Though "Pulp Fiction" is the obvious point of reference, but this hugely entertaining Mexican crime comedy is actually closer in spirit to "Go," Doug Lyman's underrated 1998 lark.

Yes, it's a deeply formulaic buddy movie predicated on geezer charm. But the surprise of this comedy about two former Chief Executives forced to get along and get in touch with the real America is how sharply written it is -- almost sharply enough to overcome the crude direction that grotesquely overemphasizes the picture's inevitable sentimental interludes.

CONEHEADS represents a prime example of opportunistic commercial filmmaking, with plot and character sacrificed to an endless series of comic ideas that are never developed.

While the filmmakers haven't bothered to come up with a novel approach to very familiar material, the final product is a reasonably entertaining film that will interest children without putting their parents to sleep.

Edward Asner is good as the tough cop who takes over the besieged precinct, Aiello is appropriately sleazy, but Newman is still left to carry this rather predictable film wholly on his shoulders. The script is sharp and witty, but there's no central theme to hold it all together.

Clever enough; but, as is the case with all stalk-and-slash films, it becomes repetitive and boring very quickly.

Competently made but highly contrived so as to evoke as many "aw's" as possible in an hour and a half, this movie is only for the extremely naive.

Possibly Minnelli's worst screen musical.

Douglas and Sutherland do crackling hostility with devilish glee, and the fireworks are nothing if not entertaining.

While there is some imagination behind the destruction of the title abode, the film quickly grows into a tired repetition of one long joke.

It's funny without being toothless, adrenaline turbocharged without being mean and utterly deranged in the best sense of the word.

Those bothered by crunching violence and plot lapses won't find much here to enjoy, but action fans will find it delivers just about all they want from a film.

The film's few saving graces include Dickinson's sardonic southern belle; Winger's welcome return to the screen after a five-year absence; and Howard's voice-over readings of Brown's powerful prose, which ultimately saves the film from itself.

In the end the film has absolutely nothing to say.

All too often, dramatic confrontations feel like barely dramatized debates.

While Aiken couldn't be cuter or more-well suited for his earnest role, the script is utterly predictable and often falls into the saccharine trap. The pooches add a little life to this otherwise lackluster effort.

It's sweet-natured, soothing and there's a behind-the-scenes/blooper reel at the end that will reassure anyone worried about the animals' treatment during filming.

One of the flat-out creepiest films ever released by a major American studio.

With the exception of one breathtaking sequence in a helicopter, the action in Terminator Salvation is astonishingly dull.

Noisy, spectacular and disposable.

GLADIATOR breaks no new ground, but it pays off scrupulously, fulfilling--in fact, catering to--audience expectations at every turn. This may not sound like much of an achievement, but when theaters are full of movies that don't deliver on their implicit promises, it's nice to see a movie that gives audiences exactly what they've paid for.

The result is an inconsistent, incoherent anti-superhero action-adventure comedy.

An ambitious and sometimes-incisive look at the inner workings of an Italian-American family.

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.

Its excellent cast, including Walter Pidgeon, Joan Fontaine, and Peter Lorre, play rather predictable characters, but the film boasts some captivating special effects and sets.

Poky, oddly uninvolving.

Parts of the film are nasty enough to grip the audience, but a large portion is muddled and sometimes laughably pretentious.

Wahlberg, whose Bobby is the kind of guy who enters a room gun first, swinging a can of a gasoline, is the glue that holds everything together; he's perfectly cast and has never given a more persuasive performance.