Only in the execution does Madonna stumble: Despite the undeniable romance of the historical material, she has made a movie more concerned with how things look than how they feel. Which should not surprise anyone.

Alan Metter (Back to School) directed this wildly uneven trifle. Most of the jokes are tasteless or stupid. [08 Mar 1988, p.B5]

As written, Seven Pounds would have always been a melancholy experience, but a lighter touch would have helped to keep you from noticing the implausibility of its plot.

The Night Flier flirts with being a decent chiller, one that for a time values the dark morality tale over the oozing entrails. In the end, it gives in to its cheap soul (it was made for and first shown on HBO) and sometimes cheesy plot (adapted from one of King's sillier stories), but not before it conjures up a creepy tone and an aptly unappealing main character. [6 Feb 1998, p.12G]

The Hotel New Hampshire, in which John Irving's novel comes to the screen, is such a mess that it does not feel like a film at all. It's a kind of endurance contest, an epic bout with the cutes, in which the audience is made to confront a long, quirky line of performers playing oddball "types," and is then given only a handful of platitudes by which the explain the experience. "Sorrow floats" is the story's most profound statement, though there are others. [3 Apr 1984, p.C5]

Dismayingly predictable and rote, a simple premise played out in the most obvious way possible.

The movie's attempts at zaniness are flat, almost embarrassing.

Together (Hunter/Murphy) they're actually sort of fun to watch, and it's amusing to realize, not quite halfway through the film, that its most potent chemistry exists between them.

Viewing the new Martin Lawrence kiddie movie is more enjoyable than watching my dog eat a desiccated toad carcass he pried off the road, but only marginally so.

Man bites dog in Turner & Hooch, the new Tom Hanks vehicle, and it's a tender moment. But there's precious little else going on in this tired little action comedy, which is so bereft of ideas that it winds up borrowing from Lady and the Tramp, among other familiar sources. [28 July 1989, p.G5]

A movie as annoying as its oddly punctuated title, After.Life is a misguided and empty-headed attempt at psychological horror that succeeds only at talking the viewer to death.

Isolated moments in Color of Night hint at Rush's visual creativity. He can spin afresh the most perfunctory scenes -- watch the clever way he shoots a simple fender-bender, or his spectacular take on an opening-scene suicide. But as the story falls into place, the visual embellishments feel increasingly hollow, like fancy icing on a grocery-store sheet cake. [19 Aug 1994, p.G5]

Silver garners a hilarious performance from Dempsey, whose charm is only surpassed by his talent for slapstick. And though she lets the movie lapse into a lengthy montage in the middle, she keeps the story's wit and romance intact to the very end. Loverboy is a movie worth falling for. [2 May 1989, p.C5]

A cliché-ridden, condescending and ham-handed film that clumsily fails to bring to life what should be an interesting story. You might say none of its punches even comes close to connecting.

Badham, a consummate craftsman, certainly knows how to stage his action sequences competently, but they lack spontaneity and thrills. The movie careens from one concocted obstacle to the next and ends with the most ridiculous and overlong sequence of all. [18 May 1990, p.G5]

Too much of this well-acted but dangerously slow thriller feels like a preamble to a bigger, more complicated story, one that never materializes.

A stark regression from the intelligence of the Scream franchise, this teen horror sequel is about as satisfying as low-budget food that's been under the heat lamps too long.

Raises a few questions -- like just what were they thinking?

It's a stylized, overdressed love story with music tacked on. It's a tangle of relationship studies that drag endlessly, slapstick "get the girl" scenes that aren't funny, and clashes with parental authority that only feign rebellion. [03 Jul 1986, p.D10]

Coolidge knows he's not making "Death of a Salesman" here (he names the store managers Glen Gary and Glen Ross in tribute to David Mamet's elegy to the American Dream), but he's got the same eye for detail that made "Office Space" great. What he lacks is Arthur Miller's (or even Mike Judge's) sense for character.

Kids are most likely to be entertained by this live-action offering, although baby-boomer fans of the series will appreciate how closely it hews to the show's foundation.

Most of this is tedious instead of unintentionally amusing.

Downright awful.

The plot -- Day trying to take over all the clubs -- is meaningless and the ending almost pathetic. But that's not the reason to watch Graffiti Bridge. It's the music, the set, the colors and the musical numbers that make this movie memorable. [07 Nov 1990, p.C5]

Three O'Clock High is one of those ideas that must have sounded wonderful at one point, and to be fair it still sounds better than the pop-out plots of most teen-explo projects. It turns out, however, to have surprisingly little range. Once the story is under way, there's nowhere for it to go but home room, lunch and out the door. [13 Oct 1987, p.C7]

The cinematic equivalent of herpes, Sex Tape is an uncomfortable embarrassment to raunchy comedies everywhere. Fortunately, no medication is required after being exposed to it: The effects are not permanent, only painful.

It's not the sort of movie you watch; it's the sort that assaults you.

As for comic rhythm, director Nadia Tass has no clue. [10 Aug 1991, p.E1]