Essentially, this is RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK without the narrative savvy and self-referential cleverness.

In a film in which the star talks graphically about the size of her vagina and ex-lovers appear as themselves to call her a whore, there might be such a thing as too much honesty.

Renner's performance as Dahmer is unimpeachable, fascinating without being charismatic, and Kayaru's Rodney is a marvel of complicated characterization under difficult circumstances.

Polish director Agnieska Holland paid no mind to the actors' accents during casting, and the melange of British, French and American speech helps sink a film that's already foundering under the weight of its pretentions.

This thin, clichéd comedy of crime and social climbing contains some scattered laughs and whole lot of padding.

Sadly, the film had all the elements to be a very captivating experience, but it fails to bring those elements together into a strong whole.

Strangest of all, Roman Polanski shows up to torture our heroes with a Paris phone book, then subject them to a full-cavity search. A gratuitous nod to "Chinatown"? Who knows? Who cares?

Thirty years down the line, not everyone looks as they once did, so even fans will have trouble putting names to aged faces. Newcomers, meanwhile, will feel hopelessly shut out.

This rare direct follow-up hopefully will put to rest the leftover emotional baggage of the character and leave Bond open to a bit more familiar interpretation in the future.

Yvonne Elliman is electrifying as Mary Magdalene, and Carl Anderson couldn't have been better as Judas; but Ted Neeley as Jesus is more whiny than heroic.

An exceptionally sturdy cast -- especially Danny Glover as a stern but sensitive captain and Denis Leary as a wisecracking supply sergeant -- manages to keep the one-joke scenario airborne most of the time.

There's nothing particularly original about art-director-turned-filmmaker Ray Yeung's good-natured look at a pair of aging gay men in London, other than the fact that these men happen to be of Chinese descent. Beyond that, it's pretty much gay business as usual.

Although engagingly played, the film cannot find a voice or climax.

While the film has striking moments, it feels padded with events that seem freighted with narrative weight but end up not mattering at all to the story.

Though consistently handsome, the film never quite achieves the shallow but hugely seductive intensity of its MTV-style opening credits sequence.

Westby's sympathy for the Scottys of the world is evident, but like them he doesn't always know how to put his best face forward.

Zwick frequently sacrifices dramatic urgency in the name of sobriety.

Most conspicuously absent is John Travolta, replaced here by Maxwell Caulfield, who can't lift the original greaser's comb. Michelle Pfeiffer (MARRIED TO THE MOB; DANGEROUS LIAISONS) fares better as Olivia Newton-John's replacement, but the whole movie looks as if it has been slapped together to capitalize on its predecessor's success, and no doubt, it was.

There's little room for ideas when there are flaming cars to be crashed, and overall the film is an infelicitous hodgepodge that lifts as liberally from "The Quatermass Experiment" (1956) and "28 Weeks Later" (2007) as "Body Snatchers" while leaving all the best bits behind -- even the iconic pods are gone.

The trouble with this precious fable isn't that the Whitmans are self-absorbed ninnies: It's that they aren't characters at all.

Scientists in an underwater lab are picked off by a monster of the deep in this cheesy hybrid of Alien, The Thing, and The Abyss.

The result is undeniably offensive and occasionally very funny, but the gags fall flat as often as they hit their mark.

The film is a harmless extension of the skit, aimed at fans and best viewed as a showcase for Meadows's considerable talents.

The worst things about Basic Instinct, though, are the explicit "love" scenes. They're supposed to contribute to a heady equation in which sex, violence and psychology are fused; instead, they're gratuitous, exploitative, and entirely unerotic.

The film's seriousness of intent is unimpeachable – Forman and Carriere see disturbing echoes of the modern world in 18th-century Spain -- but the execution borders on farce.

Once Griffith and Andrews enter the lawless zone attempts at quirky humor fall flat and the film settles into a fairly conventional action yarn

Shot in the warm sepia tones of bittersweet memories, this whimsical, unpretentious shaggy war story is the sort of film that looks like a small gem when you accidentally stumble across it on TV or at the video store. But it feels a little unsatisfying when its small virtues are stretched to cover a big screen.

The winning cast makes the twist-heavy plot plausible.