Droll mild amusement.

As late Christmas presents go, Reindeer Games is best left unwrapped.

Tightly constructed and controlled.

Nothing really fun, scary or exceptionally gross occurs.

This is about Meg. Only about Meg. Meg in the Middle.

A model of what a largely talking-heads documentary should be, with on-camera testimonials and lots of film clips that offer layers of context.

A comedy without much zing but with an occasional zing-er that enables the film to pick up . . . well, if not nine yards, maybe an inch or two on the gridiron.

Shouldn't be overrated, but it's the first film of the year - and it's mid-February already - capable of keeping a grown-up awake.

The story isn't a grabber.

Increasingly piquant tale of culture clash in 1954 post-independence India.

Unless you have a craving to watch a sluggish Ski-Doo race or want to admire Chase dressed as a hula dancer, consider this the cinematic equivalent of yellow snow.

Murky, pretentious and torturously inert.

Can't stars attract better scripts than this?

(Craven) and his Scream dream team have done a frightfully good job of killing off and wrapping up the popular horror series.

Pleasing piffle.

A bottom-rung Bette Midler vehicle disguised as a biopic of novelist Jacqueline Susann, the movie is a wannabe satire shackled by misplaced reverence.

Far from being a run-of-the-mill slasher pic.

Good actors seem plastic and plastic actors seem worse in a knockoff of every rocket-ship movie you've ever seen.

A family movie with a heart and a brain. And if you aren't moved to tears, you might need an organ transplant.

But most of the humor is about as fresh as the air left behind whenever Witherspoon uses a toilet.

Still a one-of-a-kind mind-blower.

Epic in nearly every way, The Hurricane has the power to blow you away.

With his coolly objective moon's-eye view serving a story that's bizarre by even his long-established career standards, the great documentarian Errol Morris examines the perils of vanity - though others will understandably make more sinister interpretations.

Another invigorating, extremely raunchy sports movie from Ron Shelton .

There's a lot to talk about but so much outrageousness that the end effect is wearying and not a little absurd.

Skirts dangerously close to being the thing it parodies: a second-rate space opera.

In a possible breakthrough role, Law would seem to be the big winner.

Though there are helmets deeper than this movie, you do have to admire the level of screen showmanship .