Never scratching below the surface "facts" of the story, this is too thin and unsophisticated to truly compel.

For its historical detail and recognition that teenagers were around long before James Dean sparked up a Marlboro, this film deserves some credit.

Two actors have wasted their considerable talents on this hapless comedy. With a flawed plot and far too few jokes, it's understandable why this isn't a particularly memorable film and just as well it's disappeared without trace.

While the morality of D-Fens methods are questionable, there's a resonance about his reaction to everyday annoyances, and Michael Douglas' hypnotic performance makes it memorable.

As a film in its own right, this quirky Ray Harryhausen tribute (a skeleton army!) rocks. As an Evil Dead film, though, it’s ultimately not funny, scary or gory enough.

Fluff it may well be, but a more entertaining and engaging piece of fluff you'd be hard pushed to find.

If the script lays the broken heart metaphor a tad too thick and the ending has a fatal inevitability that you can spot a mile off, Bill, to his credit, plays it all straight from the heart (pun intended). Go armed with a very large box of Kleenex.

There may not be a laugh every minute, but there are enough to satisfy most devotees of the relentlessly silly, tasteless school of parody.

A romantic drama which has lost some of the intended edge thanks to the Hollywood treatment.

Like its seductress, Anna, it's ravishing to behold while ultimately failing to engage the emotions.

An erotic thriller that's strangely unerotic and devoid of thrills, this is, however, mercifully short at 100 minutes.

Harrowing, visceral and definitely not for the squeamish, the fake documentary approach is an effective and unsettling tool, and while the film never quite reaches the horrific heights of John McNaughton's chilling Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer, it is, for better or worse, difficult to forget.

Not exactly light entertainment and it can drag in places but when the drama is cranked up, it really works.

Little more than schmaltz and pitchfork-handed fisticuffs.

The only phoney note, ironically, comes from Miller's gaffe of enlisting retired Yorkshire biochemist Don Suddaby, extractor of the said oil, for a self-conscious appearance as himself. That aside, this is exhausting, intelligent and undeniably moving .

Danny DeVito's ambitious and violent biopic nonetheless paints an intriguing portrait of a complex and angry man while effectively exploring his uses and abuses of power.

Hill remains a master of action pieces and is even director enough to get strong performances from his bunch of dressed-up pop stars. But this supposed sure-fire thriller, from a script that was called The Looters until the L.A. riots got in the way, fizzles like a Molotov cocktail with a soggy fuse.

A riot of confused, clever and dazzling moments, Toys is a true formula-defying one-off for which the phrase love it or loathe it might have been coined, and one so audaciously zany that you will be captivated or enraged.

This is a timeless thriller, a reminder of how stars who have been so average elsewhere can produce excellent — some career-best — work when given a decent script and a confident director.

Vastly enjoyable despite the syrupy, soppy song bit in the middle (go make a glass of mulled wine during it). Michael Caine is perfect in the role and there are many genuine belly laughs.

Murphy occasionally does uninterrupted seconds of shtick, but the film is stuffed with cheap sentiment (a kid with cancer), extraneous characters and embarrassing simplistic politics.

A finely-acted, sensitively-written tale.

Its popularity continues to confound critics everywhere.

The movie that brought a hip new sensibility to animated features and which still stands up in the age of Pixar and DreamWorks thanks largely to a blistering improv turn from Robin Williams.

Abel Ferrara out-sleazes even his own grubby oeuvre with this powerful if overbearing study of a soul swallowed by depravity.

Less a sequel, more a virtual remake of Home Alone, this "John Hughes production" follows the same route as its money-spinning predecessor, wheeling out the well-worn precocious-kid-on-his-todd scenario with scant regard for originality.

Lee's film suffers from message over substance and is slightly tedious as a result.

There was so much potential, yet when it came down to it, Coppola made his Dracula too old to be menacing, gave Keanu Reeves a part and took out all the action. So all we're left with is an overly long bloated adaptation, instead of what might have been a gothic masterpiece.

Though there are a few rather large nits to be picked from the sloppy plot - the action takes at least one unfathomable turn and, as a terrorist, Payne seems to have entirely forgotten to have a cause - if you enter into the spirit, this is thunderously good fun.

With a predictable central story, what might have been a distinctly average film is greatly improved with stellar performances from Garcia, Thurman and, in particular, Malkovich as well as some incredible cinematography that keeps the atmosphere tense.

Thankfully Annaud's stunning direction takes in the beautiful scenery allowing a mild diversion from the scenes of romance.

At its heart, Candyman terrifies because of its ideas. It sinks its horrific foundations very much in the real world of poverty and racial alienation.

From Phillippe Rousselot’s exquisite cinematography, with the stunning scenery of Montana as a backdrop, to Redford’s assured direction, this is utterly alluring, and manages to make fly-fishing seem not just romantic, but thrilling.

This no-brainer is fine if all you're after a bit of escapism, but don't look for anything deeper than that.

Flawed, certainly, but by no means the horror-show its paltry box-office performance would suggest.

