The movie is shrewd by giving the bulk of its piggish dialogue to Alexander, an actor incapable of projecting genuine cruelty on screen.

Passable but never exciting, Heist is on a level with those minor Burt Lancaster action pics the actor's name helped bankroll in the '70s.

Though the comedy is sometimes more frenetic than inspired and viewer emotions are rarely touched to any notable degree, the movie is as visually inventive as its Pixar predecessors.

Irresistibly endearing, with a visual verve all its own.

Anyone who sees this movie is going to be 20 minutes ahead of it, though there won't be that many after Weekend 1. With domestic disturbances, someone calls the cops. With this DOA, someone had better call the coroner.

As impressive as Kevin Spacey ordinarily is, this isn't the best vehicle for his considerable talents.

When so many PG-13 movies are encroaching on R-rated turf, it's heartening to see a film that responsibly approaches its audience.

Kline is one of the rare major actors not afraid to look like hell. And given his character's plight, his willingness to get physically unpleasant matches the emotion he brings to the part.

Too distinctive-looking to dismiss out of hand, but it would help to be able to look through a magic viewfinder (or maybe magic eraser) and make its script disappear.

If grossness gives you the giggles, at least a couple of the movie's effects indeed put a little "wow" in this cinematic bowwow.

Two constants: good acting and an old-fashioned preachiness that backfires.

With almost as many subplots as corpses, the movie maintains its mild watchability only because the Ripper saga still engrosses.

They may call it The Last Castle, but moviegoers will ultimately feel rooked.

It's Barrymore's most ambitious role to date. She proves she is maturing as an actress.

It's a rare romantic comedy/road picture that's not only flat-out funny, but also presents complex and well-developed characters.

The movie is so silly I found myself snickering a couple of times, just before slumping down in my seat in mortified embarrassment.

A long-on-video 1993 release now restored to its original Cantonese with different music and more audio pop.

The harder this film tries to be quirky and edgy, the more it feels like a run-of-the mill TV movie.

The real shocker is how many grown men it took to conceive and write this lamebrained tale.

Even at its best, Ride never survives its shaky opening hook.

With its unflinching style, Training Day can be hard to sit through at times. But it's worth the discomfort for the adrenaline rush of the plot and Washington's compelling performance.

If you can believe Serendipity's cockeyed conceit, you may find that discovering this escapist love story feels like a lucky accident.

Don't say you weren't warned. There are instant clues that this ill-timed Michael Douglas vehicle is a dually unfortunate viewing experience.

Something this gleefully goofy and consistently funny would be welcome in any environment.

Don't underestimate the appeal of a heart-tugger that's this well mounted.

Ultimately grim, Liam is ripe in humanity --and even comedy.

Even the soundtrack doesn't rescue the movie from its tedious banality.

The standout performances by Sobieski and Skarsgaard, and the sense of foreboding aided by the deliberate pace of this suspenseful script, polish off the rough edges.

Already too long. It makes you want to start moving globs of dirt to tunnel out of the theater as the movie ends with the famous theme to "The Great Escape."

Those who were upset by the tragic ending of last year's "Pay It Forward" should be warned away.

Women may appear a bit smarter here, but both sexes are portrayed as superficial and silly.

If this is Dumas, there's a "b" in the middle and an extra "s" at the end.

The movie itself IS dull, however. The characters never engage our interest, and the relentless violence grows monotonous.

When it's not aspiring, unsuccessfully, to satirize the world of metallica, Rock Star veers into even drearier territory and becomes a head-banging, sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll version of "A Star Is Born."

Artful and emotionally compelling.

It does survive its 40-minute test drive before turning into a lemon.

It's gratifying to see a comedy can have no redeeming social value yet be full of hearty laughs.

Too bad the movie didn't take its own advice and risk coming up with a fresh story.

Though there are some funny sequences, the frothy Bubble Boy evaporates without delivering enough belly laughs.

Since a goodly portion of Jade is given over to the barbed banter lobbed by Allen and a solid Helen Hunt (in Stanwyck mode as a peevish efficiency expert who challenges his façade of male superiority), Woody the wordsmith is in full evidence, too.

No situation could be more human, and it's one the youth-dominated film industry rarely touches.

The result is far from perfect, but to its many merits, add timing. You never get a movie with this kind of story in mid-August.

A weak whinny of a horse opera tailor-made for those who can't quite locate "Young Guns" or "The Long Riders" in their video store.

Hits its silly stride early and never shifts into a higher gear.

A cheap and easy amusement, one that's gone a little stale and never quite rises to the occasion.

The animation sequences -- the movie's best moments -- hurtle by at breakneck speed, while the live-action portions are a bit sluggish.

Kidman gets kudos for giving the enterprise a touch of class, while the film gives the studio's library a rare pedigreed addition.

It's one bad apple.

Except for its muddier than necessary photography, there aren't any surprises, which probably won't matter to the target audience.

