There is certainly talent on display here, but their work fails to come together into a coherent entertainment.

A tone-deaf muddle that shifts moods more often than its lone wolf vigilante rubs out bad guys, clocking in at a punishingly paced two hours and change.

Familiar but never overly broad, this well-cast, crowd-pleasing comedy benefits from a low-key emphasis on character over high jinks.

The movie doesn't have much visual style or atmosphere, but it does have a kinder, gentler spirit than many gross-out comedies, and that makes it a likable time killer.

Once you realize the film is just going to be a string of encomiums against a backdrop of frantically edited archival material in which few shots are allowed to stay onscreen longer than three seconds, it's clear that no meaningful analysis of the woman's career or political agenda will be forthcoming.

For a comedy, it's not really funny.

The filmmakers, longtime music video veterans, have delivered a technically polished production that belies the film's low budget. They've also elicited mostly strong performances.

Actual footage of Afghanistan makes it an interesting experiment, but as a dramatic thriller, the story of an American documaker is not as taut or compelling as it could be; instead, it's often confusing and irritating.

The film has enough entertaining action and sly humor to please its target audience.

High praise to the cast and crew. Jared Leto is mesmeric as the bloated, deranged Chapman. It's a brilliantly measured performance, evincing the tale of a madman through his own awful rhyme and reason.

About as subtle as its all too obvious title would suggest.

Although the teenage audience is notoriously undiscriminating, it's hard to imagine many kids turning out for this laugh-free comedy.

The Hills Have Eyes 2 proves that even grisly, gory violence can be awfully boring.

After nearly two hours of nonstop mayhem, the film ends on a surprisingly muted note, though pains have been taken to make sure that the hoped-for sequel has been carefully set up.

Not only doesn't provide any real information, it barely manages to convey why we should care. It represents a true squandering of a potentially fascinating subject.

To borrow a cliche from another medium, Santa might have jumped the shark.

Least Among Saints has the strained feel of a basic cable television movie, with modest production values to match.

A water-treading sequel offering just enough kooky color to keep less-discerning funnybook fans occupied, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance nudges its obscure hero's mythology forward a bit without seeming to care much how it gets there.

This would-be cult film is unlikely to inspire "Rocky Horror"-style devotion.

In terms of inspiration or even the slightest shred of ingenuity, Banks ranks more like an 000 than an 007.

Even assuming the best possible motives by its makers, Beyond Borders runs the risk of making human suffering exotic while glamorizing white disaster relief workers in the Third World.

Lame sketch comedy, an uninspired performance from Will Ferrell and an overall failure of the imagination turn Brad Silberling's Land of the Lost into a lethargic meander through a wilderness of misfiring gags.

Featuring one-note characterizations, laughable dialogue, an overwrought musical score and technically poor filmmaking values, the film ultimately is utterly reprehensible.

If the target audience for this film were any younger, they'd be embryos.

Too squeaky-clean to convey the turbulence of the period.

If "This Christmas" served up a crowd-pleasing portion of yuletide "Soul Food," then The Perfect Holiday offers dried-out leftovers.

In the depiction of this unlikely journey -- it is supposedly based on a real-life story -- the film awkwardly veers between naturalism and a striving for poetic myth.

An experimental, transgressive work that pretty much fails on every level, A Hole in My Heart, depicting the efforts of a trio of amateur porn filmmakers, eventually will be considered a minor footnote to a talented director's career. In the meantime, it's the audience members that will have to suffer.

The movie is a letdown, stringing together pointless episodes to little effect. It's the kind of thinly conceived, quirk-for-quirk's-sake indie that gives indies a bad name.

Highly watchable, anchored sturdily by Lane's convincing performance.

The film doesn't know what it wants to be -- reality programming pushed to the max or a satire of reality TV? -- but it winds up as an exercise in the rankest sort of cynicism.

The novelty of the setting ultimately proves highly effective. Shot mainly in Eastern European locations that effectively stand in for Prypiat, which is now actually a tourist site, the film is highly convincing in its verisimilitude.

Comprising reclaimed bits from "Blade Runner," "A Clockwork Orange" and "Children of Men" and glibly served up with hyper Guy Ritchie attitude by first-time feature director Miguel Sapochnik, the resulting in-your-face mess never knows what it wants to be when it grows up.

It suffers from a lack of genuine chills or suspense that renders its slight virtues rather moot.

It's like being trapped for an hour-and-a-half in a pound full of yappy puppies.

