There are episodes of "Rugrats" with stronger sexual suspense.

Unfortunately, this movie needed an attractive, irresistibly charismatic performer to give us some reason for watching. Madonna is made up to look like Eva, but this is hardly enough to carry the movie.

Particularly because unlike so many other boring movies one sees, Jarmusch films require many more words to explain the boringness than less certifiably artistic films would.

There are enough mullets to win this movie a Stanley Cup.

While the original conception of The Saint gave us a debonair, sophisticated and roguish detective, the new movie, directed stiffly by Phillip Noyce ( "Clear and Present Danger" ), gives us Val Kilmer as a greedy high-tech daredevil thief with the moves of Batman, the clunky disguises of Tom Cruise in "Mission: Impossible" and the morals of an alley cat.

The movie equivalent of the fruitcake you get every year from the folks back home. It's brick-heavy and full of nasty bits you don't want to put in your mouth, lovingly wrapped in pink cellophane.

It should be renamed "Drop Dead Ghetto" and hauled off to the "Jerry Springer" hall of shame.

It took four people to write the screenplay for The Relic. All I can say is that I hope these people have not quit their day jobs.

Imagine if "On the Road" ended with Sal and Dean settling down in the 'burbs. Or if the carnal encounters in Henry Miller's "Sexus" were prefaced with admonitions to the reader not to "objectify" women. The Basketball Diaries is a similar travesty: It turns a celebration of outlaw life into a just-say-no cautionary tale that Nancy Reagan would love.

In stupidity, this movie ranks up there among the greats.

Not much of a plot, but the trouble is that Shana Larsen's script, as directed by Risa Bramon Garcia, isn't very deep. Worse, none of the self-absorbed characters are that likable nor are they funny.

A football epic on performance enhancers that may be more flagrantly flawed, more shockingly predictable and just plain cornier than its rickety predecessors.

Quickly degenerates into a grueling piece of unpleasantness.

Dead Man on Campus, a supposed black comedy produced by MTV, is simply awful.

A particularly egregious array of Kodak moments.

So it's hard to know who gets the blame for Payback. I say we cut Mel some slack and put the hex on Helgeland.

Trash is trash, even if it used to be in French.

A dimwitted, fill-in-the-blanks horror opus that slanders a fine and useful mammal.

The movie is a dismal and misguided special-effects romp featuring two of the deadest performances recorded this year so far.

Unsalvageable B-movie junk.

Things to do in the movie theater until you mercifully die of boredom sums up this witness' response to the ordeal of sitting through this movie.

If there is a reason anyone would voluntarily agree to make this movie it probably dwells somewhere in a realm only accessible to the thinking of ambitious actors.

An amusement park special, screaming from start to finish with no brakes, no plot and no acting to speak of.

An hour into the picture, Spade offers a pretty funny imitation of belter Neil Diamond, but it's a long 60 minutes for such a pitiful payoff.

This is right up there with the dumbest pictures of the year.

Gray is more interested in hobnobbing with thespian greats than he is in making a good movie.

Korine's trying to offer a radical vision of rotten America, but the whole thing feels warmed over.

Flawless is what happens when a filmmaker has no sense of naturalism, no sense of realism and no real natural sense.