distinguished the best of the Zorro films is absent, and the gay stereotype is more offensive than comical.

An odd blend of recycled American exploitation movie tropes and snarky Euro-art film attitude.

Stony and statuesque, Michelini is an excellent casting choice: Her impassive face and dispassionate voice serve as a carefully constructed protective mask that hides her pain, and which she rarely lets slip.

An earnest, thoughtful, surprisingly well-written (given the number of writers who worked on it) drama about guilt and betrayal that features excellent performances by Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt and dares to defy the juvenile wham bam thank you ma'am aesthetics that have turned mainstream action pictures into feature-length video games.

Boring, cliche-ridden teen drama looks nice and features Quinn, who is fairly impressive in his debut. Hannah looks good but seems completely without depth, as do all the other characters in this routine bad-boy-loves-good-girl drama.

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

It's an amiable, middle-class coming of age story, soft and sweet and ultimately a bit inconsequential.

Dazzlingly colorful.

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.

Writer/director Austin Chick falls into the timeworn trap of making an immature, irritating film about immature, irritating characters.

This charming and funny film may be one of the last of a rare genre deservedly named after a person -- the Woody Allen movie.

It's swiftly paced and never dull, but the heavy-handed symbolism comes fast and thick.

Once again brushing aside critical drubbings and public indifference, determined independent auteur Henry Jaglom follows up the abysmal "Let's Go Shopping" with something far better: an old-school Hollywood cautionary tale about -- what else? -- Hollywood.