Odd, quasi-mystical movie that’s too silly for adults to take seriously and frankly too weird for kids.

Not much action or excitement here.

The film pulls off a couple of "gotchas!", but the subtle creepiness of its predecessors is gone, replaced by a sense of numbing predictability.

We already knew Hudson and McConaughey weren't exactly Gable and Lombard from their first romantic pairing in "How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days," but director Andy Tennant's complete lack of inventiveness comes as a surprise.

Postal's touches of wit are lost in the flying body parts, gross-out gags, and the full frontal spectacle of Foley's no-longer-private parts.

However deep the divide currently separating the Middle East from the West appears to be, there's at least one thing we can all agree on: Albert Brooks isn't all that funny anymore.

Ironically, one of the film's best-developed characters is a mouse: The four-legged "Chizzler" actually has a legitimate story arc with a genuine payoff.

The movie's film-studentish navel-gazing wears thin long before its over.

A crude, artless bogey tale.

Steve Austin is conspicuously inarticulate and uncharismatic. Former soccer lout Vinnie Jones, whom no one will ever mistake for Laurence Olivier, acts rings around him.

It's cheap, sloppy, and too jumbled up to know what it should be.

Welsh-born actor Roger Rees bares body and soul in director/cowriter Eric Werthman's handsomely photographed examination of the dynamic that unites a masochist and the sex worker who caters to his desires.

Huge in scope and beautifully shot on location in South America, this ambitious production is undone by terrible casting choices.

What a waste. Check out "Breakdown" or Aldo Lado's 1971 Italian giallo "Long Night Of The Short Dolls" for a far better treatments of the same subject.

Bummer, dudes. Longtime fans who expect the fun lingo and pizza-gobbling Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles of the past may be shocked by director Kevin Munroe's reimagining of the popular kiddie series.

It's all a pretentious bore that feels twice as long as it's two-hour running time.

It's hard to believe this shoddy, dishonest mess is Clark's sixth feature film, and not the unpromising debut of a rank amateur.

This terrible sequel to a bad movie was directed by Fred Savage, the now-grown star of "The Wonder Years," though there's no evidence of any behind-the-scenes adult supervision.

This formulaic mess of sports-movie cliches and self-esteem claptrap contains a couple of funny bits, but you have to slog through a lot of done-to-death bodily function jokes to get to them.

First-time writer-director Robert Edwards is nothing if not ambitious, attempting to encapsulate the history of totalitarian oppression and misguided revolutionary zeal into a broad, blunt, black comedy.

M. Night Shyamalan's sixth film mines a rich lode of end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it clichés, but while the set up is spooky, the development is heavy handed and marred by Shyamalan's inability to write natural-sounding dialogue or convincing characters.

Rip Torn, Linda Hunt and Jerry O'Connell mark time in minor supporting roles.

It's by no stretch of the imagination a good film, but it delivers what it promises: naked girls whaling on each other, flesh-ripping zombies and genre stalwart Todd growling and glowering satanically from beneath a mane of dreadlocks - the He-Who-Kills teeth are a nice touch.

A shameless puddle of romantic slop.

The occasional eerie moment can't elevate this routine piece of by-the-numbers J-horror above the pack.

Who will survive and what will be left of them? If you don't have a pretty good idea, this is not the movie for you. If you do, rest assured you've seen it all before.

Morgan borrows Christmas-specific nastiness from a wide range of fright flicks, but the result is less than the sum of its parts.

Though Keaton is convincing as a smarmy narcissist who secretly thinks he deserves to fail because writing plays isn't REAL work, he's also thoroughly unlikable -- a problematic trait in a protagonist.