Call it "Clash of the Whitans," and call it a folly that doesn't have the energy or delirium to qualify as entertaining crap. It's just crap.

A ridiculous futuristic adventure film starring Emilio Estevez as a race-car driver who is captured by forces in the near future - 2009 to be exact - and used in a world-controlling power play. Mick Jagger co-stars, wearing a dyed mop of hair. An indecipherable plot isn't worth the effort. [24 Jan 1992, p.C]

The first starring vehicle for shock comic Andrew Dice Clay, The Adventures of Ford Fairlane, turns out to be the kind of detective spoof worn out 30 years ago by Bob Hope and Jerry Lewis, though refitted with salty language, graphic violence and an attitude toward women that makes the Marquis de Sade look like Phil Donahue. [11 Jul 1990, p.18]

If only they didn't cannibalize their source material so much, then take an extreme rule reversal just before the end credits, they might have achieved something original, rather than just a fan-fiction derivation of George A. Romero's canon.

There are flashes of grim humor interspersed with the murders, but not enough wit to elevate this movie beyond its primary identity: grisly revenge fantasy.

With a weak script, utterly unsympathetic characters and a nonsensical plot, it can barely keep plodding along.

There may be better ways to waste your time than seeing this movie.

The Secret of My Success is crushingly bland. Bland, yes, but somewhat chilling, too--particularly in the way Ross and his screenwriters (Jim Cash, Jack Epps Jr. and A.J. Carothers) zero in on their teenage target audience by indulging in the grubbiest of grubby fantasies.

If you are misguided or otherwise unfortunate enough to see Forces of Nature, you will find yourself the next day with but one image, one memory, in your head: Sandra Bullock's teeth. [19 March 1999, Friday, p.A]

Tom Lazarus and Rick Ramage should be ashamed to have written such nonsense.

You have to have faith that kids will recognize a bad movie when it's foisted on them -- and they don't get much worse than The New Guy.

For years I've criticized Murphy for not working with the best directors or powerful female co-stars. But he does that here, and his movie is still a clunker. Relatives are listed in the credits; maybe he needs to stop trying to completely control the films he makes. Either that or it's time for another stand-up concert film. [27 Oct 1995, p.B]

A sincere but clumsy attempt to capture the pain of a man trying to cope with loss and divorce through the ages. [06 May 1994]

The usual bad movie sometimes gives a few chuckles, amuses audiences by making them feel superior. But young director Leonard makes a different kind of bomb. Fascinated with technology, Leonard makes cutting-edge techno-turkeys, with wildly elaborate visuals and ridiculous plots. [4 Aug 1995, pg. I]

In scenes such as hundreds of Natives being slaughtered by U.S. troops behind Gatling guns, we have Tonto and the Lone Ranger acting like a couple of comic-relief ninnies, screwing around aimlessly for laughs on a handcar. It's as if the movie were having a nervous breakdown. At one point the masked man gets his head dragged through horse manure. Watching The Lone Ranger, you know the feeling.

A major problem is that "Encino Man" clings to a shopworn coming-of-age formula instead of taking advantage of the far more original idea that sets it in motion. Dave's story is constantly overshadowed by the potentially much more entertaining spectacle of the caveboy's adjustment to contemporary life. The subtext has pretty much gobbled up the movie's center, leaving it severely out of whack. [22 May 1992, p.B2]

It is hard to imagine a world where films such as Child's Play 2 - essentially, a dim excuse for a prolonged, extremely exploitative display of abused and abusive children - can pass as mainstream entertainment. [13 Nov 1990, p.3C]

It's just a matter of holding your nose until the whole thing is over.

Insipid, ineffective, inept and insulting to our intelligence.

Kinjite is clearly the work of dedicated industry veterans, all of whom decided to go home after lunch. [03 Mar 1989, p.P]

A fatally compromised, half-realized execution. [ 10 Jul 1992]

That this bit of pustulence is based on a video game of the same name is no surprise. It explains the thin plot, characters and abundant gunplay.

