Catwoman

Where is Batman when you really need him? The caped crusader who first tangled with the schizophrenic superhuman of the title in a 1940 DC Comics adventure is nowhere in sight as the sexually charged female with feline powers (Halle Berry wrapped in peekaboo leather) purrs her way into a romance with a poster-boy detective (a bland Benjamin Bratt) and claws through a conspiracy to release a toxic facial skin cream into the world marketplace. Berry gives the film an occasional twinkle of fun, and Sharon Stone is coldly catty as the supermodel wife of a cosmetics mogul who is replaced by a younger woman, but the clunky script and its swipes at female empowerment leave French commercial director Pitof riffing in a litter box of half-covered character and storyline droppings.