This Chekhovian-style comedy about a group of neurotic actors endlessly kibitzing during a weekend at a country house might have some appeal for self-absorbed thespians, but "civilians," as they're derisively referred to in the film, will find little of interest here.

A banal revenge melodrama-cum-detective story, but fans of the video game on which it is based should not be alarmed.

An acutely misguided, purported satire dealing with the prickly subject of child molestation.

They don't make movies like Jolene anymore, and that's a good thing.

Surveillance will please the B-movie crowd in theaters and on into the ancillaries

As bland and forgettable as its title.

A lackluster affair, devoid of laughs and just about anything else one might construe as entertainment.

The clumsy and cliched approach by writer-director Bala Rajashekaruni robs the movie of any dramatic punch.

Cursed, a modern-day werewolf tale that fails to provide either Craven's trademark chills or Williamson's trademark satirical wit, is a distinctly subpar film that, but for the current boxoffice streak enjoyed by such formulaic genre entries, deserved to go direct to video.

Ice-bound black comedy boasts strong cast for an indie but can't quite decide what it wants to be.

The sole redeeming factor is the presence of Olivia Wilde (Fox's "House"), who manages to keep the proceedings watchable for at least a portion of the running time.

Battlefield America manages to pack every cliché imaginable into its overstuffed and overlong 106 minutes.

The star wattage quickly dims in this slick-looking but ringingly hollow affair that starts off generically at best before collapsing into a convoluted heap of shrill screen cliches.

There is little worse in the movie world than a spoof that falls flat on its over-costumed butt, but that's what you get with Your Highness.

This perfectly dreadful romantic action comedy manages to embarrass its three eminently attractive leading players in every scene, making this an automatic candidate for whatever raspberries or golden turkeys or other dubious awards may be given in future for the films of 2012.

With enough wedding-related shenanigans to pull in the date crowd, the guffaw-to-gag ratio remains relatively respectable, though there's nothing here that hasn't been attempted many times over.

While Kramer's well-conceived screenplay features much amusing dialogue, there's a forced quality to the proceedings that makes the comic premise seem more artificial than it needs to be.

This version is unlikely to strike a similar chord with young audiences while severely disappointing older fans of the original.

Fails both as historical re-enactment and as action-flick thrill ride.

A coming-of-age tale and a JFK assassination conspiracy movie. The first half of that equation works nicely...But the assassination story line is absurd.

In spite of a few missteps, the cumulative impact of the film is undeniable.

The laughs tend to come in fits and starts, built around individual set pieces rather than being generated organically out of the storytelling.

A deeply dispiriting movie, not just because it is grindingly bad but because Jane Fonda actually chose this for her comeback after a 15-year absence from the screen. But it's worse than that. Fonda, one of the best actors of her generation, is downright awful in a role she could have -- and probably should have -- sleepwalked through.

This silly film does nothing to enhance Taiwanese auteur Tsai Ming-liang's reputation. The acting is below par, the mise-en-scene is clumsy and the structure is lazy.

If ever there was a lusty, lowbrow genre film destined for a life on video, this is it.

A bland, formulaic picture where romance and comedy are noticeably absent. A more wooden and uninspired effort from talented people behind and in front of the camera is difficult to imagine.

Why Hugh Jackman was so excited by Mark Bomback's script to star and produce the film is as big a mystery as why such talents-on-a-roll as Ewan McGregor and Michelle Williams joined the cast.

It's all an earnest effort, three decades too late.

Writer-director David Kittredge clearly has serious things on his mind about such subjects as voyeurism, the thin line between fantasy and reality, the link between sex and violence, etc., but whatever points he is trying to make are lost in the general muddle.

Young viewers looking for unbridled raunch will be sadly disappointed, and so will other moviegoers expecting more than a few wan chuckles. This picture is like a brightly colored balloon with all the comic air seeping out.

Unlike the restrained 1974 film which cleverly relied mainly on suggestion, this version piles on the graphic, often CGI-enhanced gore.

Definitely has its amusing moments, but ultimately all that improvised shtick gets mighty tired without any real break in the nonaction.

Despite an intriguing setup, sharply drawn central characters and a lead performance from the luminous Jennifer Lawrence that elevates the material a few notches, House at the End of the Street is a by-the-book horror thriller that's low on scares and suspense.

An ineffective indie variation on the sort of generic romantic comedy that should be starring Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson.

Too much of the proceedings are silly rather than horrifying, with the nadir being the appearance of some particularly athletic Yetis who briefly pitch in to lend a hand.