There is little suspense in the film; the identity of the killer is heavily foreshadowed early on with a baroque music cue and a couple of menacing glances. And the false endings, which have become standard in this genre ever since "Carrie," reach laughable proportions here, because, yes, there will be a sixth film in the series next year. Have a nice day. [25 March 1985, p.C5]

Sadly, the concept of dialogue is totally lost on the makers of Venom, a laughably bad example of teen-scream movies.

Spends its first three-quarters confronting us with one of the most dislikable characters in recent memory.

To call this picture "Hot Pursuit" is false advertising; "Lethargic Pursuit" would be more accurate. [22 May 1987, p.A]

This latest version is le pits.

Could be the most overblown and confusing example of anime yet, as it piles one pretentious story element on top of another.

Considering the talent involved, the new thriller Target is a shocking failure, featuring some very good actors wallowing around in a laughable story poorly directed by one of Hollywood`s more daring filmmakers.

Not-funniest comedy of the year so far.

It's not, however, a particularly pleasant surprise. Directed by 25-year-old Marc Rocco (son of actor Alex Rocco, who appears in the film), Dream a Little Dream places the usual plot inanities of the genre in the context of a wildly ambitious, baroque-surrealist style. The effect is a little as if the late Russian mystic Andrei Tarkovsky had directed "Police Academy VI." [9 March 1989, p.6]

Although Banderas occasionally shows flashes of style, individual elements too often go together like grits in a puff pastry.

A big techno-dud.

Armed and Dangerous is an extremely violent, often mean-spirited comedy in which most of the gags depend on the absurdly excessive use of force. Jokes like these are designed to appeal to adolescent power fantasies, and while kids may love them, adults are likely to be bored by their repetitiousness and senselessness.

A whopper this isn't. It's not even a Whopper Junior. It's the paper the Whopper Junior came in.

The aftereffects of watching Lockout include an inability to focus or to complete a simple declarative sentence without an ill-timed cutaway in the middle.

It's clear that Roth was trying to say something about the brave new world of social media-enabled social justice, and public shame as a tool for change, but the message is garbled. That it comes wrapped in a horror package that just isn't truly scary or suspenseful is the real shame though.

The film's biggest continuing laugh is the very idea that Arnold Schwarzenegger, with his thick accent, could infiltrate the upper echelon of the Mafia. I could see him catering a German mob dinner, but a trusted ally? Never.

Throws its obvious predecessor, "Waiting to Exhale," into relief, making that 1995 syrupy revenge fantasy look positively Shakespearean next to the moronic Two Can Play That Game.

Aimed squarely at adolescents in subconscious search of strong father figures, most of the movie is dull and familiar. [18 Aug 1987, p.C]

Manhunter is full of useful tips on interior decoration, but a movie it's not. [15 Aug 1986, p.JC]

Rambo lumbers to the finish line in the flaccid fifth installment, which is a Frankenstein’s monster of badly photocopied references to the previous movies, limply strung together with the laziest of screenplays.

It seems that as long as Jason can keep his costs down-by hiring unknown young actors, desperate for any kind of a break, and hiring directors (Rob Hedden this time) straight out of television or film school-he`ll be with us forever. Conveniently devoid of any personality (a variety of anonymous stunt men have filled the role over the years), he`s as infinitely reproducible as one of Warhol`s soup cans, though considerably less expressive. [31 July 1989, p.C3]

The story has no center; the duck is not likable, and the costly, overwrought, laser-filled special effects that conclude the movie are less impressive than a sparkler on a birthday cake.

The action sequences, when they arrive, are so poorly staged and absurdly one-sided that they contain no excitement or suspense. Again and again, the film finds the huge, hulking Seagal beating up on flabby middle-aged men - and even then, resorting to such questionable techniques as wrapping a cue ball in a handkerchief and using it as a club. [15 Apr 1991, p.C7]

The preposterous 88 Minutes is a serial killer movie starring Al Pacino's festival of hair.

So many romantic comedies come and go without making the slightest impression. Elizabethtown is not one of them; I found it galling.

The movie drags down everyone involved, regardless of their apparent talent.

A real stinker. It doesn't have the courage of its own bad taste, or that of its villain.

Knoxville, Jed Rees and Bill Chott act daffy and more impaired than their counterparts, and that never sat right with me. This may not be the equivalent of acting in blackface, but it's awfully close.

