It's a gee-whiz kiddie movie imagined by pervy grown-ups who get a giggle out of mixing bloodless fight scenes with close-ups of rubber-wrapped butts and baskets.

If this is even a reasonably accurate account of someone's real life, then we as a culture may be in worse shape than we imagine.

Not even the high-caliber talents of Gene Hackman and Morgan Freeman can save this stagy, ridiculously over-baked psychological thriller.

The film's underlying themes dovetail efficiently with the action but don't generate the emotional gut punch the movie needs; overall it feels padded and logy.

The movie exists only as a showcase for the animation technology known as hyperReal, a photo-realistic simulation of space, figure and movement that hopes to one day erase the line between animation and live action once and for all.

The film's poky pacing is a liability -- the setup takes an awfully long time.

Pinter's adaptation is uninspired, and this half-heartedness, combined with Schlondorff's heavy-handedness, serves to crush Atwood's feminist concerns through overkill and to turn a provocative novel into a screen polemic that invites no discussion. This isn't filmmaking; it's haranguing by celluloid.

The satire is broad and easy, while the romance is thoroughly unconvincing.

So clotted with back story that the Romeo and Juliet-style romance between a warrior vampire and a reluctant werewolf never has a chance to breath, Len Wiseman's revisionist horror tale is all look and no bite.

The actors do their best with their one-dimensional roles, and the film is worth seeing, if only to watch Garr, Harry Dean Stanton, and Allan Goorwitz. Tom Waits provided the Oscar-nominated score. (review of original release)

Chase delivers a one-note performance, consisting mainly of predictable comebacks and salacious leers, while the characters who become the targets of his witty rejoinders are weak and silly stereotypes. FLETCH LIVES is a custom-built Chevy Chase vehicle throughout; the other performers are only along for the ride.

Some great things can found in this fluidly kinetic film, well-directed by X-Files series and movie veteran Rob Bowman, including no-nonsense dialogue, epic photography and a terrific score. It's too bad the story is so sloppy and stupid.

None of this is especially funny, nor is it particularly exhilarating; at best it's throwaway entertainment.

Though his film is breathtakingly art-directed, Greenaway wallows in epater le bourgeois nastiness -- his inner naughty child could use a good paddling.

The trouble with director and co-writer Laetitia Colombani's debut feature is that the story isn't really interesting enough to be told twice, let alone dragged out another 20 minutes after that.

Formulaic but performed with some verve.

Contrived, meandering, clichéd and just plain preposterous.

The bar scenes are the only reason to sit through this jello shot of a movie.

Increasingly preposterous, thoroughly credibility-straining escapades.

A lightweight parody of the porn industry and daytime talk shows that has the look and feel of a middling direct-to-video feature.

Something of a cop-out, lacking the courage of its convictions.

As the mismatched interrogators, Travolta and Nielson seem to be in two different and incompatible movies.

Mr. Destiny is by no means a good movie, but James Belushi is unquestionably a good actor, and his portrayal of Larry Burrows almost makes the film worth watching.

Neither the appealing cast nor the bouncing, ska-inflected soundtrack can keep the party going.

Bighearted and wistful, but with no fresh spin or anything new to say.

Duvall at his worst is still an accomplished performer; Pedraza is a modern-day Ali McGraw, lithe and beautiful but no kind of actress. For all her fluidity on the dance floor, she's a dead weight who drags the film down.

This obvious attempt to tap into the same audience that flocked to THREE MEN AND A BABY (indeed, it could have been titled "Two Men and a Toddler") is about as lifeless as they come. Not only is THREE FUGITIVES a scene-for-scene remake of Veber's French original, it is actually shot for shot the same film. Not surprisingly, the resulting film feels mechanical, despite engaging performances from Short and Nolte.

Cross an episode of "Friends" with an issue-of-the-week movie about gay parenthood and you have this glossy vanity project.