Fast Food Fast Women is "Sex and the City" in Payless shoes. An incoherent jumble of characters and situations.

The audience hasn't the slightest idea what is going on.

McGregor, the movie's most engaging performer, is convincing enough to sell the mutual attraction. The "Trainspotting" star is usually playing some kind of freak, and this is a nice stretch for him.

A movie that appeals to the eye, mind, heart and funny bone; that's a pretty good quadruple for any movie.

Astute and entertaining documentary.

Becomes a strung-together collection of interesting, semi-interesting, boring and sometimes embarrassing (seemingly improvised) moments from the cast.

There's every reason to watch Bread and Roses for what Loach really does best: He involves us directly in the desperate lives of his characters, who are forced to live without security and who have to compromise to make ends meet. And, above all, who feel as real as moviemaking allows.

The action scenes are beautifully mounted and photographed and offer a sense of the rigors of the sport.

Bland as a fortune cookie and as trite as the message inside.

Charlotte Rampling takes you so far inside the pain of Marie Drillon it leaves you stirred, shaken and a little in awe.

The film's loveliness does much to modulate its often maddening pace.

The result is a cross between a hurricane and a tornado as run through a movieola dialed all the way up to 10.

Many of the visual effects are stunning, but others are downright cheesy -- especially an attempt to fuse the Rock's head onto a scorpion's body.

Propelled not by characters but caricatures.

First-time feature director Harald Zwart has a real flair for farce, and he keeps the outrageous high jinks of the script lively yet grounded in reality.

Redundant, humorless and overlong screenplay.

Its splendor cannot be denied, but then again neither can the emptiness of this Henry James adaptation.

The plot feels arbitrary and seems driven to invent new places for its protagonists to go, as if to justify a budget on which Woody Allen could have made six much better films.

Where it succeeds best is not in describing how Luzhin got broken but how love fixed him, albeit temporarily.

A well-acted first effort written and directed by Jamie Thraves.

Allegations of governmental double-talk and cover-ups are, unfortunately, boooring.

This latest, utterly gratuitous chapter in the saga of the wisecracking reptile hunter will add nothing to the ever-dimming reputation of the Subaru pitchman.

Very, very funny, in that morbid sort of way that makes you laugh even as you shudder with horror.

The movie is simply not professional. It's not, even by the lowest standards of Republic B-westerns in the '30s or bad, cheap horror films in the '50s, releasable.

Drowning in uncharted waters and way off-center in any world.

In its brisk way, it's a devastating piece of work, and very brave too.

How can you celebrate a movie in which Zellweger doesn't soar but simply avoids disaster?

The fat cats of Hollywood have coughed up a hairball.

You're hard-pressed to dislike the film.

It's a great style, it's a fabulous performance, but it never quite finds what it's searching for.

We should be asking ourselves why so noble a nation would produce swill like Joe Dirt.

A lot of it is low, crude, admittedly comic in the rudest positive sense, which involves a lot of falling down to humorous effect.

Wonderfully empowering to watch Petula and Dorothy turn the tables on their testosterone-crazed tormentors.

An episodic drama rich in sly humor and symbolic imagery.

A corkscrew of a thriller, has more twists than a tarantula with a permanent.

Confusing as heck.

It's a film about culture clash, the generation gap and the loss of tradition that inevitably accompanies the arrival of anything new.

You can't make an epic about a mouse.

Anguish ranges from gritty and realistic to the tragicomic soap opera found in Pedro Almodovar's films.

The rhythms excite expectations that go unanswered.

A gooey romantic comedy that sticks to everything except its principles.

Energetic and slickly done, but also somewhat soulless.

Go expecting the very worst. Just don't expect to laugh.

A lively, affectionate and well-acted romantic comedy, takes a raunchy look at relationships from the black male perspective.

Trust me, you'll want to leave these people to get on with their tedious scams alone.

This time, the jokes about dead animals, gunk in the hair, incest and all other taboos are flatter than the road kill Gilly finds himself picking up for a living.

It's nothing less than a spiritual journey set in New Jersey.

Provides a fascinating glimpse of how the human spirit struggles.

Unforgettable, especially in Pearce's startling performance.

Still, if the movie is mediocre, the history it represents is not. For that correction to our collective Western amnesia, then, Annaud deserves some special award.

