Boasts one moment, perhaps three or four seconds in length, so delightfully intense and uncharacteristically juicy that the rest of the film - most of the rest of the whole series, in fact - looks pretty pale by comparison. Not vampire pale. Paler.

Cherot shot G on a tight schedule, but instead of this age-old indie predicament generating a certain scrappy passion, the film just looks cheap.

The costumes are giving Halloween, the sets and props are giving Xena: Warrior Princess and the story and performances aren’t giving anything at all. Mortal Kombat II seems destined to go the way of the ‘90s sequel Mortal Kombat: Annihilation — directly into obscurity.

Teenage summer film trash such as The Heavenly Kid makes one root for the leaves to start turning brown.

Despite its admonitory tone, Belly spends so much time caressing images of material wealth, female exploitation, drugs and murder that one has to worry about its effect on youngsters. But with its uneven storytelling and acting glitches, Belly's dubious moral stance may be the easiest part of the film to stomach. [04 Nov 1998, p.2]

There is some excellent location-shooting in downtown Los Angeles during the climax, seen through the lens of a bodycam or quadcopter or drone camera. It’s not enough to save the aesthetic of the entire film, though, which is somehow both gray and nauseating.

As a period ghost story, it’s pretty pallid.

Gordon is lost, and his style of shooting - telescopic close-ups, which never give us enough space to appreciate the performers - feels wrong for comedy.

Phony, disingenuous family entertainment, suffocated by its green bean casserole approach to Middle America, spineless cardboard characters and paper-thin plot "twists."

A dreary, Carrie-type shocker about a high school student seeking to kill a bunch of classmates on their prom night. Very few thrills. [01 Aug 1980, p.10]

Just another self-absorbed teen chronicle, with the added twist of a little time travel and a surprise ending.

Cool New York City detective John Shaft is back again in, you guessed it, Shaft, with a modern update that goes completely sideways in all the wrong ways. This Shaft is a bad mother all right, and it'd be better if he just shut his mouth.

The movie plays like a very expanded version of what would make -- and likely has made -- a cute TV newsmagazine segment.

There is a great, even revolutionary movie to be made about pharmaceutical companies in America. Side Effects is definitely not it.

Seriously, the running time of Fantasy Island should be listed as “sometime tomorrow."

There's nothing original about the father-son conflict that forms the core of the film, nor is there enough suspense and drama.

Director Monteverde, whose previous feature, "Bella," came out nine years ago, clearly meant his film to lift up everyone and condescend to no one, least of all Pepper and Hashimoto. But Little Boy comes off as a picture-postcard fake.

But here's the problem: Bruce Campbell's character is a complete stiff, and so is everyone else he meets who isn't a special effect. The result is that we couldn't care less who wins any battle in the movie no matter how inventively photographed. What about a love interest? Embeth Davidtz, as the lady who's waiting, doesn't have a sexy scene in the movie. [19 Feb 1993, p.C]

Combine the uninhibited raunchiness of John Waters with the gross-out zeal of the Farrelly brothers and you get Another Gay Movie, a parody and comedy more numbingly disgusting than funny.

The movie delivers, in its chosen way. But it’s a soulless way. The violence may be for laughs, and many Neeson fans will likely respond to the larky brutality of Cold Pursuit, which is very different from the star’s previous mid-winter vehicles (“The Grey” is my favorite). But I don’t get much psychic recreation from this sort of action movie.

A weak romantic comedy.

Gere and Binoche are both terribly miscast--one far too charismatic, the other far too dowdy, which is something for Juliette Binoche. And the spelling bees? Dull. Dreary.

Worth your time and money? Fuhgeddaboutit.

A sleek, tight, fastidiously executed nothing.

Jason X conjures up more giggles than scares, assuming you make it through the first 15 minutes.

Maybe this review is more about me than about Conan O'Brien, but I really couldn't get past the odor of self-congratulation emanating from nearly every scene in Conan O'Brien Can't Stop.

In “Morbius” the actor’s willful disinterest in figuring out the rhythm of a scene, what’s important in it and how to bounce off his scene partners — well, it’s acting in a vacuum. What he needs is a director who can steer him away from his favorite scene partner, i.e., Jared Leto, long enough to activate the material at hand, even if it’s just a third-tier Marvel franchise hopeful.

It's a murky, empty-headed dive into the depths of the Antarctic and the heart of monster movie cliches that leaves you praying for most of the cast to get killed off fast, to put them (and us) out of our misery.