Poor Roberto Benigni, the Italian comedian who has been given the unenviable assignment of filling the shoes in which Peter Sellers stumbled so effectively. In Son of the Pink Panther, Benigni works from a real dung heap of a script.

There is absolutely no reason to catch a ride with the nasty, brutish and shrill "Stuber," a horror movie about our current American nightmare of late capitalist economics and unchecked law enforcement masquerading as an "action comedy."

It's true that there has been a shocking dearth of talking-horse pictures lately, but even so, Hot to Trot has few pleasures to offer.

This House ought to be condemned for its insulting use of the Vietnam War and children as props for its nonsensical violence tinged with pathetic attempts at humor. [4 March 1986, p.C4]

A sort-of combination of "Lambs," "Batman Begins" and "The Joy of Cooking," Hannibal Rising ostensibly dramatizes the atrocities that turned Hannibal Lecter from loving child to serial killer. But this film is larded up with so many food references that I'm undecided whether this story belongs in a film compendium or a recipe file.

Adventures in Babysitting not only panders to expectations but also attempts to exploit fears and prejudices. [03 July 1987, p.A]

For years now Wilder has been trying to imitate the success of his mentor, director Mel Brooks. But he has repeatedly failed. That's why the biggest mystery in "Haunted Honeymoon" is why anyone would still give Wilder money to make a picture.

The only two onscreen items with any star quality belong to Simpson, and they're barely contained in shirts that seem to be holding on for dear life. Comedy fans, beware; breast fans, rejoice!

The most interesting story about this movie would be the amount of money Hawn and Sylbert got paid for ripping off ''Private Benjamin,'' and how they managed to lure the usually talented director Michael Ritchie (''The Candidate,'' ''Smile'') into joining their caper. Their story of wheeling and dealing would make a more exciting movie than ''Wildcats,'' which concludes with--you`ll never guess--a championship game between Goldie`s dirty two-dozen and the seemingly invincible crosstown rivals....Believe me: The tension will send you immediately to the candy counter.

Without the brute vigilante junk, this 82-minute picture would be approximately 2 minutes long.

Monaghan’s comic timing saves this go-nowhere affair from 100 percent lousiness.

Dominated by Adam Sandler's D-minus Bela Lugosi impression, the 3-D animated feature Hotel Transylvania illustrates the difference between engaging a young movie audience and agitating it, with snark and noise and everything but the funny.

Heavily laden with antinuclear messages, bad dubbing and worse dialogue, Godzilla 1985 is a pale imitation of the original film, a calculated bit of cinematic nostalgia that leaves one yawning. [20 Sep 1985, p.J]

Macy's character finds romance with the Madrid, N. M., diner owner played by Marisa Tomei. They're the only two people on screen who relate in any way. But there's no movie here. There is only a tired "City Slickers"-inspired idea for a movie.

Resembles an old Nine Inch Nails video. Missing from the mix are any characters with whom you'd want to spend one minute around a campfire.

From Miles Teller to Kate Mara to Reg E. Cathey, everyone on screen in Fantastic Four speaks in a flat, earnest monotone with a determinedly low-keyed air bordering on openly not giving a rip.

Though the film does contain a few minutes of patented Carpenter camera magic, it is unable to sustain either story or character. For all its flash and color, it is a dull film--an artless dig in the Spielberg garden. [02 July 1986, p.C3]

The First Power is nowhere above average for the genre, and frequently far beneath it. [09 Apr 1990, p.2C]

Even overlooking the fundamental inanity of the movie, one is left to contend with some offensive racial stereotyping.

This is going to be more of a consumer warning than a traditional film review, because Red Sonja is like a can of dog food covered by a label featuring a picture of a sirloin steak.

Unimaginatively recycles all the teens-in-the-woods gorefest conventions.

The movie has a big, warm, fuzzy heart - and not a bellylaugh in sight. [30 March 1992, p.5]

Pirates is tedious round after tedious round of mutiny and rescue. Screen people are hanged and stabbed and garroted with great care, but there's nothing to put the audience out of its misery. [22 July 1986, p.5C]

The Money Pit, a miserable ripoff of the old Cary Grant comedy Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, has nothing to do with such nuances of the human experience. Instead, it is an action comedy that regularly throws its actors around and through pieces of plywood, into and out of windows.

