Errol Flynn’s wicked, wicked charm helps keep this high seas adventure afloat.
Shiver me timbers, that Errol Flynn's got some pretty hair for a pirate.
The film allows Ken Lay, Jeffrey Skilling, Andrew Fastow, and the rest of Enron’s upper management weasels to hang themselves with their
This modernized Amityville Horror deserves little more than condemnation.
This amusingly introspective family film, despite its self-analytical conceit, never devolves into cloying narcissism.
Yvan Attal’s film never satisfactorily balances the funny with the sad.
A mainstream J-horror flick that dutifully regurgitates the apparitions, aesthetic, and themes of its genre predecessors.
Any fondness the filmmakers have for Africa’s natural beauty is sabotaged by their infatuation with colorful “foreignness.”
That the film ends in the most anticlimactic fashion imaginable is no surprise given the pathetic preceding scares.
The film quickly devolves into a depressing imitation of The Exorcist
Amityville 3-D is too poorly written, awkwardly staged, and pathologically stupid to register as campy fun.
For God’s Sake, doesn’t anyone in Long Island own a flyswatter?
It is an anthological example of attentive students surpassing their teacher.
Winter Solstice ultimately gets lost in its own self-conscious gloom.
Note to E. Elias Merhige: Dude, lighten up!
The Year of the Yao is fashioned with all the objectivity and insight of a promotional special on NBA TV.
Attention makeup-wearing women of the world: you are weak, bitchy sissies. So says Miss Congeniality 2.
Beauty Shop’s feisty female empowerment comedy feels about as fresh as a Jeri Curl.
The film reconfigures Stanley Kramer’s creaky race-relations drama Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner as a farcical comedy.
The Sword of Doom proves itself a film defined by its meticulously precise construction.