The movie, which opened last week in Seattle and opens Friday in Los Angeles, isn't so much getting a release as an escape. The movie is directed, shot, acted and outfitted with special effects -- such as that guy (Michael Deak) in the monster suit -- so as to make American International horror films of the late '50s and '60s look like sophisticated gems.

Interweaving clumsily staged action sequences with endless pontificating about evil mega-corporations privatizing public resources, the mediocre environmental-themed thriller A Dark Truth wears its good intentions on its sleeve.

Lacks the finesse to attract significant attention beyond its target audience.

Provocative without being especially thoughtful or credible, Harry and Max registers as a severe disappointment coming from this talented filmmaker.

Film noir is combined with horror to zero effect in Dylan Dog: Dead of Night.

A limp piece of fan fiction about a fictional rock band's heyday and decline.

Plenty of salient points to make in this satirical cautionary tale, there's still not enough to sustain the expanded running time.

A bottomless pit of lame characters, horror-film cliches and improbable monsters.

You almost feel sorry for Tyler Perry, stepping out of his own universe for the first time to try to expand his range and finding himself in something as thoroughly dismal as Alex Cross.

The new gimmick here is that all the flying body parts and absurd impalements come in 3D. And that's about as inspired as anything gets in this edition. Story and character get chucked to the sidelines as the arena has room for only death scenes.

So unrelentingly violent that all but teen boys might as well stay home.

A complete wipeout.

So bloated that it's forever on the verge of bursting – a sentiment reflected by the film's overindulgence in ear-splitting pyrotechnics.

Overlong, over-the-top dirge.

It is truly a mess.

It might well be time for a creative rebooting; the freshness, if not the viscera, has begun to strongly diminish.

Rudd is an underappreciated comic actor, and his line readings are the best thing in the film, but the bland role barely taps his talent. Amid the rest of the cast's one-note posing, his scenes with a parrot have a spontaneity and wit otherwise in short supply.

Nothing anchors the lighter-than-air story as it drifts away under the direction of Stephen Norrington ("Blade") into an FX stratosphere where wit, character and vigorous storytelling cease to matter.

Vin Diesel is out of his element in this lame family comedy.

Witless, soulless and joyless, it displays its video game origins throughout.

While this actor-filmmaker has delivered such worthy films as "A Rage in Harlem" and "Deep Cover" in the past, this misbegotten effort would be instantly forgettable if not for its potential as future camp classic.

Doesn't serve up enough laughs to build a theatrical following but could find life on video as a takeout item.

Geoffrey Sax, a British television director making his theatrical debut, lavishes enough craft on the paranormal thriller to send more than a few chills down the spine.

The scariest thing about this film is how desperate the makers are to earn a scream.

One thing Marmaduke does have in common with the earlier Disney titles is a blessed scarcity of crass bodily-function gags that often pass as family comedy.

This isn't so much that the story and characters are weak -- though they very much are -- but that animatronics and computer animation so anthropomorphize these critters that they bear more resemblance to cartoons than actual flesh-and-fur animals.

Despite the lazily self-satisfied results, his (Sandler) aging fan base likely will come along for the lackadaisical ride.

What finally undoes the struggle to maintain suspense is Goyer's dialogue, which is consistently hokey.

What the problem comes down to is a group of filmmakers making misguided choices in an effort to broaden the movie's demographics beyond those who attend X Games.

An entertaining piece of supernatural nonsense whose sheer audacity disarms all (well, nearly all) skepticism.

For all the digitally enhanced Smurfness, the results are remarkably mirthless.

As the film veers between cartoonish and earnest, it doesn't so much find bliss as try very hard to manufacture it.

Aims for whimsy and poignancy and mostly comes up empty.

Although one would never have expected to find her in a film like this, Dawson, by dint of enthusiasm, is the only actor who rises above the material with her dignity intact.

After a promising start, this quirky comedy falls flat despite Eckhart's best efforts.

While director-screenwriter Preston A. Whitmore II's film is to be admired for its proponing the values of a higher education over the dream of a career in the NBA, its dialogue, characterizations and situations rarely transcend the level of cliche.

This would-be tearjerker without the musical numbers of typical Bollywood fare is for die-hard Amitabh Bachchan fans only.

Speed-Dating seems designed to exploit the black indie theatrical circuit but hardly merits even a DVD release.

While Kirkpatrick does a fine job in establishing a gritty inner-city milieu and a collection of more than credible street characters caught up in an endless cycle of crime and violence, his body count reaches the proportions of the worst sort of studio schlock. Going for a shock effect, he instead strains credulity and risks unintended laughs.

