There may be a way to remake 1973's cult thriller The Wicker Man, in which a deeply Christian cop has his religious convictions shaken to the core as he investigates the disappearance of a child from within a cheerfully pagan community, but Neil LaBute didn't find it.

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

It's all pretty rough going, but even with its microbudget there's enough blood, booty and bling to satisfy fans of the genre. It's also never dull, thanks to Silvera's restless pacing and a great reggae soundtrack.

The film is never dull.

The film desperately needs a stronger script; one with a few funny jokes would be nice.

Kids might find the sight of monkeys -- sorry, apes -- wrestling in outer-space funny, but unless they're unusually sophisticated, much will probably just confuse them.

Director Stephen Purvis and writer Chris Haddock never rise above the material's inherent pulpiness, but they keep the twists coming until the very end.

When Prince really performs on screen, he's terrific. If he'd take some acting lessons and team with a competent scriptwriter and director, he might be capable of creating a first-rate musical.

True to its serial roots, this equally silly but undeniably entertaining sequel to "Underworld" (2003) picks up right where its high-grossing predecessor left off and offers more of the same.

Obviously aware that he was hung out to dry with an awful script, director Phil Joanou tries to make up for this handicap with some startling camerawork. Much of it is overdone, but the result is one in which Joanou's visual style transcends the vapid script.

This flashy and ultimately conservative morality tale relies on shockingly frank sex talk to cover the fact that the characters are shockingly poorly developed.

Features generally crisp dialogue, solid performances by a mix of newcomers and familiar character actors, and Provenzano's direction is strikingly accomplished.

Disco gets its due in this lightweight but entertaining look at the underground dance culture that flourished in New York City throughout the 1970s.

Danny Glover is an adequate straight man, as both Lethal Weapon pictures demonstrate, and Martin Short can certainly be funny. But they don't really play as a team; you get the feeling that their sheer physical disparity--tall, dark-skinned Glover and tiny, red-haired Short--struck someone as so inherently funny that it didn't matter that the two of them don't ignite comic sparks.

While one could wish the film offered something more original than its strictly formula heroics, it benefits from a generous portion of charm. And most kids attending 3 Ninjas are likely to stand up and cheer the rousing, action-packed finale.

Pakula again uses big-name stars to deliver a political message. This time around Fonda and Kristofferson are involved in the world of high finance that teeters on the brink of disaster when Arab countries threaten to pull their money from US banks instead of letting it "roll over."

Rodney Dangerfield has always had the potential to be one of the funniest men in American movies, and when filmmakers have taken advantage of that potential, the results have often been hilarious. Unfortunately, LADYBUGS squanders his talents in a cheap and crude comedy.

The narrative is cluttered with backstory, and the endless digressions overwhelm the efforts of a generally strong cast.

All the usual business canards and stereotypes are represented in this lackluster, witlessly directed production. Only Fox is worth watching, but his role is more suited to a one-act play.

The entire movie is one big build-up to a twist that, while not exactly cheating, plays is an awfully cheap trick.

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

Soulless, sleekly executed product.

In an age when special effects and flashy cinematography often trump narrative, there's a particular charm to the plain-Jane story of self-discovery.

To cash in on footage from a film Lee did not finish before his death, producer Chow puts in a double and uses out-takes for this kung-fu mess.

The medium overwhelms the message, but music video director Hype Williams' feature debut still has far more on its mind than it first lets on.

More a sequel to the original than an extension of the action in Part II, The Karate Kid Part III is half-hearted and very dull.

The result is a soggy swamp of nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyahing, its only grace notes are Giamatti's fine, nuanced performance as Heep and Christopher Doyle's handsome cinematography.

The film is preposterous on so many counts that it's hard to enumerate them.