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what might have emerged as hilarious lunacy in the hands of woody allen or mel brooks ( at least during their '70s heyday ) comes across as lame and sophomoric in this debut indie feature .

despite slick production values and director roger michell's tick-tock pacing , the final effect is like having two guys yelling in your face for two hours .

pretty much sucks , but has a funny moment or two .

they do a good job of painting this family dynamic for the audience but they tried to squeeze too many elements into the film .

a supernatural mystery that doesn't know whether it wants to be a suspenseful horror movie or a weepy melodrama . it ends up being neither , and fails at both endeavors .

two badly interlocked stories drowned by all too clever complexity .

it is so earnest , so overwrought and so wildly implausible that it begs to be parodied .

these are textbook lives of quiet desperation .

swimfan , like fatal attraction , eventually goes overboard with a loony melodramatic denouement in which a high school swimming pool substitutes for a bathtub .

claims to sort the bad guys from the good , which is its essential problem .

purposefully shocking in its eroticized gore , if unintentionally dull in its lack of poetic frissons .

feels like pieces a bunch of other , better movies slapped together .

almost everything about the film is unsettling , from the preposterous hairpiece worn by lai's villainous father to the endless action sequences .

writer-director randall wallace has bitten off more than he or anyone else could chew , and his movie veers like a drunken driver through heavy traffic .

it follows the blair witch formula for an hour , in which we're told something creepy and vague is in the works , and then it goes awry in the final 30 minutes .

one can't shake the feeling that crossroads is nothing more than an hour-and-a-half-long commercial for britney's latest album .

phoned-in business as usual .

there's an epic here , but you have to put it together yourself .

what little atmosphere is generated by the shadowy lighting , macabre sets , and endless rain is offset by the sheer ugliness of everything else .

director-chef gabriele muccino keeps it fast -- zippy , comin' at ya -- as if fearing that his film is molto superficiale .

tartakovsky's team has some freakish powers of visual charm , but the five writers slip into the modern rut of narrative banality .

the most horrific movie experience i've had since " can't stop the music . " it may as well be called " jar-jar binks : the movie . " it's that painful .

god is great , the movie's not .

like a three-ring circus , there are side stories aplenty -- none of them memorable .

when in doubt , the film ratchets up the stirring soundtrack , throws in a fish-out-of-water gag and lets the cliched dialogue rip . or else a doggie winks .

a 'girls gone wild' video for the boho art-house crowd , the burning sensation isn't a definitive counter-cultural document -- its makers aren't removed and inquisitive enough for that .

as original and insightful as last week's episode of behind the music .

plays like john le carré with a couple of burnt-out cylinders .

you may be galled that you've wasted nearly two hours of your own precious life with this silly little puddle of a movie .

it's neither as sappy as big daddy nor as anarchic as happy gilmore or the waterboy , but it has its moments .

despite the surface attractions -- conrad l . hall's cinematography will likely be nominated for an oscar next year -- there's something impressive and yet lacking about everything .

a smug and convoluted action-comedy that doesn't allow an earnest moment to pass without reminding audiences that it's only a movie .

[crystal and de niro] manage to squeeze out some good laughs but not enough to make this silly con job sing .

worthless , from its pseudo-rock-video opening to the idiocy of its last frames .

the christ allegory doesn't work because there is no foundation for it

go for la salle's performance , and make do as best you can with a stuttering script .

it's hard to care about a film that proposes as epic tragedy the plight of a callow rich boy who is forced to choose between his beautiful , self-satisfied 22-year-old girlfriend and an equally beautiful , self-satisfied 18-year-old mistress .

tries too hard to be funny in a way that's too loud , too goofy and too short of an attention span .

i didn't find much fascination in the swinging . what they're doing is a matter of plumbing arrangements and mind games , of no erotic or sensuous charge . but that they are doing it is thought-provoking .

the acting is just fine , but there's not enough substance here to sustain interest for the full 90 minutes , especially with the weak payoff .

after collateral damage , you might imagine that most every aggrieved father cliché has been unturned . but no .

ultimately the , yes , snail-like pacing and lack of thematic resonance make the film more silly than scary , like some sort of martha stewart decorating program run amok .

releasing a film with the word 'dog' in its title in january lends itself to easy jokes and insults , and snow dogs deserves every single one of them .

tedious norwegian offering which somehow snagged an oscar nomination .

it was a dark and stormy night . . .

a dark-as-pitch comedy that frequently veers into corny sentimentality , probably would not improve much after a therapeutic zap of shock treatment .

this sort of cute and cloying material is far from zhang's forte and it shows .

bray is completely at sea ; with nothing but a savage garden music video on his resume , he has no clue about making a movie .

freundlich's made [crudup] a suburban architect , and a cipher .

