Johnson Family Vacation is simply a bad trip.

In its execution, Stand Alone is no worse than other violent vigilante films in the ''Death Wish'' mold--its vision simply is more offensive.

From time to time, a movie comes along that is so unconventional, so weird, so flagrantly negligent of mainstream taste that it will develop a loyal cult following--"The Rocky Horror Picture Show," now celebrating its 10th profit-filled anniversary, being a good example. This is the kind of movie the makers of "Morons From Outer Space" set out to produce, but failed to deliver. But who knows? In Britain, they may eat this stuff up. [12 Nov 1985, p.C5]

Most of the problem with this movie is that Ernest is too much of a cartoon to carry such exposure, particularly since he hogs most of the scenes. The other characters, even the children, behave like cardboard props.

There are few words to describe the awfulness of this movie, but let's give it the old college try: dismal, depressing, embarrassing and utterly lacking in any artistic or social worth.

Responsible for this trash is director Fritz Kiersch, and remember that name. Last year Kiersch gave us one of 1984`s worst films, his adaptation of Stephen King`s ''Children of the Corn.'' Now, with Tuff Turf, Kiersch has made the ''worst'' list two years in a row.

It's hard not to feel angry that you've spent almost two hours watching this moronic exercise.

The Brady Bunch Movie, which was directed and written by at least five people whom we prefer not to embarrass, looks bad, sounds bad and doesn't make any sense. There's even something nightmarish about it. All these bad jokes and vacant sets become almost horrifying, as if the film were on the verge of proving that life itself is a bad joke on a vacant set. [17 Feb 1995, p.J]

Wretchedly unfunny. [14 Aug 1992, p.18]

There's no plot here; like the MTV show that spawned it, this movie is just a progression of increasingly disgusting and/or dangerous stunts.

A lamebrained attempt at horror that is just a derivative pastiche of ideas lifted from other bad films.

Verdict: not so hot

Phantoms may have sold like hotcakes as a book. But this movie version is a grotesque fiasco, a confoundingly senseless story told with unexciting visuals, cliched dialogue and ear-bashing sounds... Watching it is a truly hellish experience. [23 Jan 1998]

Shot in the same style as “Spinal Tap,” Electric Apricot fails to wow in every way possible, but the music disappoints the most.

Commenting on performances here is like critiquing the production design of a porno--it's beside the point. Briefly: Knoxville, bad choice, man. Reynolds, you make a good villain. Simpson, lovely posing. Scott, you're from Minnesota and it shows--but I bet stunt driving school was fun.

A bloody mess...The effects are nothing you haven't seen before; the acting is so broad, it borders on the ridiculous; and the story, once intriguing, has become ludicrous. [11 March 1996, p.C3]

The melodramatic clumsiness of the script, and, in one scene, its gratuitous endorsement of marijuana, betrays the youth of its writer, recent UCLA graduate Shane Black. And veteran director Richard Donner, whose credits include another cartoon movie, can't seem to thread the scenes together in any meaningful way. [6 Mar 1987, p.G]

The costumes, on-location scenery and stunts were fantastic. Unfortunately, the acting made the witty script downright dull. When it comes to these Three Musketeers, I have to say the better version is behind the candy counter.

Not only is Slackers painfully bad, but it's also about as morally unpleasant as a teen sex comedy can be.

There are good movies, bad movies and confoundingly bad movies. My Favorite Martian belongs to that rare third category. [12 Feb 1999, p.A]

Plays like an amateur debut effort written over a weekend during which its writer wasn't entirely sober.

Mark my words: Mindhunters will do for psycho-thrillers what "Showgirls" did for stripper movies.

It relies heavily upon the cliches of the genre: sorties into garishly lit woods, crackling twigs, indiscriminate lightning bolts, sudden power outages and flickering flashlights. Only a mote of humor graces the film, and that is Jason's cunning ability to come up with ever more dreadful weapons for each successive crime, graduating from stake to machete to circular saw. Dare we hope, in Part VIII, for a neutron bomb to obliterate the series altogether? [16 May 1988, p.C7]

It stinks from top to bottom. Even Tom Cruise ("Risky Business"), one of the most appealing actors of his generation, can now claim to have made his first truly awful film. And the same goes for director Ridley Scott ("Alien"), who specializes in artful, heartless movies. Legend, however, isn't the least bit artful. [18 Apr 1986, p.N]

So excruciatingly awful, the word "dumb" could sue for slander.

The fatal flaw in David Duchovny's big-screen directorial debut, House of D, is not Robin Williams as a retarded janitor. It's David Duchovny, the man who chose to cast Robin Williams as a retarded janitor.

More eloquently than any funeral director could, Weekend at Bernie's II makes the case for quick cremation. [13 July 1993, p.C5]

A misjudgment from metallic head to titanium toe.