A film about violent racism that is just too ambivalent in its treatment of the perpetrators to be anything but an uncomfortable watch. Some good performances, but leaves a bad taste.

As a light family sports feel-good this works but don't look for anything more.

Overall this is an effective reminder of a minor literary masterpiece, but most folk would be better off reading the novel or checking out the 1939 movie version.

First and foremost a highly enjoyable crowd-pleaser, despite some plodding direction and laboured point-making about TV news and the nature of fame and heroism, this has Garcia and Davis as their usual beguiling selves and an ending guaranteed to raise a smile.

The hippest crime flick this side of "Goodfellas," Reservoir Dogs has all the hallmarks of a modern classic.

A searing indictment of all sorts of American dreams, Glengarry Glen Ross is a welcome if foul-mouthed reminder of just what it takes for a lot of folk to make it through the working day.

Landis occasionally plays wonderful licks on the cliches, as in an original take on the familiar vampire-burning-up-at-dawn shtick, but like his earlier movies (An American Werewolf In London, The Blues Brothers) this keeps self-destructing on a story level. Of all entries in the recent vampire cycle, this is at once the most hung-up on horror history and the most revisionary in its rewriting of the mythology.

The boys put in fine performances but sadly the script lacks the depth of what could have been a challenging story.

A family comedy lacking the double level of humour that make the modern ones so successful. The jokes are obvious but never very far away. Russell puts in a worthy performance as the irrepressible Ron and Martin Short is typically neurotic as the father.

Largely, real emotions are substituted here by people swearing and trying to kill each other, which adds up to a shamefully dehumanising piece of work.

Intelligent and witty ensemble rom-com for the grunge generation.

Excellent performances from Pollack and Davis in particular, make this one of Woody's finest of the 90s.

For all the blasphemies and British accent, Pinhead is just a sub-Freddy goon, and the ambiguities and perversities Barker is so fond of have been neatly tidied-up. This is the sort of picture teenagers in malls in Akron, Ohio might understand — a good horror sequel, and that's all.

A very neatly plotted blend of elaborate heist and twisting thriller, peppered with amusing gags and smart one-liners for its top class ensemble.

An over-strung last act aside, this is funny, brilliant and sickening all at the same time.

The quintessential Lynch. Prepare to be confused/intrigued/frustrated/disturbed/hooked.

Less pompous than Pet Sematary, this has moments of trashy vigour but is scuppered by a consistently wretched script, Mary Lambert's knee-jerk direction and the usual redundant sequel air of utter pointlessness.

A screwball comedy, with two well-cast leads, with a pre-Sex and the City Parker and a amusing Cage. The plot is ridiculous but enjoyably so, with enough jokes to carry it for an hour and a half and a relatively fast pace prevents you from seeing the holes in the story.

By the time the deathwish duo embark into mountainous terrain, you'll want to hand them a copy of Thelma & Louise's road map —with clearly marked directions to the cliff.

Offbeat, stylish and packed with some wonderfully bizarro moments.

Fluffy thriller, with moments of unintentional humour.

Former US sitcom staple Ritter breezes through his undemanding role with gormless bewilderment, reacting rather than acting, while Dawber screams and hollers as the special effects - the film's real stars - bounce them from one side of the screen to the other.

Altogether, this is as fine a piece of craftsmanship as one could expect of Eastwood, with Hackman and I Freeman's performances standing out, and given the sombre tone there are entertaining surprises and even some good laughs to be had.

Brazenly exploitative stuff, stirring in anything which has done the business in kids' movies previously, this, of course, should have its target audience laughing like drains.

As the body count mounts, De Palma blurs the line between fantasy and reality with gleeful affrontery, creating a dazzling tapestry of visual cheats and narrative trickery which propels his scarcely credible characters and ludicrous plot - involving multiple personalities, babynapping and homicidal maniacs - through to its nervy conclusion.

This spoof vampire flick's sole joke is that the heroine (Kristy Swanson) is a blonde, L.A. airhead rather than a beefed-up stake-toter, mentored by Donald Sutherland's deadpan Watcher.

Both leading ladies display great willingness to send up themselves and Hollywood, and Willis' quiet nervous breakdown showcases his previously unguessed-at comic skills. But it's the pitch-black comedy and celebrity satire that make this so enjoyable.

While Landau, Aiello and a brief appearance by Christopher Walken do perk things up, it's a tediously indulgent, redundant work.

Genuine fun for adults and children alike.

Gas Food Lodging's poster sums up everything the movie isn't about. In a woeful effort to put a sexy spin on proceedings, lone Skye and Fairuza Balk stare out with dodgy come-hither pouts, and the tag line ("When Shade's good she's very good, but when Trudi's bad, she's better") succeeds, with just a dozen words, to undermine the integrity of the whole damn shooting match.

With a slew of body swap films in the late 80's it was expected that this would be another one to fall by the way. Except with a promising script by newcomers Rene and Craig and strong performances from Ryan, Baldwin and Walker, it manages to be more memorable than most.

This is cornily predictable stuff, but it raises itself on a number of counts, with Murphy's transformation from a self-assured cocksman to bewildered, lovesick drip being approached with greater gusto than might be expected.

