Gorgeous but seriously unsatisfying.

Still odder is the movie's sexual worldview, which is simultaneously infantile and fetishistic. Boys wear rubber, lipstick, and spandex, but don't seem to have a sexual bone in their unmuscled bodies.

Formulaic but surprisingly affecting drama.

Shot largely in Toronto and cast with the best of the B-list, this film has the low-rent gloss of a made-for-cable thriller.

An Arthurian tale minus everything the average person knows or cares about Arthur and his knights.

The whole point is to reproduce the experience of the first movie (and every other Lemmon-Matthau pairing) with mechanical precision. And so it does.

Given its premise, it's hard for any Hostel sequel to be little more than a rehash.

What makes the film more interesting than it might have been, however, is the warm relationship between Glenn and Peter.

THE CARE BEARS MOVIE, like other animated children's films of its ilk, is a double-edged sword. On one hand, this is perfect viewing for three- to six-year-olds, while at the same time it is little more than a 75-minute advertisement for the vast array of Care Bears toys and products.

Ranks among the best films ever made about the acting profession.

Maybe such cloddish sight gags as dipsomaniac priest chug-a-lugging from the communion chalice or an apparently straight-laced yuppie in full S&M drag just aren't very funny.

The movie's "shock" payoff still feels like a cheap trick.

Odd yet thoughtful romantic comedy.

Instead of leading to a crafty, emotionally cathartic payoff, WHITE SANDS gets more tiresome and banal as it goes along and all its threads are tied up with neat, if outlandish, explanations. WHITE SANDS would have been a better film if it had remained more dreamlike and less tied to plot mechanics.

No matter what, it's safe to say that this entirely acceptable retooling of the franchise makes for a satisfying experience for those who enjoy four-wheeled chases, hot bodies, hot cars, and a tall dose of tough-guy machismo.

Director John N. Smith, who helmed last year's masterly "The Boys of St. Vincent", is reduced to carrying Michelle Pfeiffer's baggage in this assembly-line star vehicle.

The child actors are bland, the adult characters are forced to act like dunderheads to keep the paper-thin plot going, and the generic-sounding Jimmy Buffett songs are just a LITTLE out of sync with the film's target age group.

Though unpolished and formulaic, this tribute to the power of faith and music benefits from the contributions of musicians Tamyra Gray, a first-generation American Idol contestant who plays D.T.'s wholesome love interest; Grammy winner Kirk Franklin, who contributed six songs — three original — to the rousing soundtrack; and faith-based singers Yolanda Adams, Martha Munizzi, Fred Hammond (who also executive produced) and Delores Winans.

The non-stop insouciance soon becomes more grating than charming, and is sustained by some remarkably flat dialogue. Adding to the film's troubles is the gratuitously "cute" use made of the baby--one scene exists purely so the audience can coo appreciatively as she takes her first steps. Ten minutes of this, and Nick and Nora Charles would have ducked home for a highball.

A silly period production, built around the sorry spectacle of two smug American stars lording it over the natives... Based on true events, the film is nevertheless absolutely preposterous, and informed by stereotypes that don't play well in the 1990s.

It feels as though everyone involved was having a rollicking good time, and while the film itself is wildly uneven, Lin and company get in a few pointed jabs at Hollywood fatuousness and self-delusion, cultural stereotypes and '70s fashions.

Only McKellan seems to understand the profound silliness of the film in which he finds himself, and he camps it up accordingly.

Jim Carroll's dreamy, pseudo-poetic memoir of a misspent New York boyhood - standard equipment for alienated adolescents of the 90s - is predictably re-tooled as an anti-drug message vehicle.

It's not that you can't go home again. It's that you SHOULDN'T, at least not in a lowbrow Hollywood comedy, because your family will inevitably be lewd, crude, loud and obnoxious.

A smartly stylized hoot.

Tame as can be by today's standards, but will charm fans of vintage erotica.

The film is a dispiriting experience.

Surprisingly, some of the best moments come from supermodel Crawford and singer Connick, two acting tyros not generally known for their dramatic skills.