John Waters once remarked that no movie should be longer than 90 minutes. While I could easily lead the chorus of outraged objections — what about The Godfather? Gone With the Wind? Titanic? Dances With Wolves? (come to think of it, scratch that last one) — can we all admit that Waters had a point? Too many movies today are far too long, and the raging elephantitis doesn’t merely inflate action duds like Stealth or indulgent comic-book spectacles like Sin City. It extends even to a comedy as nimble as Wedding Crashers, which is so much more clever and romantic than its horny chortle of an ad campaign would lead you to expect, and deserved a leaner, meaner shape (did we really need to see Owen Wilson bottom out at the end for 20 minutes?) to accommodate its blithe screwball spirit.