While the likable Seth Green, Matthew Lillard and Dax Shepard are definitely up to the comic excursion, the picture charts an uncertain course between wild and mild, eventually running aground in a pile of male-bonding muck.

David Hubbard's script is so steeped in sludgy sentimentality that the film's early hints of quirkiness quickly give way to heavy-handed faith healing.

The usually likable Bullock, obstructed by glaring continuity problems and often baffling character motivation, comes across as unsympathetically dazed and confused here, giving the viewer little reason to care about this desperate housewife's puzzling predicament.

Mild in both humor and impact, this well-cast comedy should provide welcome diversion during the holidays for audiences looking for a somewhat lighter experience than the crucifixion of Christ or the massacre at the Alamo.

Although directed in effectively creepy fashion by Roberto Buso-Garcia, the film’s leisurely pacing and overall restraint will likely leave genre fans dissatisfied even as its lack of depth will turn off art-house patrons.

In the absence of a sturdy, plausible foundation on which to hook all those grisly bits, the film, originally a Dimension release, tends to play out more like a protracted "Saw" outtake reel.

As leaden as the bullets whose random behavior it revolves around, Géla Babluani's 13 fails to recapture the sweaty tension of his original 13 Tzameti, a French import that reeked of style and first-timer ambition.

The film is effective in its intimate moments as well as its violent set pieces, and it could attract audiences, primarily because of Spacek's superb performance.

Strictly old hat -- and a poorly assembled hat at that.

This thriller about child sex trafficking is well-intentioned but dramatically stilted.

Although the film loses its way in the late going with a preponderance of melodramatic elements that dilute the more compelling social message, for much of its running time it packs a visceral punch, thanks in large part to a strong cast headed by LisaRaye, N'Bushe Wright and Mos Def.

What might have proved reasonably compelling onstage comes across as forced on film, with credibility taking a back seat to contrivance.

An entirely dispensable, soapy caricature of a love story that comes complete with a jukebox full of music industry cliches plus Ashlee Simpson's big feature film debut.

The whole fear-of-obese-hillbillies device is starting to smell as stale as Leatherface's playroom. Does this horror trend simply reflect a national fear, as giant radioactive ants personified the Bomb in the 1950s? If so, maybe it's time for us all to go on a diet; America needs fresh fodder for its boogeymen.

A dull actioner that looks like a bad video game.

The fifth outing for the slime-dripping, shape-changing creatures, the Aliens are looking a little dogged, perhaps ready for the Alien Retirement Home. Meanwhile, the Predator warriors, who never achieved the artistic heights of their counterpart, look better invisible. When visible, they resemble robotic can openers gone berserk.

Nicely balances action and adventure with American Indian wisdom and a modest romance to provide a graphic-comic-book movie experience for males in urban markets.

This ludicrously plotted drama of incestuous sexual abuse is only partially redeemed by its strong performances.

A soggy, listless affair, this would-be fun-in-the-sun sunken-treasure frivolity starts taking on water from the get-go, thanks to drawn-out exposition and languid pacing.

It's a good thing that forgiveness is a predominant theme of Woman Thou Art Loosed: On the 7th Day, because viewers will have to look deep into their hearts to forgive this kidnapping drama for its heavy-handed melodrama and tawdry plot elements.

About as subtle as its subtitle, Gloria Z. Greenfield's documentary attempts to be both a comprehensive exploration of anti-Semitism throughout the ages and a forceful alarm about its modern-day threat. Not fully successful on either level...

This farcical romantic comedy lacks the charm and star power to compensate for its contrived plotting and only mildly amusing situations.

As it thuds along from one wolf attack to the next, Catherine Hardwicke's first film since taking leave of Bella and her toothy friends adamantly refuses to provide any wit, humor or fun.

The fact that the three actors who do most of the fooling around — Robert De Niro, Diane Keaton and Susan Sarandon — have a combined age of 202 pegs this as a sex romp for the Viagra crowd.

Has the feel of a contemporary screwball romance, if not the crackling one-liners of classic screwball. But Lindsay Lohan and Chris Pine make a charming star-crossed couple, and tweens and teens will find enough plot reversals to keep them hooked.

A worthy history lesson on the founding of the Chinese Communist Party with only partially entertaining aspects.

Despite its copious nudity, it is less likely to incite lust among its viewers than a strong desire for a long hot shower.

