Normally I think Kevin Smith is overrated, but somehow he sold this and a bag of chips and a Slushie and some lottery tickets.

While nowhere near as intelligently written or artistically produced as the movies, this is still miles away from anything Hollywood has ever produced.  Just over five thousand of them (or eight thousand kilometers) to be exact.

Keith Richards wasn't even in it, and it still rocked, and not just because of how much I want to plunder Keira's booty.  I really wasn't expecting, well, anything from this film (i.e., Keira wasn't going to be naked in anything flying Disney's flag), but it was way better than the first one.

Do you like those made-in-the-'80s comedies USA used to show late at night throughout the '90s.  Well, boy are you in for a treat!

I gave this a second chance on the heels of Kevin Smith redeeming his soul with Clerks 2, but I still think it's an incredibly weak film with too many characters with too little to do in this too-thin plot what with the too-few jokes to go around.  The last criticism is especially pointed because there frankly isn't an easier target than religion in general and Catholic dogma specifically.

For the record, I'd probably still watch it if she wasn't this cute, but I wouldn't enjoy it as much.

Somehow Oliver Stone figured that the way to best remember 9/11 would be to make the hokiest movie ever made.  Seriously, it fails to capture the emotion or the events effectively and instead turns real-life drama into cornball material that backfires at what should be a slam dunk.  We've lost the war on terror if we can't turn him away from putting out films this sappy.

My open letter to the producers:  Next time, don't pay for a script.  I mean, since you're just going to toss out the entire fucking history of the comic books these are supposedly based on, why not just put some cute girls in spandex and shoot lasers and explosions all around them while they jump around and Hugh Jackman lights a cigar and says something snarky.  Make it a geeky version of "Girls on Trampolines," and I'd probably get more out of it than this train wreck of a movie.

I guess I'm supposed to feel something for these birds with their pair bonds and their obsessive nurturing of their chicks, but all I could think about was how stupid they were to move inland (i.e., closer to the pole) and huddle together all winter instead of doing the sensible thing and migrating like pretty much every other bird in the world.  No wonder the religious right loved this movie so much.

Plot developments?  Where did these come from?  It's like they have real writers all of a sudden.  Still, the guys just watch it for the mom in jeans.

Yeah, I'm late getting around to this one.  Yes, silly, but it took me back to a time in my movie-going experience when every picture was a cheaply-made thriller with a convenient twist and a forgettable climax.

Very cool.  It's slow in spots, but atmospheric.  That's all I'm going to say about this because You Do Not Talk About Fight Club.

Notable as the first mainstream movie about gay men, this is basically a Lifetime Original Movie about gay men.  It has all the quality of a made-for-tv movie and its shock value has been eroded by two and a half decades of tv and the movies finally coming out of the closet their producers lived in.  Today this picture is a huge, melodramatic laugh-fest, even if you aren't into archeology.

Wow, lots of extras.  Even if you're an obsessive Pink Floyd fan, there really isn't a lot more you could have asked for out of this disc short of the time machine and cattle prod you'd need to get Roger Waters to join them onstage.

Honestly, I didn't think this was bad at all (even if it wasn't terribly original).  Of course, even a Ryan Renyolds movie with a bad script has Ryan Renyolds in it.  You watch it to hear his delivery, not what he's saying since, with all sarcasm, it isn't what he's really saying anyway.

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