Simple fare, a feel-good movie that re-creates a time and place with gentle humor and a reminder that the Aussies have the right stuff, too.

The performers bring freshness to what could have been cliched roles.

Its greatest asset...Flora Montgomery, a flash of blond, Irish fire who makes Trudy well worth Brendan's trouble.

They (De Niro, Burns) look good together. But what a staggering pity they chose such a nasty, hackneyed movie to demonstrate their chemistry.

Although filled with fey, flamboyant characters, the stereotype of the gay hairdresser seems to have been meticulously expunged.

The region's stark beauty and the filmmaker's eye for composition compensate somewhat for its predictability and obvious if misguided feminist agenda.

If anyone can sell the idea of ... some psycho "Sherlock Holmes," it's Samuel L. Jackson.

See critic run. Oh, for the days of Smell-a-Vision.

Feels patently inauthentic.

The suspense may be fraudulently manufactured but it captivates us nevertheless, and by the end we're reduced to the bloodlusting anonymity of the true culprits in all this jaded junk, and that is the TV audience.

The result is a script so needlessly complicated that it defies comprehension.

Compelling, if sometimes grittily depressing, viewing.

I suggest you think of this movie as another bad sausage from the Warner Bros. meat-packing factory. And you should think of this review as a government health warning. Eat this thing at your peril.

A compelling French Canadian drama.

For a comedy, there are precious few real laughs. Three to be exact.

Shamelessly manipulative in a crude, bullying way.

The movie's great fun, particularly for kids used to that satirically hard-edged kind of kid show.

Like nothing else that's played in months.

It is not bad on its own terms, and it is certainly engrossing, but it comes nowhere near the power and sordid glory of the original.

One thing the makers of Saving Silverman do not have to worry about: Hannibal Lecter will never visit them to eat their brains. That is because they have no brains.

Though its attitudes are decidedly French, this intelligent film goes a long way toward explaining America's obsession with Martha Stewart Living, fake designer labels and TV talk show makeovers.

Here's my favorite part: It's only 87 minutes long. But for the most part, this movie is just another bland, fair-to-middling vehicle for two emerging, fledgling stars.

A blundering cringefest, thanks to unintentionally laughable dialogue, hackneyed writing and uninspired direction.

The sexiest movie of the year.

Touching, funny, unflinching and true.

Held together by the intensity of its focus.

I suggest you RSVP in the negative to this "Wedding" invitation, unless you consider yourself a friend of the obvious bride to be, Ms. Lopez. But even then, you'll have to focus on her presence, rather than the silly ceremony around her.

Cares not a whit for such arbitrary concepts as justice, crime or punishment. It understands the relativism of right and wrong and takes a kind of perverse pleasure in reminding us that there are some things we'll never know.

Although the plot is crucial, it's the interaction among characters that makes Snatch percolate. Ritchie knows when to stop and smell the comedy.

Anyone interested in serious film should absolutely not miss it.

It's too bad we don't have red, glowing DELETE buttons next to those soda cup holders. I could have done the world a favor.

Most of the comedy, such as it is, consists of the uppity Chase acting "street" and the ghetto-fabulous Tiffany putting on moneyed airs. But, if you've seen the trailers, you already know that.

Takes its cues from the musical dramas of the '70s, but this otherwise engaging young-adult romance never quite catches Saturday night fever.

Demonstrates that sometimes the simplest stories are the most profound, and certainly possess the most moral authority. It's a film that emphasizes loyalty and sacrifice, values that have become jokes in most other films these days.

The film feels inauthentic, a cardboard version of other epics that's cast for distribution to various world markets.

Diabolically amusing without plunging into the Mel Brooks zone, and it's smart without being pedantic. And it's genuinely scary at times.

Sinfully watchable ensemble movie.

Thornton, writer-director of the superb "Slingblade," has a gift for depicting down-and-dirty scenes among men. And when our three principal characters go riding from Texas to Mexico, this is the best part of the movie.

Like President Kennedy, director Donaldson (who made "No Way Out," another pretty good Washington-seat-of-power thriller) has found a perfect balance of often-opposing forces: between recorded history and the demands of plain old entertainment.

The movie finds charming humor in a world full of sectarian strife between Protestant and Catholic.

Feels more like "Porky's" with marinara sauce than "Summer of '42."