Definitely third-rate Holocaust material.

Has no inherent laughs, so an extremely versatile and talented cast struggles mightily to make something funny that simply isn't.

Although cheap looking and amateurishly acted, Flesh for the Beast, which features a music score by the eccentric guitarist Buckethead, doesn't invite huge critical derision, if only for the palpable enthusiasm of both the cast and filmmaker for their gory shenanigans.

Ultimately involves a highly contrived, melodramatic ending that wouldn't have been out of place in a '40s-era film noir.

Moshe, who wrote and directed, creates a boldly Expressionistic alternate reality to background this heavy-on-the-action story, but neglects narrative and character beyond the most basic strokes.

The strained results eventually prove wearisome, although the sexy Winter is effectively scary and at times even moving as the psycho femme fatale.

Lacking the objectivity or contextual analysis to more fully examine the important issues it raises, it’s a minor chapter in an unfinished story.

Glorious so-bad-it's-good entertainment.

How can a director as savvy as Lee make so many errors of judgment regarding taste, tone, intention and dramatic structure?

A modern cinematic equivalent of the sort of tired sex farces that used to populate Broadway with regularity, If I Were You simultaneously exploits and squanders the talents of its star, Marcia Gay Harden.

An appealing cast and well-executed mood of foreboding would seem to hold some promise commercially, but the script grows silly in the third act, letting the picture down.

Tries to be too many things, none very convincingly: plea for tolerance, docu-style character study, old-fashioned weepie.

The mixed-gene pool of talent doesn't quite jell, but a saving grace is Korean sweetheart Jeon Ji-hyun.

Ultimately a less-than-satisfying cinematic meal.

Whatever sociological interest it engenders is smothered by its hamfisted execution, including stubbornly lugubrious pacing, overly self-conscious performances and awkward dialogue and voice-over narration that all too bluntly lays out its themes.

Squanders its timely illegal alien theme with a predictable and unconvincing story line that makes "Green Card" seem a classic by comparison.

Relentlessly unpleasant and nihilistic in its approach and execution, The Divide is best appreciated as a virtual instruction manual on how not to behave during a crisis.

Claustrophobic, tedious sci-fi thriller.

Dirty Deeds is as feeble as a teen comedy can get.

While the 1986 edition was no classic, it's light years better than this update, which naturally opened without being screened for those ultimate villains, the critics.

Playing somewhat like a juvenile version of "Rosemary's Baby," this inept, incoherent attempt to cash in on young girls who can't buy a ticket to the R-rated "Saw V" (or are too lazy to sneak in) will be out of theaters long before the Halloween pumpkins start to rot.

While hardly sophisticated in its approach and certainly not polished in its technical elements, the film does get its heartfelt message across with undeniable sincerity.

With such an in-house cast of extended Coppola family sparklers, one would think things couldn’t go too wrong in the comedy department, but they have little chance to oil the wheels of a creaky script written around Sheen.

The central battle between fearsomely independent corporate mavericks and hostile big government has been updated in a half-baked, unconvincing way that's exacerbated by button-pushing TV-style direction, threadbare production values and blah performances except for that of Taylor Schilling in the central role.

Cage supplies energy but no depth in his portrayal of a disillusioned knight. Ditto that for Perlman, who never feels comfortable in the sidekick role so he pretty much goes through the (exaggerated) motions.

Like a frumpy version of "Knocked Up" playing out in a sadder, stranger world, Barry Munday offers two icky humans and hopes that, by the tale's end, we'll be happy they're procreating.

A romantic comedy depends, of course, on the chemistry between the leads, and here the film is more successful. Both Heigl and Butler find the appeal in very flawed characters.

Unfortunately, John Moore has directed these sequences in a way that makes the incidents look so far-fetched and essentially unsurvivable that you can only laugh.

The sheer nastiness of the jealous one-upmanship and angry sabotage puts a damper on the yuletide comedy. You're much better off watching a DVD of "Bad Santa."

Has little to offer besides unrelenting strangeness.

After a promisingly tart start, the strident satire stumbles and falls into a sitcom-y hole from which it never emerges, despite the game efforts of its dynamic ensemble.

It's a chick flick with a vengeance but even in its most sentimental moments, stars Hilary Duff and Heather Locklear make this feel-good-about-yourself movie feel ... well, good.

Unlike that widely appealing picture with the giant green ogre, this one's strictly for the kiddies.

In terms of real horror, nevermind sexual-politics provocation, "Grave" can neither re-create its predecessor's impact nor compete with stranger new beasts like Lars von Trier's "Antichrist."