It's a mostly winning combination of sassy humour and sentiment, enlivened by some fun "newsreel" recreations that catch the period flavour of a sport adopting showbiz tactics - flirty-skirted uniforms, cheesecake stunts and skin-scraping do-or-die game plays - to attract the crowds.

A wonderfully nasty turn from Liotta, along with a novel treatment of familiar plotlines, elevates Kaplan's effort into the 'must see' category.

Burton continues to capture the essence of the Batman legend and more importantly his audiences imagination.

All along, of course, we are supposed to realise they're made for each other, except that that's a little hard to swallow when there's so little chemistry between them.

Way ahead of its time, this is a balls-out satire on the disgraceful layers that can lurk just beneath the Avon surface. This is anti-Ferris Bueller and fiendishly funny.

Despite its hopeless predictability, this is one of those preposterous and sweet-natured family frolics that you find yourself enjoying in spite of yourself. Check your critical faculties in at the door and get stuck in.

Highly-evolved it ain't, but this Stone Age slacker is a lot of fun.

Labyrintine and hypnotic, there's undoubtedly more style than substance to the film, but Von Trier manages to blind and bewilder his audience in a truly masterful manner.

If you like fast food movies that you digest and then 10 minutes later forget what you had - or if a simple evening’s entertainment is what you’re after, this will certainly do the trick.

First-time director Franklin, a former actor, proves himself remarkably adept behind the camera, wringing the plot for every bit of tension, then sitting back and letting his cast stew in it.

A good performance from Barrymore, the admirable Gilbert (who talks as her character on Roseanne would if she was covered by an 18 certificate) and director Katt Shea Ruben, a Roger Gorman associate hitherto best known for sleaze thrillers set in strip clubs.

As a throwaway 80's B-movie you could do much worse. Hauer, as is his way, plays the rough and silent type, this time a cop with Scot Duncan as his partner. There is enough gore, monsters and violence to satisfy but a good plot is sadly lacking and worst of all, they even managed to make Kim Catrall look unattractive.

Apart from a couple of nice touches - like a faked orgasm scene that's almost as off the wall as the one in When Harry Met Sally - mark this firmly in 'Should Have Been Better'.

Sleepwalkers, Steven King's first original screenplay, is horror filmmaking by numbers. It has monster fiends, a few swooshing tracking shots, many a touch lifted from every self-respecting vampire movie ever made, and several weak but intentional laughs to indicate that no one here is taking the thing too seriously.

A modern classic.

This is still a delightfully original picture, poised perfectly between farce and horror.

Splendid landscapes and interesting faces - the usual virtues of the Western - keep the film burbling along, even as the actual plot is falling apart.

It’s overly long and the Rosie Perez sub-plot leads it astray, but mostly, it rocks.

Crude, patronising and mawkish, but rescued by excellent performances, beautiful landscape photography, and hard-to-argue-with themes of natural justice, delivered with a punch.

If there were a special Academy Award for Contrived Premise, this picture would be a hot favourite to scoop the statuette.

The jokes start wearing thin, and most of the noisy characters become rather tedious well before the rag-bag of thesps finally pitch up on Broadway.

At two hours, something as thin and unexceptional as this, is just too long. The result is that all the running gags run out of steam and there are far too many fudgy bits between the comic highlights. Nevertheless, lightly likable.

Although patched together from loose ends, this works surprisingly well, with interesting and well-integrated visual effects, some nice humour and a few genuinely visionary touches.

Whatever his intentions, the finished product is about as deep and meaningful as you’d expect from a work starring the Man Who Is Clark Griswold. Which is a good thing really, as, uncomplicated, genuinely funny comedy players are thin on the ground at the moment, and it means Memoirs can carry off the semi-slapstick, borderline-cretinous gags with pace and panache.

However, thanks to engaging performances and a sharp script, this movie - essentially a series of three-minute sketches filling 101 minutes could be just the right choice for that Saturday night date, while Wayne-speak will no doubt be quoted and become part of the English language.

Despite an above average cast and interesting use of the Catholic angle, this film just isn't quite scary enough for hardcore horror fans.

Entertaining in places, Medicine Man suffers from a predictable story and annoying supporting characters.

That most essential element in a thriller, the suspense, collapses mid-film, making it hard to care about the eventual denouement.

Nair has made a truthful film about race which avoids hatred. It leaves a joyously hopeful taste.

The tale from the past is very nostalgic, heartwarming and mouth-watering and all, as Idgie and Ruth cook up a storm, are kindly to their black domestics and stand up to piggy men while events fitfully progress to a courtroom climax. And Masterson is a peach. But the best bits belong to Bates as her dreary Evelyn raises her consciousness, lowers her weight and starts speaking her mind. It's a nice, pleasant celebration of friendship, but without much meat to chew on.

In some quarters this will doubtless be hailed as "gritty" and "realistic". Movies about junkies just aren't much fun, however, and to be really powerful or tragic they need to be a lot less hack­neyed and directed with more inspira­tion than this.