Reese Witherspoon

A pointless, tired, sugary, pink and teal affront to Reese Witherspoon, Bob Newhart, any important political cause...Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and—oh, let's just say it—humanity.

Taking a cue from Thackeray's spry, witty, self-referential narration, Indian director Nair emphasizes the allusions to her native country...as a land of exotic escape...

Painfully predictable romanticized crap, but dealing as it does with mortal tragedy—death, brain-death, and loss—it's also unscrupulous and exploitative.

A dash more authentic--or, at least, more subtle--than its Hollywood spawning and Taylor Hackford's come-on-strong take on [Ray] Charles would seem to predict.

A funny and horrifying allegory of American politics and adult society, as seen through the prism—or shall we say "prison"?—that is secondary education.

The coup de grace comes in the form of Ginormica, a clever metaphor of figurative and literal female empowerment...Plus there’s lots of explosions.

Their spy-prying...and displays of lunkheaded brawn...aren't endearing; they're horrifying, in ways there's no coming back from.

A highly personal tale of undergrown men and overgrown boys experiencing the growing pains of love turned unrequited, and the realization that nothing—not freedom, not security, not innocence, not love—lasts forever.

A satisfying excursion, a secular but spiritual journey of self-discovery.

The plot is a sideshow to Inherent Vice's luxuriant atmosphere, cracked sense of humor, and idiosyncratic characterization.

Sing is pleasant enough...but scrutinize it, and you'll find that it's neither very musically accomplished nor very funny. The tone is bright and colorful but still evinces a kind of joyless duty...

May not amount to much—a salute to theater and showmanship, a simple tale of self-empowerment and group spirit—but it is up with people, or, rather, animals in ways that will delight kids and adults alike.

Galumphing narrative and flatfooted whimsy...a downright awkward kiddie blockbuster.