Runs 96 minutes but feels like so much more. There is only one gag.

Onscreen, it somehow manages to be at once wildly overblown and terminally boring.

So even if Sex and the City 2 consisted of nothing but a two-hour fashion show, it would draw crowds. But it also has the returning cast members in fine comic form, and it has more cutting-edge humor than the first movie.

Not even the estimable comic chops of Hugh Grant and Sarah Jessica Parker can lift it above the level of ordinary.

The result is not the train wreck one might anticipate from surfing the Net. The catfights, overacting and Berry's swagger in a skimpy, tight, leather outfit that would be right at home at a Hookers Ball make for campy fun.

Does offer a few deeply felt moments.

The technical barrage of visual and digital effects, quick cuts and strobe lighting does produce something akin to the sensation of playing a video game. So why, one wonders, don't potential viewers simply play one instead of watching this pale imitation?

With its clever premise and quartet of appealing comedic star turns, Wild Hogs is a step above the typical comedies rolling off the assembly lines of the major studios.

Inspirationally impaired and dramatically retarded.

Most of The Spy Next Door is pretty tired stuff from "Pacifier"-style slapstick to comic relief delivered by, of all people, erstwhile country star Billy Ray Cyrus.

A love story that veers uneasily between mysticism and melodrama.

Ultimately, the film staggers under the weight of its pretensions, its plot spiraling into murky illegibility.

The film repeatedly sacrifices dramatic punch for political correctness.

Designed to capitalize on the title and premise of the original but offers little to those who fondly remember it.

This is a good premise for a comedy, but somewhere along the way, it got diluted and turned into a sappy, feel-good story of family togetherness.

Director Rupert Wainwright fails to bring any style to the material, not producing a fraction of the suspense or wit generated by Carpenter in the original even while working with a far lesser budget.

Let's Go to Prison ultimately feels as long as a stint in the big house.

This thoroughly repetitive, ill-conceived and poorly executed effort -- with an emphasis on the word "effort" -- defeats these two talented people more often than not.

A horror film dealing with the terrors lurking via our computers, cell phones and other electronic devices, Pulse isn't nearly as scary as watching your hard drive crash or having your BlackBerry conk out in the middle of a vital call.

Racially insensitive, politically incorrect and beyond crude.

Clearly nothing but a paycheck project for all concerned, this is definitely the least and hopefully the last of a franchise that started amusingly enough a decade ago but has now officially overstayed its welcome.

What's most disturbing about "Bank" is its lack of ambition. Maybe Jenkins will take more chances in the future. If he's lucky, this stinker will be quickly forgotten.

Combining the ludicrous with the lurid, Twisted is twisted all right.

Actually offers some decent scares before descending into typical horror film bombast.

Once the initial round of breast-feeding and rectal thermometer bits is fired off, the picture starts to give off the funky whiff of unattended Pampers.

Amongst the cardboard-cutout supporting characters, Lauren Graham brings a welcome deadpan sensibility to the overeager proceedings.

After multiple "Saw" franchise releases, writer-director Darren Lynn Bousman goes it alone for 11-11-11, with at best tepid results elaborating an unconvincing premise.

The formulaic script by Steve Koren doesn't manage to exploit the absurd premise with any discernible wit or invention, and the star is left floundering.

A towering heap of nihilistic nonsense that plays like a cornball "Children of God."

A limp sex comedy about men behaving badly.

A lame action-comedy that seems ready made for undiscerning late-night cable viewing.

Morrissey gives a stiff, awkward performance, while Stone moves dangerously close to overplaying the femme fatale. There is little if any intrigue in the story or the characters. Even the murders don't even seem to matter much.

A misconceived washout of a darkly gothic story of madness, addiction and child abuse made all the more unpleasant by Gilliam's trademark intense visual style.

A muddled and routine murder mystery tricked up with a science fiction gimmick that wouldn't pass muster for a "Twilight Zone" episode. The writing is poor, but the direction is even poorer. This is a film to delete from one's memory bank.

Zoom is a movie that would make Dr. Frankenstein proud. Put together with parts from so many other movies, the thing positively clanks.

Although not exactly original in its aspirations or execution, the film's engaging performances and occasional funny moments lift it a notch above the pack of similarly themed fare.

Mistaking arrested development for enlightened innocence, Waiting for Forever is an indigestible hash of whimsy, drama, romance and, for good measure, crime.

Manages to be simultaneously offensive and bland.