Hugely smug and annoying.

Aside from the racial twist, this is pretty conventional fare, but it's consistently diverting.

It's well acted and it's entertaining -- and who can resist a movie where Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau are brothers, and Robert Duvall is their dad?

There are effective scenes and powerful performances scattered among long sequences in which various members of the family gaze into space as they contemplate the burden of the past, walk aimlessly through Atlanta or have odd encounters with strangers.

The mere sight of strapping men in micro-mini skirts suffering the indignities of thong underwear, catcalls and pushy pick-up artists is good for a couple of lowbrow laughs, but they're buried pretty deep in dreck.

It delivers some bracingly nasty gore scenes, but there's no spark left in the run-scream-repeat formula, and a movie whose biggest draw is profoundly untalented hotel-fortune heiress Paris Hilton is in desperate need of some juice.

Tedious...To call the picture formulaic is to miss the point: It's so openly contemptuous of its audience that it doesn't even bother to run the formula.

This tale of crime and punishment is wrapped in a veneer of flashy attitude but founders on mundane details.

This ambitious independent feature eschews gore in favor of rubber-reality ambiguity.

It begins with a stale Hitler joke and ends with a miraculous quick-save that demonstrates just how poorly the Holocaust is served by the life-affirming requirements of Hollywood features.

This film will doubtless interest serious anime fans, but it won't win any converts.

If your idea of a good time at the movies is watching two grown men go at it with fists and shivs and nasty wilderness booby-traps, then you're in luck.

Has the distinctive Heavy Metal magazine meets "The Neverending Story" (1984) vibe of Euro-science-fiction comics, complete with ponderous philosophical noodling, weirdly whimsical aliens and seriously creepy creature sex.

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.

The jokes tossed into this feeble effort involve Cheech and Chong in drag, herpes, and an S&M porno adventure featuring the comedians' real-life spouses Shelby Fiddis and Rikki Marin.

A sprawling, messy, frustrating and impassioned examination of the psychological fallout from America's obsession with a highly artificial and all-but unattainable standard of beauty.

It's a far more interesting film; unfortunately, it's locked inside a maudlin coming-of-age story that barely registers.

This big-screen incarnation of the TV kids' adventure show that spawned a marketing empire is no better than it should be, but it's lively enough to fulfill its primary mission -- which is, of course, to sell more toys.

More of the same, but it's now so far removed from any sense of reality, and done with such ham-fisted insistence, it's become a clumsy parody of itself.

The story isn't much -- the ever-evolving aliens are better served by the cute-but-icky effects than the simplistic script -- but it skims along on the cast's chemistry.

A window into bygone morals and mores.

Buono is truly charming, and the film delivers a handful of genuine laughs -- low laughs, but laughs nonetheless; if only they weren't so few and far between.

Features a nutty mix of broad comedy, romance and maudlin melodrama.

Ukraine-born, American-based filmmaker Andrei Zagdansky's deeply frustrating "documentary essay" examines the Orange Revolution.

At a certain point, its sheer can you top this excess, and credibility files out the window three's no reason to continue paying attention.

A totally unnecessary and extremely poor sequel to the original "Halloween". Although Dean Cundey's photography goes a long way toward recapturing the look of the first film, director Rick Rosenthal is no Carpenter, and the emphasis here is on graphic blood and gore rather than the skillful manipulation of the audience.

THE FISH THAT SAVED PITTSBURGH is about as entertaining and memorable as a sports celebrity Miller Lite commercial.

This somewhat haphazard affair combines witchcraft, feminism, and suburban angst into a creepy whole that is fascinating but not quite successful.