Death to Smoochy and Panic Room (review)

A movie is never more of a crushing disappointment than when you’ve gotten your hopes up, when against your better judgment you’ve bought into the hype and the advertising and the how-can-it-miss high concept. Imagine how sad the entire geek community is going to be if Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man sucks. (But it can’t suck, right? Right? I mean, it’s Sam Raimi. It’s Spider-Man. Please, whatever movie gods there are, don’t make it suck. Don’t do that to us.)

Erin Brockovich (review)

If last Saturday night’s sneak-preview audience is any guide, this could be Julia Roberts’s biggest movie yet. Everything she did onscreen, everything she said either elicited ardent routs of laughter or sent what could only be called worshipful undulations rippling through the crowd. The thrall in which Roberts held these people frightened me. I’m sure execs at Universal Pictures are already peeing in their collective pants with anticipation over this weekend’s box office. Biggest opening ever for a March weekend — you read it here first.