Ray Griggs’s insufferably sloppy spoof elicits only agony.
The film’s portrait of bank-robbing as a solution to aimlessness seems quaint when viewed through the filter of today’s economic hardships.
The primary reason The Great Buck Howard doesn’t immediately float out of one’s mind is John Malkovich.
Miss March is so awful as to make straight men loathe Playboy.
Our long national lousy-horror-remake nightmare has finally—or at least temporarily—ended.
In terms of fidelity, Watchmen is frequently flawless.
Explicit Ills has a tenderness that belies its fiery left-leaning political views about urban poverty and social injustice.
Nikita Mikhalkov’s 12 reconfigures Reginald Rose’s 12 Angry Men for contemporary Russia.
Wayne Kramer goes the Paul Haggis route with Crossing Over.
Adoring the Jonas Brothers more or less ensures future embarrassment, but in the here and now, the film appears destined to rock female tweeners’ socks off.
The documentary proves a question, rather than an answer, from the middle ground of a polarizing debate.
Fired Up plays like a direct-to-video American Pie sequel.
Marcus Nispel’s slick visual style mirrors that of his Texas Chainsaw: a few scenes set at golden magic hour, murky blacks, rotting yellows and greens
P.J. Hogan’s trifle is an unabashed celebration of crass, reckless spending.
Dark scenes lack definition on this widescreen edition of Stone’s W.
The film seems determined to sully the legacy of Blake Edwards and Peter Sellers’s original series.
The film’s superheroes-among-us setup isn’t particularly fresh, and the characters’ powers aren’t always clearly defined.
The finale is an extended tour de force equal parts Bruce Lee, Tony Jaa, and Donkey Kong.
Arriving at least two years after the Asian-horror-remake craze subsided, The Uninvited delivers a spooky-stepmom saga free of invention.
If you choose to swim in sewage, don’t complain about coming out feeling like shit.