a huge disappointment coming , as it does , from filmmakers and performers of this calibre

though it pretends to expose the life of male hustlers , it's exploitive without being insightful .

aimed squarely at the least demanding of demographic groups : very small children who will be delighted simply to spend more time with familiar cartoon characters .

what starts off as a satisfying kids flck becomes increasingly implausible as it races through contrived plot points .

exhibits the shallow sensationalism characteristic of soap opera . . . more salacious telenovela than serious drama .

seagal is painfully foolish in trying to hold onto what's left of his passe' chopsocky glory .

even with harris's strong effort , the script gives him little to effectively probe lear's soul-stripping breakdown .

the story is bogus and its characters tissue-thin .

whereas the extremely competent hitman films such as pulp fiction and get shorty resonate a sardonic verve to their caustic purpose for existing , who is cletis tout ? is an inexpressible and drab wannabe looking for that exact niche .

while american adobo has its heart ( and its palate ) in the right place , its brain is a little scattered -- ditsy , even .

. . . a confusing drudgery .

imagine a film that begins as a seven rip-off , only to switch to a mix of the shining , the thing , and any naked teenagers horror flick from the 1980s .

most of the dialogue made me want to pack raw dough in my ears .

costner's warm-milk persona is just as ill-fitting as shadyac's perfunctory directing chops , and some of the more overtly silly dialogue would sink laurence olivier .

it's coherent , well shot , and tartly acted , but it wears you down like a dinner guest showing off his doctorate .

directed by kevin bray , whose crisp framing , edgy camera work , and wholesale ineptitude with acting , tone and pace very obviously mark him as a video helmer making his feature debut .

robin williams departs from his fun friendly demeanor in exchange for a darker unnerving role .

high crimes is a cinematic misdemeanor , a routine crime thriller remarkable only for its lack of logic and misuse of two fine actors , morgan freeman and ashley judd .

set in a 1986 harlem that doesn't look much like anywhere in new york .

the chocolate factory without charlie .

long on twinkly-eyed close-ups and short on shame .

hip-hop rarely comes alive as its own fire-breathing entity in this picture .

a well-crafted letdown .

a dull , somnambulant exercise in pretension whose pervasive quiet is broken by frequent outbursts of violence and noise .

deserving of its critical backlash and more .

boring and meandering .

neither a rousing success nor a blinding embarrassment . still , it just sits there like a side dish no one ordered .

the sum of all fears is remarkably fuddled about motives and context , which drains it of the dramatic substance that would shake us in our boots ( or cinema seats ) .

the movie spends more time with schneider than with newcomer mcadams , even though her performance is more interesting ( and funnier ) than his .

this low-rent -- and even lower-wit -- rip-off of the farrelly brothers' oeuvre gets way too mushy -- and in a relatively short amount of time .

it recycles every cliché about gays in what is essentially an extended soap opera .

i'm all for the mentally challenged getting their fair shot in the movie business , but surely it doesn't have to be as a collection of keening and self-mutilating sideshow geeks .

may offend viewers not amused by the sick sense of humor .

many of benjamins' elements feel like they've been patched in from an episode of miami vice .

it aimlessly and unsuccessfully attempts to fuse at least three dull plots into one good one .

most folks with a real stake in the american sexual landscape will find it either moderately amusing or just plain irrelevant .

if you're not fans of the adventues of steve and terri , you should avoid this like the dreaded king brown snake . personally , i'd rather watch them on the animal planet .

cherish is a dud -- a romantic comedy that's not the least bit romantic and only mildly funny .

feels as if the inmates have actually taken over the asylum .

all of the filmmakers' calculations can't rescue brown sugar from the curse of blandness .

the movie's gloomy atmosphere is fascinating , though , even if the movie itself doesn't stand a ghost of a chance .

. . . post-september 11 , " the sum of all fears " seems more tacky and reprehensible , manipulating our collective fear without bestowing the subject with the intelligence or sincerity it unequivocally deserves .

the exclamation point seems to be the only bit of glee you'll find in this dreary mess .

no matter how you slice it , mark wahlberg and thandie newton are not hepburn and grant , two cinematic icons with chemistry galore .

godard's ode to tackling life's wonderment is a rambling and incoherent manifesto about the vagueness of topical excess . . . in praise of love remains a ponderous and pretentious endeavor that's unfocused and tediously exasperating .

humorless , self-conscious art drivel , made without a glimmer of intelligence or invention .

the movie's progression into rambling incoherence gives new meaning to the phrase 'fatal script error . '

solondz may be convinced that he has something significant to say , but he isn't talking a talk that appeals to me .

more tiring than anything .

nelson's intentions are good , but the end result does no justice to the story itself . it's horribly depressing and not very well done .

. . . the efforts of its star , kline , to lend some dignity to a dumb story are for naught .