Mr. Snipes and Mr. Rhames get credit at least for doing their own stunts. By the middle of the film, viewers will take a certain satisfaction in each punch that lands on either of them.

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.

Despite all of its failures of wit, sense, and pace, the film does most effectively flaunt the millions spent on it. The inane action takes place in splendiferous settings. [23 May 1991]

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.

Although packaged as a movie, is in reality a clever 106-minute promo for Sony's PlayStation II games.

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

Another dim adaptation of a bright comic novel.