Jay Boyar

Even by kid standards, young Macaulay can't act. The boy just races through his dialogue, barely pausing long enough to be understood. And when the script requires him to actually show some emotion, he sounds completely mechanical - as if he were merely parroting a line reading that some adult had given him. [20 Nov 1992, p.16]

Even if your expectations were not especially high, chances are that you would be disappointed by Into the West. [17 Sep 1993, p.21]

Club Paradise isn't particularly offensive, but it isn't especially funny, either. And all that's holding it together is Williams' amiable performance and the music, most of which was written by Cliff, who also performs it.

Oz is a bit too impressed by the story's enchantment - too inclined to dwell on Omri's astonished gaze and too eager to fill the soundtrack with Randy Edelman's ain't-it-awesome? musical score. [14 July 1995, p.17]

The script, by Showgirls' Joe Eszterhas, seems dead-set on evoking a darkly sensuous mood, full, as it is, of sex games, secret sex tapes and even - Lord help us - a fertility mask. But William Friedkin (Blue Chips, The Exorcist) directs in such a stark, threatening style that the combined effect of their efforts is an uninvolving, faintly creepy brooding. [13 Oct 1995, p.25]

The movie's biggest sin, however, is that during its crucial final half-hour, the action is shot in a confusing way that renders it virtually incomprehensible. This section is almost a series of random images, which is no way to build suspense, let me tell you. That this movie's director has previously specialized in music videos and that he has never before directed a feature film, may explain why this section is so very chaotic. [22 May 1992, p.19]

An ultimately unsatisfying allegory about war and whimsy, the new film has its attractions, but it's certainly no Aladdin. [18 Dec 1992, p.19]

This new film adaptation of the old radio serial is like Batman (1989) without its spark of pop-cult genius. [01 Jul 1994, p.9]

You don't have to be a baby sitter to like The Baby-sitters Club, but it would help. It also would help if you're in early adolescence. [18 Aug 1995, p.20]

The problems with North go beyond casting, however, way back to the movie's central idea and to the filmmakers' failure to think it through. [22 Jul 1994, p.23]

Occasionally, the scenes of the bush people are just enough like the best parts of the original Gods to remind us what we're missing in the new one. But most of the time, Gods II is unamusingly antic. [13 Apr 1990, p.4]

The ads in this film are so funny that I wish I could report that the production containing them is equally hilarious. But as it turns out, Crazy People is wobbly - a watchable but unremarkable showcase for the exceptional ads.

This is the sort of picture in which people slap each other as they take their marriage vows, suddenly develop life-threatening diseases, and, again, have violent confrontations whenever there's a break in the action. Anything for a laugh, anything for a tear, and nothing much authentic.

In Under the Cherry Moon, the self-styled auteur is obviously aiming for a romantic tragedy with occasional lighthearted moments. What he ends up with, however, is purest camp.

Quest for Camelot is certainly no improvement on the studio's jangly Space Jam of 1996. [15 May 1998, p.21]

This new Sabrina stresses the material's Cinderella love story - the part, that is, that was corny and somewhat dated even in the '50s. What director Sydney Pollack and his screenwriters (Barbara Benedek and David Rayfiel) have done is a little like redesigning the Ford Pinto and keeping the unfortunate old gas tank. [15 Dec 1995, p.19]

Malkovich temporarily brings the movie to life, but, finally, it's too little, too late. Amusing though it is, his brief performance probably won't be enough to keep "Jennifer Eight Is Enough" off the ballot. [6 Nov 1992, p.23]

How bad is Something to Talk About? Well, it's not the worst movie I've seen this year, but it is the biggest waste of talent. [4 Aug 1995, p.18]

If it's not the most awful thing I've ever seen, it's close enough to make me wince.

We're No Angels is far from heavenly. It never even gets off the ground.

To watch To Wong Foo is finally to be reminded that camp-meisters often have a weakness for sentimentality that is far more appalling than anything they do in the name of outrageousness. [08 Sep 1995, p.17]

Somehow, the new production fails to sustain the creepy, kooky, mysterious, spooky and altogether ooky visual sweep that held the first film together.

No one looks particularly comfortable, not even Midler, who has most of the best dialogue. She's watchable as Stella, but that's really the nicest thing I can say for her work in this unfortunate picture. Does Bette Midler really believe that people of limited means can't raise their kids decently? Or is the Divine Miss M making some great joke whose subtle point I am failing to grasp?

Color me dissatisfied with Color of Night. For starters, it's a murder mystery with a really obvious solution. How obvious? It's so embarrassingly obvious that even I figured it out - and I can never figure these things out.

The Lawnmower Man has it all - melodramatic plot, bad acting, special effects that will undoubtedly seem cheesy in about five minutes and even a concluding sequence in which the usual lofty moral is voiced.

Altman's method is risky, but when inspiration strikes the result can be wonderful. When it doesn't, the result can be, well, Ready to Wear.

Watching The Bodyguard is like trying to have a telephone conversation when you have a bad connection. The guy on the other end keeps saying things that sound maddeningly incomplete....After a while, you want to hang up.

What's unusual about Consenting Adults (which opens today) is that virtually everything is implausible. In fact, my bull detector hasn't beeped so much since the last time I went shopping for a new car. If I were to list everything that happens in the film that strains credulity, I'd be here until Woody and Mia get back together. Plus I'd make some of you angry by revealing too many secrets. [16 Oct 1992, p.19]