It's hard to imagine anyone who isn't familiar with Graham and her place in 20th-century dance history getting drawn into Move and Herrmann's hall of Martha mirrors, but for the right viewer it's a fascinating exercise in self-reflexive mythmaking.

The cast, a mix of beauty-contest winners, models, veteran actors and newcomers, is as diverse as the characters they play and work together surprisingly smoothly.

If you were watching it at home you wouldn't feel compelled to pause the film before going into the kitchen to fix a snack.

It's hard not to be charmed by scenes like the one in which Briggs gives his posies a little pep talk, assuring them that just because they sprouted behind prison walls doesn't mean they can't compete with those hoity-toity flowers at Hampton Court.

It will certainly appeal to its target audience, and Bynes is charming enough to carry the whole film on her shoulders, which is a good thing considering that she's in just about every scene and leading man Tatum is a stiff.

Clearly, there's the germ of a good -- potentially even great -- movie here, but it's thoroughly smothered by a pair of lazy, self-congratulatory star turns by Hoffman and Travolta.

The 'Burbs offers a delightfully complicated portrait of suburban voyeurism, a portrait taken to its absurd extreme by Dante's introduction of foreign elements among his xenophobic characters, in a devastating satire of suburban values.

An unsatisfactory feature treatment of beloved characters from the world of television.

A thoroughly captivating romantic adventure in the grand tradition of the screwball comedies of the 1930s and 40s. With a plot flavored with elements from such classics as the Carole Lombard-Fredric March romp NOTHING SACRED and Frank Capra's delightful masterpiece YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU, this Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan outing is writer-director John Patrick Shanley's gift to moviegoers who are tired of films distinctive only for their excessive violence, sex, gutter language, or a combination of all three.

The two leads are honestly played, and there is a nice feel for the scariness that sex has for adolescents, but the screenplay gets bogged down in silly subplots and stereotypes.

This movie has pretensions to mediocrity, a goal far too high for it to reach.

(Griffith's) appearance often verges on the grotesque. Which, come to think of it, could be said of the movie as well.

The first hour of The Tomorrow War is really quite dumb fun. The second half pumps the brakes on the wacky sci-fi and just goes in for gross-out action.

A failure on every level.

Writer-director Pan Nalin's film is at its best when he focuses on the meticulous, hands-on preparation of herb- and mineral-based drugs; it's also genuinely provocative to hear Ayurvedists argue that healing should be a vocation rather than a career.

Climaxes in an ending of such sleazy preposterousness that it's almost worth the price of admission alone.

Unpleasant stuff, and Clark pounces on the material with his usual relish and a discomfiting combination of moralizing and prurience.

From her speech patterns to her body language, Roberts's performance is wrong for the period.

The film's biggest flaw is its excessive running time: The jokes start wearing thin after the first hour and, by the time the credits finally roll, it's become the kind of straightforward gorefest it started out ridiculing.

The real reason for the existence of this unexceptional film is to show off the artistry of special-effects man Savini.

Alan Parker's big-budget adaptation of Andrew Lloyd Webber's surpassingly shrewd stage spectacular isn't a big fat failure. But it isn't a resounding success, either: It's an awkward hybrid, neither lavish eye candy nor credible drama.

Rather than concentrate on Ann's disappointed infatuation and providing a satisfactory reason for its failure, Minot and, one suspects, Cunningham in particular, chose to flesh out the character of Buddy.

Before it goes down in a soggy mess of scary movie cliches and insultingly stupid plot contrivances, director and co-writer Nick Willing's adaptation of Madison Smartt Bell's novel Dr. Sleep gets in some good, seriously creepy licks.

Despite, or perhaps because of, a flurry of 11th-hour recutting and reshoots -- the film feels rushed and unfocused.

Most of Halim's script is a laundry list of offensive remarks that he no doubt means to serve as titillating spoof, but none of it's funny or even the least bit provocative, just offensive.

Just know there's a whole lot more great stuff out there than just what Evolution has in store for you -- namely, the anime that it was based on.

Wilby's father and the neighbor's dog get all the credit, but younger viewers will delight at knowing who really performed the heroics.

This ersatz jungle adventure is really a thinly disguised Sunday School lesson in faith, charity and the savagery of life without Christ.