In tackling 1000 A.D., (McTiernan)'s suddenly an unwieldy, clunky filmmaker.

Trouble is, it's too close-up.

The jokes run hot, cold and tepid.

The best-looking bad movie in years.

Spoof both of P.I.s and independent filmmakers is languidly paced and not very funny.

Just another in a long line of blue-collar-kid-at-prep-school movies, and it may be the worst of the lot. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is original in this movie.

Stupid.

The intention is there, but the needed emotional maturity isn't.

Brainless thriller.

No amount of excellent period costuming and brilliant set decoration can substitute for a good story and decent acting.

SORRY, SALLY. I didn't like it. I really didn't like it.

If only it wasn't such bloody nonsense.

Too dumb to realize that the senselessness is viral.

The movie is an ill-advised work of egomania by someone who clearly has some talent, but not as much as he seems to think.

Big swirls of computer-generated dirt, a bickering couple and the dead certainty that the fiancee will leave and the bickerers will get back together. An exciting night out, or what?

Second-banana material.

Miserable as it crawls for two eternal hours toward being "life-affirming."

Unfortunately, it stars Keanu Reeves and Cameron Diaz, so it has, more than anything else, a sense of ridiculousness.

Something in Hutton's wounded puppy look always communicates an untapped intelligence or wasted potential, both of which are perfect for this role.

If the idea is to teach us something about the 37th president of the United States, then you would think Stone would resolve to stick to what can be proven about the man's life, or at least indicate when he's speculating. But Stone is the Great Explainer, and facts have an annoying habit of mucking up his explanations.

As titillating novelty turns into tired cliche, the dyke-psycho-killer genre may soon burn itself out, but in the meantime, we have the grim Brit art-film variation on the gruesome genre, Butterfly Kiss.

Legends of the Fall never makes you think too hard; its woes-of-a-proud-family formula takes a back seat to a self-conscious visual style that strains toward the level of myth.

Wields its Middle America values and moralistic flogging of idiosyncratic lifestyle choices like a flipped bird.

Not much of a plot, but the trouble is that Shana Larsen's script, as directed by Risa Bramon Garcia, isn't very deep. Worse, none of the self-absorbed characters are that likable nor are they funny.

Wesley Snipes runs around a lot shooting people in plotless film.

It's a tale of two missused Academy Award winners trying to justify their participation in a moribund, noisome redux of any disposable prison movie you care to remember by lobbing Oscar clips at each other.

The sudden cranking of the volume that makes us jump, even if we're just watching a cow chew on its cud.

As movies about relic sex machines go, this one lacks mojo.