Best of all, though, is Seann William Scott as the profoundly annoying, profoundly vulgar Stifler.

You know a movie's in trouble when the characters babble on about long ago. In The Presidio, they have to. What's happening on-screen is dull and predictable. The movie's highlights, car chases up and down the San Francisco inclines, pale in comparison to those in Bullitt. [10 June 1988, p.D5]

Watching A Late Quartet feels more like sitting through a Classical Music 101 lecture than entertainment.

This sequel, while lacking the freshness of the original, shares much of its charm and for the most part rises above some trite, syrupy dialogue.

Stories about scientists doubting what they know to be true — "Contact," for example — can be provocative and engaging, on an intellectual and emotional level. But I Origins challenges too little and ties up things too neatly for it to register as anything more than well-made, well-intentioned hogwash.

What is evident from the film is that there was never any chance these two peoples could make a peaceful coexistence.

Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck might want to talk to their agents about looking for better material.

If you can get past the ludicrous fantasy — well, wait, that’s the problem. You can’t get past the ludicrous fantasy.

It's all very "Cuckoo's Nest," but in a glib, facile way, and it leaves K-PAX adrift in its fuzzy, New-Agey orbit.

Enemy at the Gates will pique your interest in the Battle of Stalingrad, but it leaves that interest sadly unsated.

For all its ambition, Daredevil can't overcome the fact that at its colorful center lies a perfect blank in a bad suit.

The sins of the inspirational Saint Ralph are venial, but they undeniably prevent the small Canadian film from stretching beyond the boundaries of an After School Special.

Bad in a good way if you appreciate this sort of silly thriller.

Lucky Numbers is like stuff bought at an outlet mall. Sure, it's got the brand names and designer labels, but the color's a little strange, the style a little off, and nothing fits just right.

Giles Walker's direction is TV-slick and the performances predictably smooth. But there is nothing here you haven't seen many, many times before. [12 Nov 1993, p.G18]

Falls far short of the sweep, complexity and passion it seeks.

The story's third-act detour into tragedy is predictable and unwelcome, providing a resolution that is too pat and familiar to be moving.

Director Jean-Marie Gaubert, who also directed this film's French predecessor, keeps the silly story barreling along.

The Great Outdoors isn't great. The Dopey Outdoors would be more like it. It's wildly uneven, yet consistently dumb. [17 June 1988, p.C5]

Sreams its devotion to style over substance with slick action sequences, fast cars and breathtaking stunts.

A rarely suspenseful thriller with a twist ending of the worst kind: It takes too much explanation.

The cast is impressive, and the story even soapier than "The Tudors," if you like that sort of thing.

Despite all the flying bullets, which are admittedly entertaining at times, Shoot 'Em Up doesn't offer enough bang for your bucks.

If Soderbergh set out to make a galvanizing conversation piece, he has certainly succeeded. But this cold, occasionally dull movie practically defies you to embrace it.

As played by the sublimely dazed Keanu Reeves (Ted) and Alex Winter (Bill), the boys are appealing at first, but their witlessness wears thin quickly. So, too, the movie. Ignorance may indeed be a happy state, but you wouldn't want to live there, and even this short visit seems much, much too long. The film acknowledges its empty-headedness early, when the boys meet Sock-rates. [20 Feb 1989, p.C-6]

Nobel Son is not good. Nor is it bad. It exists, instead, somewhere in the middle ground of interesting enough to hold one's attention without actually providing any fresh, sensible or nonderivative developments.

The only positive thing about the aimless film The Yellow Handkerchief is the idea that William Hurt may be ready for his Jeff Bridges moment.

Almost certain to polarize audiences, this bit of emotional agitprop plays like a watered-down "Short Cuts" or "Magnolia" with a shrill, one-note message: We're all a little bit racist.