Absurdly unrealistic at times.

Because Stonewall turns everyone into a sentimental or suffocating "type" instead of a dimensional character, the results are sheer noise.

It's a movie that puts Samuel Jackson in kilts, Robert Carlyle in a red Jaguar, and the audience -- if they have any sense at all -- out in the lobby, looking for another picture.

Usually what you're laughing at is ugliness, and that leaves a foul taste long before the 85 minutes have expired.

Accomplishes something I would have thought impossible. It made me appreciate its 1994 predecessor, "The Flintstones."

The jokes seem lame and the rivalry fraudulent, as the two boys play with their big guns.

A lot of nostalgia movies are so in love with their period details that they squander plot and character time on lingering shots of antique cars and storefronts. They wear their vintage with the self-conscious smirk of a 40-year-old stepping out in her prom dress. It's a hoot, of course, but it doesn't guarantee a good time. [25 Sep 1987, p.L]

Jason Lives is not a good movie. It is as predictable as a City Council vote in the Daley era; a lamely acted film filled with the most contrived slaughter and utterly lacking in suspense. [4 Aug 1986, p.C5]

The Navy will no doubt like what it sees, yet a project such as this should impart some sense of the times we live in.

The events of the movie may be a little bit true, or a lot, but hardly any of it plays that way.

The first "H&K" caught people off-guard with its canny idiocy and zigzagging, picaresque treasure hunt premise. By now, there's no catching anyone off-guard with these two, except by way of the most off-color and off-putting means possible.

I find Lars and the Real Girl adorable in the worst way, bailed out only by most every member of its excellent cast.

Ultimately, Stateside ends up a diluted, scattered drama--less than the sum of its parts, but with an impressive cameo list.

The folks who made this movie apparently had nothing inside their heads, either.

The film's main fare is three Stephen King horror stories, presented as comic books come to life. Stringing them together are scenes about an all- American youngster, a Creepshow comics fan who outwits the neighborhood bullies with his mail-order Venus flytraps. The Creep, who delivers the comics, acts as host for this anthology. It's a complicated framing device, but it puts the film squarely in the camp of kids' movies. [07 May 1987, p.3C]

It's not a film, it's an excuse to show victims bleeding at the mouth, or getting shot in the eye, or plucking out their own eyeballs. Most gruesome of all, the sequel oozes dialogue that is best described as "functional."

Add the American work ethic to an Italian bedroom farce, give it to a director reknowned for small, natural, gently humorous films, and you come up with Loverboy, a comedy that is more often distasteful than funny. [2 May 1989, p.7C]

Shelley Long stars in a limp copy of "Private Benjamin" with a location switch from the Army to the Girl Scouts. Long plays a Beverly Hills wife who decides to take over the local troop of spoiled brats. A number of tedious jokes about conspicuous consumption fall flat and Long is no Hawn when it comes to comedy. [24 March 1989, p.A]

The "Showgirls" of superhero movies. This is not a compliment. A vacuous lingerie show posing as feminism, it's the biggest movie hairball this side of "Garfield."

My Father, the Hero isn't just a one-joke movie, but believe it or not, that's by far the best joke. [4 Feb 1994, p.K]

there's no joy in this movie. It's a safe, compromised, even preachy, fable; a wannabe hip romp that never gets going. [07 Jul 1995]

It sounds like standard Cinderella stuff (and the script comes complete with plenty of allusions to princesses in towers), but it's played here with an emphasis on possessions and possessing that borders on the obscene… It's a pretty ugly movie. [23 Mar 1990, Friday, p.C]

It's miscast, barely functional in terms of technique, stupid and unnecessary. Other than that….

A tedious picture about a remorseless serial killer, played by Matt Dillon.

Just the same auld same auld.

A buddy cop film in which one of the cops continually quotes dialogue espoused by fictional cops, in everything from "Heat" to "RoboCop," and not once is it funny.

To say this movie's premise is bonkers is putting it mildly.

Not much of Class Act makes any sense, which is all right, but not much of it is funny either. [05 Jun 1992, p.B]