Although the cast is uniformly strong, the real revelation here is "The X-Files' " Anderson, who plays Lily with subtle gradations of emotional depth unexpected from someone who has made a career out of deadpan.

The jokes are lame, the set-up is stupid and Bullock, occasionally a winsome comedienne and here a co-producer, is annoying as heck.

Relentlessly funny satire.

As a Coen brothers fan I hate to say this, but the movie's a collection of great bits and pieces rather than a complete work.

If there's anyone who can make this ordeal -- and when you're plumb out of characters, it can be an ordeal -- tolerable, and even entertaining, it's Hanks.

Nothing more, or less, than a cheap, dirty grab at our Christmas spirit.

Manages to take the cerebral act of literary creation and make it exciting, sexy even.

So chock-full of stereotypes as to be a filmic Southern Country Safari.

Unfortunately, the actors seem overqualified for their parts, delivering earnest monologues that come across as clumsy transplants from the proscenium stage.

A hip, hilarious new animated feature.

Gibson and the overexposed Hunt don't exactly burn up the screen, not that it much matters. The charm isn't in the relationship, it's in Gibson's puckish appeal.

I can only bestow this adaptation of Joanne Harris's bestselling novel with such faint praise as "pleasant" and "mildly disarming."

The characters are as thin as the air at 26,000 feet, and the story as silly as anyone willing to assault K2 in a punishing blizzard.

Stinketh like the breath of a dyspeptic dragon.

Proof of Life isn't a movie. It's an overpriced scrapbook.

Magnificently nonchalant about its magic.

You realize this is a story about the life beyond this movie, about the great changes in life we never give ourselves time to consider. And for a moviegoing experience, that's a lot of bang for your buck.

So dull and formulaic, it ought to be leashed and led directly to the doghouse.

I was hooked from beginning to end.

Rush is too sinfully good for the drama he's in.

It's a love story, yes, but one whose sweetness is cut by honest performances, a sharply drawn supporting cast and a fairly serious, yet never self-pitying, tone.

A confection that is ultimately better because of its bitterness.

The film, built of interviews with participants, is fast-paced, utterly absorbing and ultimately tragic.

Your children are almost certain to have a great time.

Neither smart nor exciting enough to justify the effort.

It's not Christmas that's being stolen here. It's the spirit of Dr. Seuss.

Pfarrer's screenplay feels older than the Martian hills.

Storytelling like this weighs heavier than a standard diving suit, and it's really up to you, if you're ready to take the plunge.

How much you enjoy this movie depends on how funny you find Sandler talking out the side of his mouth with a gravelly squawk -- for the entire movie.

A humanistic gem of a movie, with unforgettable performances from Linney and Ruffalo.

A Chinese film whose simple surface belies greater mysteries.

A slight, disingenuous script that robs the characters of their histories.

A tarted-up but tedious reprise of the '70s TV series.

Very funny in a way reminiscent of "Babe: Pig in the City."

Proceeds with an episodic pace, full of narrative twists and turns that clearly are not pretested by a Hollywood committee. Things feel sort of strange and original all at once.

Tells us nothing we didn't already know, and it tells it over and over and over.

We're only a little spooked, only a little amused and, by extension, only a little entertained.

At times, it's downright nasty; and that's when I like it best.

Like too many Thanksgiving dinners, too much squabbling really wreaks havoc on the digestion. Football, anyone?

Coupled with the fact that the plant and animal life (hoopoes, zorilles and ground squirrels, among other beasties) really look African, and that the film's original score is by the great contemporary Senegalese musician Youssou N'Dour, Kirikou and the Sorceress's surprising honesty about the banality of evil makes the movie -- even with all its magic -- feel truly authentic.

A great director's losing battle against a goofy script.

You have to see this to believe it.

This is one fan's valentine to the music he loves. It just happens that the fan is a terrific filmmaker and the music loves him back -- and we get to see it and hear it all. What a treat.

Baldly manipulative, emotionally counterfeit melodrama.

A mite sluggish.

A pretty dreary affair to sit through. It's not even scary.

Though it's allegedly a comedy, there is nothing funny about this tasteless, shallow and mean-spirited slam.

I can recommend the first two-thirds of this movie with great enthusiasm.

It orders you to love it. It demands love, which is the best way not to get it.

