Jack Mathews

Greenebaum's tedious, film-school level exercise in self-indulgence and exploitation.

Apparently, the show’s appeal is due to the good-heartedness of its undereducated anti-heroes, but their kind of dumb grows old fast.

If you approach this movie in the right frame of mind -- that is, with total contempt -- you can still enjoy it as a comedy.

No better than whatever you might pick up while wearing a blindfold at Blockbuster, even if you happen to reach into a trash can.

By the end of Francois Gerard's plodding, uninvolving melodrama, his boredom will have nothing on yours.

A tormented dramatization of the exact same events, and it's as bad as the earlier film ("Dogtown and Z-Boys") was good.

Nightwatch is a seriously overcast B-movie with rote performances from everyone but Brolin, who gives James an edge of danger that says that if he isn't a killer, he will be.

It's an interesting profile in self-destruction until the script becomes unhinged itself and has Laura doing things that are not so much outrageous as hilariously stupid.

It's fitting that the kangaroo gives the most lifelike performance.

It's nonsense. Even when its big secret is revealed in the final moments, it adds up to nothing more than a dizzy, dark, hysterical waste of time.

"Filthy" may have been a better title for Dirty. The rough language is not just pervasive, as the MPAA's R rating describes it, it's assaultive. The violence is not merely "strong," it's incessant, sadistic and broadly unbelievable.

Boring is too active a verb to describe this minimalist psychological thriller.

There's a reason filmmaking is considered a craft, and Hoge, a former teacher in a juvenile prison, cannot pull off what would be a tricky proposition for a skilled veteran.

"Quantum Bull-Bleep" would be a more apt title for the conclusions that the movie draws, but one concept was a revelation to me. One of the scientists said it's a fact that a single object can be in two places at the same time. I guess that explains O.J.'s alibi.

Among cautionary tales of gloom-and-doom, it may out-gore Gore, but it doesn't entertain.

Gets too caught up in its escalating violence and strained-to-bursting moral subtexts. It's the blood of souls drenching the screen, and it's a hideous sight to behold.

A ponderously slow experience.

Completely false, manipulative, exploitative and insulting.

A little Disney Christmas release that comes wrapped in used toilet paper.

For a much better film about a similar story, rent "The World's Fastest Indian," with Anthony Hopkins on a motorcycle.

Ron Shelton's boxing pic is long on road work but strictly a flyweight.

Something bad happened on the way from the book to the movie. [15Dec1995 Pg. F.01]

This, the 10th and worst-written entry in the series, would have been better if it had followed Dreyfuss instead of Clouseau, or if Kline had been cast as Clouseau instead of Martin.

Deuces Wild is the worst thing to have happened to Brooklyn since the Ice Age severed it from the mainland.

While there is a great deal of laughter among the quartet, there's scarcely a giggle in it for the audience.

Chevy Chase looks tired, Pam Grier looks embarrassed, and pop star Iggy Pop gives a performance that -- if you can believe it -- is even sillier than his name.

Typical of road comedies, it's a pastiche of sketches.

The latest - and really last-minute - documentary hoping to affect the presidential election is a deceptively partisan view of the Iraq War.