It relies less on in-camera stunts than editing that renders vague gibberish of the altercations.
The film works best when it shows Jonathan Daniel Brown’s drug kingpin at his most inept and incapable, rather than elevating him to a pothead martyr.
Aside from being another rote addition to the revenge-film canon, John Stockwell’s In The Blood is also a supreme waste of Gina Carano’s talent.
At the center of Jamie Babbit’s film, festering like an open sore, is the stereotype of the psycho lesbian bitch.
As Dorothy Zbornak demanded, "Maestro, how about something with a little octane?"
The nicest thing to be said about Cat Run might be that it doesn’t know what kind of movie it wants to become.
With Turistas, John Stockwell cements his status as contemporary Hollywood’s most accomplished exhibitor of the female behind.
Somewhere, some frat guy is turning this PG-13 underwater porn into a screensaver.
Without Jessica Alba’s bootylicious presence, the shallow Into the Blue would sink like a stone.