It's never a good sign when a movie's credits include: ''Tony Orlando as himself.'' But the crooner is the highlight of the dreadful Waking Up in Reno.

First Blood is no more than a man-bites-town retread, in which Vietnam and its aftermath are merely the angle. [27 Oct 1982, p.B6]

Only genuinely talented people can make pictures this bad and misguided. “This whole thing is unacceptable,” Lil remarks at one point. That goes for the movie, too.

Downright awful.

Silly, overplotted conspiracy thriller.

Sitting through Action Jackson was like being dragged through a swamp of sick humor and nauseating violence. I needed a shower afterward. [18 Feb 1988, p.C4]

In most respects Police Academy 2 is witless, which complaint is admittedly akin to inspecting a Hefty bag and being dismayed to find trash. [03 Apr 1985, p.D7]

The movie even fails on a psychological level, never illustrating how, in a pressure-cooker environment and swept up by mob-think mentality, we are capable of committing acts that innately repel us.

The film adaptation of Pink Floyd's chart-topping album The Wall has all the humor and charm of a brain tumor. [21 Sept 1982, p.B4]

Not only does the fragmented delivery become trying, but also the behind-the-camera dialogue and city shots with heavy Parisian traffic numb the senses. And as beautiful as it looks, there's really nothing new coming out of the lens of the revered Godard.

When Escape From L.A. isn't being ridiculous, it's merely dumb. It's no fun at all. [09 Aug 1996, p.6G]

Director Stuart Blumberg’s movie, which features a surprisingly starry cast, comes off as superficial and trite.

For all its noble intentions, the movie is really a work of crass exploitation -- an obvious and manipulative grab to cash in on the post-9/11 hero worship of the firefighting profession.

Arnold Schwarzenegger's latest, The Running Man, is a septic tank of a movie. This atrocious futuristic drama forms a dumping ground for bad acting, derivative writing and stomach-churning violence. The movie stinks. [13 Nov 1987, p.D1]

Every character is quirky, and each has a schtick.

After he reveals what is ultimately a paper-thin murder scheme, LaLoggia develops suspense, but like the rest of the thrills in Lady in White, it is fleeting. [27 Jun 1988, p.D6]

Think for a moment about a film that depends for much of its appeal upon a romance between Michael J. Fox and Helen Slater. No, not as May-December or even July-August, but June-June, as in peers in love. It's Smurf-meets-girl -- not just a mismatch, but a confusion of species. [10 Apr 1987, p.D1]

The movie's only value is in unwittingly defining more clearly how played out the whole transgressing-boundaries-as-art thing has become.

Pryor is so lacking in energy that Wilder steals most of the movie from him. For the first time in his career, Wilder actually seems robust, but it's only because he's performing opposite a ghost. It's quite sad. [12 May 1989, p.DW5]

Part of the problem is that Garner, so irresistible on television and in last year's "13 Going on 30," just can't pull off the cold-hearted killer routine.

Like its predecessors, Tokyo Drift suffers from a terminal lack of levity.

It’s bad enough to make you look askance at Salma Hayek, Maria Bello, and Maya Rudolph, all of whom deserve a chance to do something funny other than pose as wives exuding various degrees of sexiness.

He's (Sandler) trying to clone himself by supporting his buddies in making low-budget, high-grossing -- in all senses of the word -- formula films just like his own.

Feels like it's been pasted together from 51 other movies -- none of them good.

The movie is pure product, and proud of it: There isn't a single surprising moment in all of its 88 minutes, because Domestic Disturbance is designed to stick to tried-and-true formulas, instead of shaking them up a little.

Tomb is the kind of movie you sit through dreading the expository scenes, because the acting is so bad and the dialogue so pointedly written to make sure the little ones in the audience can keep up with the plot.

This is pure Disaster 101 formula, although distilled to the minimum amount of dialogue and characters possible.

A feather-light musical rushed into production to capitalize on American Idol-frenzy, is nothing more than an excuse to give the two leads several musical numbers, a la those Frankie Avalon-Annette Funicello "Beach Blanket Bingo" movies, and with just about the same amount of substance, too.