Another cheesy, overdrawn and witless "Saturday Night Live" takeoff.

The story, which deals straightforwardly with racism, miscegenation, adultery and consumerism, is a fascinating combination: a movie with an almost Capraesque heart and pristine, almost stagey lighting schemes, that addresses uncomfortable moral issues with today's perspectives.

With conceptual misfires like this, Lee's best work recedes even more swiftly into the past.

If there's one piece of wisdom to be culled from this botched project, it's this: No one gets Carter.

So twitchy, fidgety, skittery and wiggly that the drug it made me yearn for was Dramamine, followed by a chaser of bourbon, 12 years old.

On one level, Yi Yi is classic soap opera, with a suicide attempt, a wedding ceremony, even a brutal 11 o'clock news murder, all in the mix. But Yang's direction is so admirably restrained, it lends rich heft to everything.

Roach knows to play to the movie's twin strengths: Stiller and De Niro. Throw these guys together, turn up the intensity.

In the end the movie goes nowhere a hundred movies haven't already been and tells us nothing we don't already know. It does so with so much violent energy, however, it's like four brutal years at film school crammed into an hour and a half.

Insufferably cloying experience.

A scrappy independent film that packs the same emotional punch as "Rocky."

So smug and so proud of itself, and you can tell that everybody involved conceives of it as a civics lesson instead of a story, that they squeeze all the life out of it.

Its scope isn't broad enough to draw in the uninitiated.

Just isn't as fresh, focused or uniformly funny as "Waiting for Guffman."

Its easygoing, disarming air will endear it to its target audience, who will appreciate this movie as much for the lifestyle it depicts as its actual story.

The only quandary in this film is in where to begin despising it.

The mind will be starved for subtlety, wit and substance.

You may leave this movie exhilarated by its no-holds-barred boldness or annoyed and bewildered at the unpredictable course it takes.

Breaks no new ground.

A conceptual train wreck, with half an idea scattered like disaster debris all over the screen.

There's no denying its surreal, hypnotic effect.

Far from an amusing romp.

The camera, freed to glide, flows as if through the old man's memory, discovering both the glory of his life and the tragedy.

Ought to be called "Hook, Line and Stinker."

This is wonderful stuff, as far as it goes.

It's something no one should watch.

Mostly, these guys carry on like spoiled children, complaining, roughhousing and badgering women to strip naked.

Nurse Betty is this year's "Being John Malkovich"-an utter original with a little something to say and a way of saying it that manages to be at once delightful and bilious.

It's good fun for bad boys.

Puerile bluster.

In its heart burns the indomitable flame of the human spirit.

When a burning rat is the funniest thing in your movie, I think you're in big trouble, even in Miami.

You don't have to be a Phishead to enjoy Bittersweet Motel.

It doesn't lack for emotional intensity or persuasive, three-dimensional characters.

An endearing comic roundelay about the can't-commits.

A spoofy paean to cheerfolk that has more bounce per flounce than most tales about teen queens.

The film-which at 112 minutes, ends up ramblin' like its subject-does provide compelling rehab for an underrated artist.

Riveting in its low way. It traffics in imagery profoundly disturbing.

Godzilla, go home.

It couldn't be any less revolutionary in style. It is straighter than a guitar string.

There's nothing stodgy about these court jesters or their humor, even though their act is a decidedly grown-up affair.

A surprisingly lush, well-produced film.

A bittersweet duet convincingly, if unexcitingly, performed by Baye and Lopez.

Not that much deep thinking went on here.

The scariest thing about this hokey bombast is that it got made in the first place.

An insufferable, self-important, sloppily made bore.

A field goal, not a touchdown.

Warmhearted, wonderfully witty.

I liked Coyote Ugly better when it was called "Flashdance," although I didn't like it very much then.

Definitely stuck in the fourth grade.

An implausible action adventure with the most geriatric payload since a community of retirees lifted off in "Cocoon."

Defiantly sophomoric, often hilarious and crude as all get-out.

Grim, yes, and great viewing.

A big, fat clunker.

A second-rate romantic comedy.

Avoid this movie unless a) your child has refused to eat until you take him or her, or b) your house is being fumigated to kill an infestation of mosquitoes with the West Nile virus.

Sparse and implausible screenplay.

Narratively club-footed but directorially assured.

A provocative and uncomfortable comedy.