Isn't always perfect. But it fills an empty spot in the hearts of girls of all ages who have been pining all summer for a movie like this.

Director Francis Ford Coppola's revamping of his Vietnam epic, Apocalypse Now, with 49 added minutes, has significantly improved the troubled blockbuster. The film now seems both mellowed and — thanks in part to the most vibrant-looking prints in its 22-year history — revitalized.

There's one reason to see Tim Burton's flawed, somewhat declawed but often amusing do-over of Planet of the Apes. The apes. What else?

Essentially a one-gag film.

The writing here is rarely funny, and often trite and predictable. A couple of scenes are downright disturbing:

Clumsier hands could have planted this load of pungent sap and come up with sticky fingers. But the creators of this based-on-truth fable carefully cultivate the material so it comes off fresher than it sounds.

This movie is a cookie. A slightly stale generic-brand cookie.

Wildly witty, but also inventive, audacious and poignant.

Ghost World draws super, natural performances.

Even the special effects alone aren't worth the price of admission.

There are explosions, double-crosses and chase sequences, but it just doesn't add up to edge-of-your-seat tension.

The movie's success with viewers will depend on whether they think Vaughn is funny or tiresome.

Guilty of inciting a near-laugh riot thanks to an irresistible leading lady whose comic instincts are as impeccable as her manicure.

One has to wonder about the mind-set of a middle-aged filmmaker who repeatedly seeks out material about amoral and promiscuous teenagers with little to say.

Moviegoers accustomed to Hollywood action probably won't find this contemplative adventure so appealing.

Seeing this movie won't get you into MIT, but it's passable fun.

Few filmmakers of the past 20 years have mesmerized as much in their use of crisp, color-drenched photography.

This family entertainment hard sell lags far behind even "Dr. Dolittle 2."

Dull and unpleasant.

This is economy of style that Americans get only in Woody Allen movies -- and even that's not a guarantee.

Only the makers of "Freddy Got Fingered" might crack a smile because it now has competition for worst movie of the year.

Atypical teen drama about opposites attracting that often (and happily) confounds expectations.

This is a movie to be knocked, chewed and gummed, but not dismissed. It's the first 2001 release I've rushed to see twice.

An easy movie to pick apart, but it lives, breathes and switches moods from humor to despair better than any American release this year.

The film has its moments as a mood piece.

High-grade B flick about illegal street racing among gangs in Los Angeles applies the brakes only for the bare minimum of plot injection.

It's the kind of material that is either going to make your day or not.

With a half-dozen characters sorting out life's woes, the pacing is a couple of beats faster than languorous — just enough to sustain one's interest.

If only the story that surrounds this watchable heroine were as well-stacked.

So much luck is pressed with an absurdly overblown finale that 60 seconds will likely be Swordfish's shelf life after a couple of noisy opening weekends.

Instead of scoring belly laughs, there's a run on randy guy banter between Duchovny and Jones.

If one of its points is to show that underused thirtyish actresses still are attractive, it succeeds with Leigh and Cates -- and Jennifer Beals, who also provides a flashback feeling playing Cummings' ex-squeeze.

What Atlantis gains in chills and thrills, it loses in pure emotion.

Stuffing painters, writers and, naturally, Gustav Mahler (Jonathan Pryce) into about 90 minutes, the film comes off as little more than a handsomely mounted scorecard of sexual escapades.

Schneider, with his cherub curls and scrawny physique, adopts a pussycat persona that engenders goodwill.

This dispensable comedy has a few unexpectedly loopy surprises, including an outlandishly gay detective (played by versatile actor William Fichtner), who loves the Ice Capades but loathes insurance fraud.

It's a sweet tale, but the movie's real subject is Zhang, the camera's muse that the lens adores.

It's an extravaganza worth seeing once -- and maybe later on DVD.

A curious but intriguing movie that leaves you bemused and more than a little confused.

A wisp of ghost story that promises insight but is strictly soft focus.

A riotous and wee bit PG-racy computer-animated family fable, is the most thoroughly enjoyable cartoon feature since "Toy Story" burst out of its box.

May be a spectacularly awful movie, but it's also spectacularly drenched in color, décor and other visual oh-la-la.

A cautionary tale very well-told.

From the moment he trudges through the woods in his scratched and smudged birthday suit, Paul Bettany as a saucy Geoffrey Chaucer takes command.

It saves its clunkiest scene for the finale. No fair telling, but the key words are "political," "propaganda," "outdoors" and "orphans."

There's much mumbo-jumbo about past lives and symbolic tattoos, but who cares when you can gaze at a sight as lovely as a dirigible floating in the night sky?

It would appear that director Scott Kalvert never met a cliché he didn't like. No telegraphing is too obvious or simplistic for this movie.

You may enjoy One Night -- but you may feel guilty about it in the morning.

The movie establishes good will (or even great will) in the initial scenes because it's so gorgeous, but the rest is such a slog.