The fight scenes are staged cleanly enough by Newt Arnold, a veteran assistant director (to Sam Peckinpah, among others) making his debut at the helm. But the contest format is hopelessly repetitive and inert, the characters would seem underdeveloped in a comic book, and the restricted setting ensures that the action will never develop any real scale or velocity. The Chinese may take it on the chin in Bloodsport, but their own movies are infinitely better.

The film is utterly lacking in the campy quality of the World Wrestling Federation telecasts.

A funny thing happened to Larry Doyle's 2007 debut novel on the way to the multiplex. It turned into its own ring of coming-of-age comedy hell.

So, as we watch this movie go through its predictable paces, we also watch two actors, one in character and one not. And that is an awful lot to ask an audience to suffer through just to see Russell deliver another dependable piece of work. [3 Feb 1986, p.C2]

This film should have clocked in at 90 minutes, tops, rather than almost two hours. A good, healthy scissor-snipping might have allowed some of its quirkier aspects (like the use of a stun gun and a jaw-dropping lab result) to stand out more.

Mother's Day is a total mess, but what's truly offensive is that they didn't even try to make this cynical, post-Sunday brunch cash grab even remotely watchable. Your mom deserves so much better this Mother's Day. Go see "The Meddler" instead.

This is the laziest kind of filmmaking.

The film, directed by Nancy Savoca (True Love) from a screenplay by Bob Comfort, is one of those sensitive dramas that defines its sensitivity by how brutally it can hammer the audience into feeling pity for its characters. [04 Oct 1991, p.L]

Put together enough pointless, random details, and you get Gigli, a movie that's less incompetent than bewildering.

Superman IV is a pathetic appendage to the series, a dull, shoddy film that makes the minimal 1950s TV series seem rife with production values by comparison. [27 July 1987, p.10C]

The film starts out gently enough, capturing the after-hours banter of the chauffeurs as they play cards and try to ward off Casey`s intrusion. Unfortunately, this charming opening quickly degenerates into a film so needlessly obscene and offensive that it is hard to imagine what its creators were hoping to achieve.

It’s tolerable, I suppose, if you don’t have to listen to it. Unfortunately it’s a musical so you have to listen to it.

It's tempting to call traveling on Juwanna Mann, except it never goes anywhere. This film fouls out.

For the most part, The Gold Diggers is not even chuckle-producing. At best, it might warm a cockle or two or provoke a bit of a smile.

A horror picture very nearly as mushbrained as its title character-a terrible demon that rises from a pumpkin patch to seek vengeance...As a technician, Winston clearly knows how to make a monster, but as a director he's yet to learn how to bring one to life. [28 Oct 1988, p.C]

What an enormous waste of talent and money is Labyrinth. [30 Jun 1986, p.3]

Soul Man is a slick, frightening piece of work. It's not only because Ron Reagan Jr. has a bit part in it that it seems the definitive Reagan-era film.

Technically it does not qualify as one of the worst American-made movies ever. It only feels that way. The movie's offenses are too numerous to catalog.

Bereft of wit or charm, the film is forced to rely heavily on its special effects. These, however, have a tacky, homemade feel. The dinosaur, for instance, recalls those goofy Godzillas from the heyday of Japanese monster movies. A Stone Age man and some goons from after the apocalypse look like they came from a wax museum. [13 Aug 1985, p.5C]

Jungle 2 Jungle, is a shallow, joyless show, whose family bonding comedy is as touching as its dead-bird jokes, as witty as a bowl of cat urine and as penetrating as its analysis of the Russian Mafia. [07 Mar 1997, p.F]

Crass, shoddy and crudely exploitative of the public's worst instincts, John Badham's Bird on a Wire reflects just about everything that's wrong with American movies right now.

Collateral Beauty is much more shallow nonsense than anything else.

A movie of good intentions and awful results.

Vincent & Theo is a by-the-numbers art biography that barely succeeds in recapping the best-known events in the life of its subject, Vincent van Gogh. There is something almost chilling in the degree of the director's evident disengagement from his material and the complete lack of craft with which he has filmed it.