Mike Clark

Writer/director Julie Dash pours on sounds, music and costuming for a tone more impressionistic than dramatic - and more somnambulant than either. She might have gotten away with it for 80 minutes, but merciless Dust closes in on the two-hour mark, a structural shambles in the too-earnest American Playhouse tradition. [1 April 1992, p.6D]

Even when the movie works, it's so much like having Daffy Duck assault your face that you want to buy a box set of elevator music for the calming drive home.

The movie is repetitious in some ways and superficial in others. But though Penn doesn't always seem to know where he's going, his movie doesn't altogether miss its destination. [15 Nov 1995, Pg.05.D]

The wrap-up feels tacked-on and too good to be true, with emotions the story really hasn't earned.

I don't mind that Nights is a potty-mouth benchmark; crude verbiage is appropriate to the leads, as well as the film's subject matter. This is, however, an amazingly mean two hours. Even the funniest gag involves Murphy's fatal shooting of three men. [17 Nov 1989, p.6D]

Hoffman stores the plane fuel in his house and even enjoys sniffing it. The movie might be a lot more fun as a suspense pic were he to take on a roommate who chained-smoked.

The movie falls short of achieving its apparent goal: being the "Raging Bull" of the art world.

Young directed under his preferred nom de plume (Bernard Shakey), and you'll either want to see this or you won't. Will it influence your decision to add that Devo - yes, Devo - plays nuclear power workers who glow? [01 Sep 1995, p.12D]

The problem is the letdown you feel when these glorious morsels (film clips and soundtrack) end, and it's back to three morose schlumps.

A handsome but riotously cluttered melodrama with maybe 145 subplots, it's the latest and least in a soulless string of preordained multiplex hits from the John Grisham warehouse. [24Jul1996 Pg. 10.B]

Hong Kong's China-born cult director makes his U.S. debut here, serving up so many briskly staged and edited action scenes that you'll wager Sam Peckinpah somehow figured in his gene pool. Forget grenades and assault weapons (though they're here, too); Target deals in bows and arrows, a serpent booby-trap and even one portly hero (Wilford Brimley) on horseback. All this and Brimley's Cajun accent, too. [20 Aug 1993, p.1D]

There's at least one plot element too many here; let your own taste determine which one. Yet until it dissolves into conventional melodrama during a climactic fracas, this fast-paced story is never less than watchable.

Waterlogged trip to nowhere. [13 February 1998, p. 3D]

It's the kind of material that is either going to make your day or not.

Though Walt Disney's Peter Pan once implored us never to smile at a crocodile, the Irwins' own home movie is worth a couple of chuckles. Shivers, too.

Thing's opening hour is fast-paced, though not fast enough to obscure the reality that "American Graffiti" and "Diner" had sharper writing and certainly more psychological depth. [04 Oct 1996, Pg.01.D]

This Lynch-ian knockoff is moodily monotonal, but the sameness is wearying.

You keep waiting for there to be more, but there never is -- other than the fact that it all gets gorier and uglier as the dyspeptic look on Jones' face progresses from a four- to a six-a-day scotch-and-peppermint schnapps hangover.

Thunderheart, which concerns tragic in-fighting between factions of the Oglala Sioux, lands with a sound that duplicates the name of the Indian chief who harassed Howdy Doody in less ethnically sensitive times. Thunderthud. The movie is so dramatically stillborn that it may be unfair to single out Val Kilmer, but that is Kilmer's name atop an acting lineup that includes Sam Shepard, Fred Ward and Graham Greene (Dances With Wolves). [3 Apr 1992, p.8D]

Two constants: good acting and an old-fashioned preachiness that backfires.

But this isn't Diceman's feat of clay. Instead, Ford Fairlane runs fairly well on high-octane silliness. [11 Jul 1990, p.4D]

Credit McGlone for humanizing and even making funny one of the most insufferable big-screen boors in recent memory. Cheating on his wife, doing what he can to undermine his older brother's already rocky marriage, McGlone is setting himself up for a fall. Burns' lower-key acting style makes him a cool straight man during their frequent bandyings, into which dad Mahoney (also abandoned by his wife) always adds his own two cents. You probably have to love a guy who claims that his failure to believe in God isn't enough to keep him from being a good Catholic. [23 Aug 1996]

A Casablanca-influenced love story set against a French Resistance backdrop in Martinique. [07 Nov 2003]

David Lean's classic Cliffs Notes telescoping of Charles Dickens took Oscars for Guy Green's black-and-white photography and John Bryan's art direction, and you know right off that this is going to be a visual stunner as you watch fleeing prisoner Magwitch (Finlay Currie) dart across Green's spookily lit marshes. [22 Jan 1999]

We all know grossly moronic behavior can, in the right situation, generate hearty guilty-pleasure guffaws - at least until overkill wears out the welcome.

The actress may get an Oscar nomination for the wrong movie -- "Moulin Rouge" over "The Others" -- but it would be a double misfortune for audiences to overlook a performance that boosts its movie from moderate to memorable.

This dispensable comedy has a few unexpectedly loopy surprises, including an outlandishly gay detective (played by versatile actor William Fichtner), who loves the Ice Capades but loathes insurance fraud.

You can't accuse this film of bogging down in cheap psychology, yet you come out dissatisfied and without a clue about what made this person tick.