Five months after Sept. 11, the movie inevitably echoes those events, but in a loud and extremely cheesy way.

I've been a Vanessa Redgrave fan for such a long time that I would have been happy to watch her beautifully weathered face without much happening around her.

The worst part of Ms. Zellweger's plight is that she, along with others in the cast, has fallen victim to a first-time feature director whose vocabulary doesn't seem to include the word "simplicity."

There's no transcending a prosaic plot and several flat performances.

A rube's-eye view of Hollywood, but the rube is weary, and those around him seem to be suffering from terminal torpor.

Joyless and largely witless sci-fi fantasy.

Mr. Li is a master not only of martial arts, but of composure; no one does nothing better. The film itself is no great shakes.

A good subject has been ill-served by Ms. Greenwald's cliched script and clumsy direction.

Goes down fighting, but it goes down just the same.

As the hilariously foul-mouthed, sweet-souled Dr. S, he (Wayans) slaps Marci X to life every time he's on screen.

Comes briefly to life, after many longeurs -- many large longeurs in IMAX -- with the discombobulated entrance of B.E.N., a dysfunctional, hyperverbal robot voiced by Martin Short.

A turgid recycling of Mr. Carpenter's remake of "The Thing."

Ordinary moviegoers, on the other hand, may wonder what they're supposed to feel, apart from bored.

The blithely dishonest script would have us believe that the real Napoleon can't prove his identity when the fake Napoleon refuses to come clean. Not only is that patent nonsense, it's cockeyed dramaturgy.

Not a pretty sight, any of it.

This horror-free horror flick sent me wandering through my own memory warehouse, where, at every turn, I bumped into images from similar -- and mostly superior -- entertainments.

Has many more downs than ups, but this ragged action comedy, with Martin Lawrence and Steve Zahn as mismatched buddies, rings some outrageously funny changes on a deadly serious genre of amateur video that began with Rodney King.

All that's missing is wit and humanity.

There's nothing wrong with the structure of Heartbreakers, but David Mirkin's direction is woefully clumsy -- and the movie's tone is nasty.

What's new here is a severe deficit of style, or even craftsmanship, both in the action sequences and what passes for human interludes.

Won't kill you, but it could bore you half to death.

What's missing is an emotional center. This Sinbad, with its flying ship and becalmed script, seems destined to be DreamWorks's version of Disney's "Treasure Planet."

Stinker doesn't begin to describe this movie's character -- both frenzied and dispiriting.

The script is dead in the water, and most of the misanthropic repartee rings resoundingly false.

Another dim adaptation of a bright comic novel.

Knows that it's junk and tries feebly to rejoice in its junkiness.

For all its video-game bedazzlements, Attack of the Clones suffers from severe digital glut, periodically relieved, if you can call it that, by amateur theatrics.

A grim disappointment for grown-ups, and far too violent for young kids. I found it to be clumsy, misanthropic and intractably lifeless.