A nose-bleeding mass murderer wears a mask that suggests Roger Ebert is knocking off a group of lifelong female friends.

At least the models' avarice and teasing provide a chuckle or two, as their dates line up panting at the door. Purely by default, their contribution makes this a slightly better working-woman romance than "The Wedding Planner."

Ragged but with an appealing comic edge, the movie is certainly funnier than most of the other comedies that studios have tried to keep from critics until opening day.

The sometimes fatiguing slow flow in hour one is worth the labor because the power in this 2-hour triumph reveals itself gradually.

Don't buy a ticket for this one, even if the theater is having a fire sale on Raisinets.

The movie wouldn't be imaginable without its commanding star. Nicholson is in virtually every scene underplaying to great effect

All about macho my-weapon-is-bigger-than-your-weapon posturing and far-fetched coincidences that slam together in an entertaining rush.

As buddy pics go, this is pretty much not even worth a single look, let alone a double take.

Thomas' easygoing warmth helps to melt Stiles' icy veneer, and one of Dance's few pleasures is an extended musical segment where she tries to ape his homeboy posturings.

Robbins' performance as Winston is the best thing in the movie.

The actors seem as frozen as the landscape in this unsuccessful attempt at a grand and profound Western about the California Gold Rush.

Feast upon a career-peak Willem Dafoe performance as a bat-eared fiend who is foul, funny, ferocious, forlorn and unforgettable.

The story itself is surprisingly seamless, yet it's the individual components that linger.

There's definitely some paradiso in watching Malena walking, but not enough to sustain almost two hours of cinema.

Once this 2 1/4-hour slow-starter finally finds its rhythm, we're reminded of how gripping policy give-and-take around a long rectangular table can be.

As this year's literary adaptations go, Horses comes a lot closer to being a truly bad movie than "The Perfect Storm" did, yet it would be hard to argue that the two are not the year's most disappointing in terms of trampled hopes.

The satire is surprisingly tepid.

This wee trinket of a comedy, one of the more offbeat stabs at capturing the absurdity of the religious and political strife in Ireland, is for those who like their Guinness with a shot of wry.

Plays like a labor of love.

Terence Davies' deliberately paced, earnest adaptation of Edith Wharton's breakthrough novel quietly captures the grim complexities of New York's social world nearly a century ago.

Just be glad that Hanks and Zemeckis toiled mightily to pull off at least two-thirds of a remarkable achievement.

Of all unlikely possibilities, the team has finally made a movie that, for them, is on the tepid side.

Despite solid acting, it's a fantasy for those who don't know jack about what really makes for a wonderful life.

The script's clichés have nowhere to hide.

It is a measure of the movie's lack of inspiration that William Shatner is the funniest thing in it.

As close as anything could be to a light Mamet comedy.

One can't underestimate the appeal of any movie constructed around Sean Connery's charm.

Tolerance for this movie will likely depend on tolerance for melodramatic, over-the-top finales, especially ones with otherworldly twists.