Fantastic Four is so bereft of all the things we expect from a superhero movie — humor, excitement, adventure, awe — that it plays like a drawn-out pilot episode for an upcoming TV series no one would ever watch again.

Twisted is a movie so derivative it's hard to pinpoint exactly how many other thrillers it poaches from.

The search for true love is the backbone of romantic comedy as well as the lifeblood of match.com, but this film's clumsy, completely inauthentic portrayal of it is handled in a shockingly tedious fashion.

The ghoulies in question are at least momentarily diverting, which is more than can be said for the rest of their movie. [26 May 1985, p.C6]

This is the kind of colossally misguided vanity project.

Every character is quirky, and each has a schtick.

In its favor, the film's production values raise the standard of usual Christian entertainment. Sadly, though, it preaches to the choir.

The movie continually threatens to become shlock, but the story and serviceable performances hold it together. Still, the three big-name actors don't realize Millennium is a cut above the usual sci-fi flick, and never surprise us with their performances. [29 Aug 1989, p.C5]

This utter waste of time has next-to-nothing to do with the infinitely wittier golden-age National Lampoon movies.

Astoundingly, considering the fall of this film series from low aim to no aim at all, the original cast remains aboard. [8 Apr 1987, p.D8]

Mac and his gangly parents are crude special-effects jobs, with dorky ears and dippy walks. But the kids love them anyway, thanks to director Stewart Raffill (The Philadelphia Experiment), who knows how to get young moviegoers cheering. His pace is quick, and the numerous chase scenes make for good fun. For sheer thrills, Mac beats Pippi and Pee-wee, claws down. [12 Aug 1988, p.C8]

Few expected Basic Instinct 2 to be very good, but no one expected it to be this boring.

For a B-movie, Split Second contains a surprising amount of talk -- dull talk. The film could use more action sequences; even those it does have are badly handled and unexciting. [7 May 1992, p.F8]

Amusing at times but never more than a modest diversion, lacking the cleverness and imagination required to turn it into more than a one-joke movie.

For anyone who digs hardcore motorcycle racing, Supercross delivers enough engine-revving, dirt-spewing motorcross action to satisfy even the most intense adrenaline craving.

To be fair, it must be acknowledged that there is a spectacular decapitation in the film's very first scene, and a couple of head-bashings later on, and these are enough to jolt one awake. But most of the film is so flatfooted that one longs for the batterings of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or at least the campy excesses of Fright Night. [14 Oct 1985, p.C6]

Filmmaker Christopher Cain has turned a national tragedy into a teen romance, and not in a grand, entertaining, "Titanic" way.

The formulae of gal-next-door and big game are followed so slavishly that it's hard to laugh at Teen Wolf even on the rare moments when it is original. The script and the direction are simply too lazy, too contemptuous even of adolescent audiences. [24 Aug 1985, p.C5]

Corny? You bet. But it also proves surprisingly inviting -- for a while, anyway.

When one actor plays both hero and villain, the viewer knows that what is being shown is not an authentic dance.

Georgia Rule is so artificial, it feels like more of a flow chart than a slice of life.

The fact that License to Wed isn't as unbearable as its trailers make it look doesn't mean it's good. It's not. It's just another mediocre addition -- worse than the best sitcoms, better than the worst.

Has a made-for-TV smallness (it will probably be a big hit on cable), and it never quite vanquishes the nagging suspicion that you could be spending your time better elsewhere.

The dumbest, most risible retelling ever made of the exploits of legendary bank robber Jesse James.

Cobra looks and sounds as bad as it does because Stallone hired George P. Cosmatos (Rambo), a hack with no ideas, to direct, and because Stallone wrote the screenplay himself. No excuses: This movie is just the way the highest paid and hence most powerful man in Hollywood wanted it. You take a long look at the thing, you keep that in mind: This is the film he meant to make. [24 May 1986, p.D1]

Those looking to Craven for a new spin on an overworked genre are entitled to feel disappointed. [03 Sep 1984, p.B4]

The story is thick with implausibilities and, like the source, almost unbelievably turgid in the telling. [20 Nov 1987, p.B5]

No matter how well-choreographed, Kosugi's karate scenes are impossible to look at as abstract movement divorced from their casually murderous purpose. What is more, they are distorted by special effects and physical feats made possible only by trick photography. [21 Sep 1984, p.D14]