The laughs are low, the breasts are high, and the film is instantly forgettable.

The superficially cheery “Boogie Nights” is infinitely scarier.

A hick-town, screwball comedy version of "Dog Day Afternoon," and surprisingly palatable despite its sitcom soul and star.

Cunningham tackles a complicated subject, rejecting the stridency favored by filmmakers of the Spike Lee persuasion in favor of a more even-handed tone.

It's all terribly schematic, thematically obvious and not in the least bit funny.

Ledger swirls his cassock glamorously, while Weller is clearly concealing cloven hoofs beneath his; Addy plays the fool and the one-note Sossamon is thoroughly annoying, as fey as Meg Tilly but without Tilly's redeeming faraway air.

A lifelong baseball enthusiast, director and co-producer Mike Tollin -- persuaded many real-life baseball figures to make cameo appearances.

Thanks to the smart casting of Jon Voight as the school’s principal and Lainie Kazan as Yasmin’s beloved Bubbie, the two-hour run time won't be a complete bore for adults.

Ambitious though it may be, this fourth entry in the HELLRAISER saga is easily the least of the film series.

The film features a great cast and is adapted from a funny and moving book by Joseph Wambaugh, but the result is an abysmal, disjointed mess.

This coarse, nearly incoherent action picture apparently aspires to a 'Pulp Fiction"-like mixture of brutality and self-referential insouciance.

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.

This convoluted, time and continent-tripping tale is heavy on the adolescent angst and swoony romanticism.

The script too often sounds like an encrypted communique itself, and it's tiring trying to keep all the nonsensical space-jargon straight. The effort is more demanding than hanging onto a joystick, and not entirely worth the effort.

The acting is laughable, the story as believable as honesty in government.

So, in essence, The Informers fails precisely because we never believe these lost souls were ever human enough to have had a soul to lose in the first place.

Hardman is a grating, mannered onscreen presence, which is especially unfortunate in light of the fine work done by most of the rest of her cast.

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

It's hard to pinpoint what's most insulting about this obvious propaganda piece.

S-s-s-smokin'? Hardly, this sequel to the 1994 Jim Carrey flick "The Mask" should have been snuffed out in the drawing room.

This sentimental comedy is generally sweet natured.

It's larded with blinding glimpse-of-the-obvious homilies.

SHE'S OUT OF CONTROL would have done far better in the TV ratings than it did at the box office. It has all the production pluses of national ad campaigns: smart art direction, lighting, and costume design; a catchy mix of old and new rock'n'roll on the soundtrack. Unfortunately, SHE'S OUT OF CONTROL also resembles commercials in that it hopes to appeal to everyone and basically endears itself to no one.

Performances are weak all around, and Gordon hits his nadir in his cinematic vision of irregularly sized creatures.

[A]confusing, silly story.

This story, directed and cowritten by Joan Rivers, had been done before and somewhat better by Frenchman Jacques Demy in the 1973 film A SLIGHTLY PREGNANT MAN.

Leave something on the shelf long enough and it'll either ripen like cheese or rot like garbage. Guess what: This ain't Camembert.

This broad, coarse farce is otherwise as insubstantial a piece of work as you could possibly imagine; in fact, a light breeze could blow it away.