If this is your idea of fun, step right up.

A gloomy-doomy ghost story that gets off to a creepy start and then spirals into flat-out preposterousness.

The concept is cute and the movie starts out well, but it devolves into a muddled, overstuffed mess that wears out its welcome around the time the novelty of 3-D effects wears off.

Lee deserves a lot of credit for attempt the same kind of complex story structure Quentin Tarantino made look so easy in "Pulp Fiction": Like Tarantino's interlocking stories, Lee's four segments occur achronologically and come full circle in a neat twist at the very end.

As unpalatable as stale wedding cake.

So low-key that it verges on unconsciousness.

The plot's preposterous and Affleck is way too callow for a role that would have fit Robert Mitchum like a second-hand suit.

Not much acting is on display, the dialog is simplistic, the story is superficial, and the direction is faceless, but true fans won't care. Others have been warned.

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective marks the ascendance of a new star in film farce, as Jim Carrey elevates this stupid, suprisingly shoddy picture into the comedy stratosphere, mainly thanks to his Gumby-like ability to contort his face and body in the most amazing ways.

Director/writer Andrew Bergman has a proven flair for screwball humor, and you can still discern traces of the lighthanded romp Striptease might have been if Moore hadn't reshaped the project to accommodate the formidable dimensions of her ego.

Desperate-to-shock slice of sleaze life.

This could have been a sweet, charming little romantic comedy, but it is ruined by excessive vulgarity and gratuitous nudity.

Neil Diamond (who even reverts to Al Jolson's blackface for one sequence) is wholly unbelievable as the cantor's son who forsakes the synagogue for the bright lights of pop music.

There's something disheartening about seeing real-life stories and their inevitable complexities put through the Hollywood sausage machine and transformed into bland parables about a privileged, wayward young bucks redeemed by wise, infinitely patient mentors and the self-abnegating spirit of team sports.

If you're expecting anything resembling the beloved cartoon, you'll enjoy the title sequence and nothing else. If, however, you set your expectations just low enough, or are an easily satisfied 8-year-old, you might have a bit of fun.

Abel Ferrara's gift for getting actors to dredge up the ugliest muck in their souls and bare it onscreen is used to strong effect in this psychological thriller.

Hong Kong action pioneer Tsui Hark is in high form here, tricking out the bare-bones story with disorienting camera angles, trick photography and virtuoso action sequences.

It doesn't help that the cast is populated by unfunny actors, with the possible exception of Evans, who is an appealing presence if not necessarily a great comedienne.

Writer-director Richard Ledes' dreadfully misconceived, pitch-black, film-noir comedy seeks to find the humor in the post-WWII mental hygiene boom, and the result is way off target.

While not exactly in the same league as the visually dazzling "Excalibur" and saddled with cheap looking CGI effects, this Anglo-Italian co-production has quite a bit of fun finding a direct path from the fall of Rome to the birth of Arthurian legend.

It's really just "Rocky" in gleaming dress whites.

No two ways about it: The screenplay is derivative. But the location adds a little novelty to the standard-issue running and screaming.

Really lame.

There's a fine line between subversively transgressive and just plain gross, and this coming-of-age-movies parody from Todd Stephens, who wrote and directed the charming and underrated "Gypsy 83," crashes right over it.

Too many musical montages break the momentum, but overall it's an engaging piece of work, regardless of which team you play for.

Golan barely touches on the fundamental conflicts that created the situation there and simply offers a pack of wild-eyed, swarthy Arabs preying on passive, middle-aged Jews represented by the likes of Winters, Balsam, Bishop, and Kazan. Such horrors do happen, but they do not have to be presented as a cartoon.

Voight's performance -- one of the film's pure, trashy delights -- is all leer, sneer and macho swagger, while the rest of the actors feel like the disposable snake-fodder they are.

Formulaic hodge-podge that trades on a certain demographic's affection for the bogeymen of their formative years.