The whole thing is soggy cardboard.

Landis' direction is indulgent, to say the least, with big landscapes, big crashes, big hardware, and big gags filling the screen. What he forgets is character development, that all-important factor that must exist for comedy to work well.

Allowing for the fact that any Pokemon movie is essentially a feature-length commercial designed to make little kids want Pokémon stuff, this one has its moments.

The film makes a noble attempt to present history in a realistic, nonheroic light, but Hudson is done in by a dull script and some ludicrous (curiously unrealistic) casting (Pacino as a Scot, Sutherland as a Brit, and Kinski as an American).

The film is an encouraging effort from McCrudden -- he manages to avoid the staginess of the recurring two-characters-in-a-hotel-room set-up -- and features a standout performance from Williams.

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

Another broad-brush, unfunny feature from one-time stunt director Needham.

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.

Even the snowboarding scenes that might have been the visceral heart of this thing are cut in such a way that we never get more than a few seconds of full-frame athletic skill; despite the real-life snowboarders doing the stunt work (including Rob "Sluggo" Boyce, Tara Dakides and Javas Lehn), it all looks like editing-room cheats.

Benigni's artfully composed images are as empty as his political convictions.

Blame It On Rio turns into a most uncomfortable film, leeringly depicting an affair with decidely icky undertones of incest and pedophilia. Between gratuitous (if titillating) nude scenes and a succession of lame soundtrack songs, there are plenty of travelogue shots to pad out the thin narrative line. Caine looks embarrassed through the entire film, as well he might.

Curtis' considerable and diverse talents don't go entirely unused.

If Reeves weren't onboard this picture would have gone straight to video.

Driver and Renner deliver haunting performances in this story of crime and punishment.

This picture's b-movie values probably play better on video than in theaters.

The film leaves the viewer feeling violated and ashamed. Avoid.

There is nothing original or especially interesting about this film, though in-jokes abound.

The premise is pretty simple, and at two hours the murky sound, muddy low-light images and frequently dreadful acting are a little tough to take.

For all its sensitivity, the film abounds with movie cliches about the developmentally challenged.

Fans of unashamedly low-brow comedies may well be amused by the eccentricities of Cabin Boy, but more conventional viewers should probably beware.

Maybe gross-out romantic comedy is a shallow well, and it was simply Rogers's misfortune to find himself with a bucket full of sludge.

Good score, OK crash sequences, and lots of unintentional laughs are the only reasons to sit through this movie.

Gets off to a pretty intriguing start before degenerating into a series of routine action sequences.

The bad news is that, though professionally produced on a micro-budget, Azita Zendel's ambitious writing-directing debut is undermined by an awkward script and some very amateurish acting.

The real-life Hayata plays himself with little conviction, while the rest of the Spanish-speaking cast give the impression that they don't have the slightest idea what their English-language dialogue means.

Folks watching any movie that opens with a shot of a butt crack (with the possible exception of "Lost in Translation") can't claim they weren't warned.

A lifeless and sophomoric attempt at romantic comedy that draws on the fantasy films of old Hollywood but fails miserably.

Walks a thin line between refreshing irreverence and shameless exploitation of offensive gay stereotypes.