There's potential here for a macabre cult favourite touching on themes of technology and the body-mind split, but the movie's progression into rambling incoherence gives new meaning to the phrase "fatal script error."

There is one bright spot, though: Jason Momoa (Game of Thrones) shows up as the town baddie, bringing a much-needed injection of scariness.

YET another movie about a woman who is Trouble, French director Louis Malle's lushly shot Damage wants to be Last Tango in Paris for the nineties, but it is structurally and psychologically so unsound - despite several excellent performances - that it is less arousing than soporific. [22 Jan 1993]

With no previous acting experience, she's (Stilley) a natural between the sheets but a rank amateur between the vowels.

Contraryto its exciting advertising, Event Horizon is not the most frightening movie ever made. If anything, the conventional pop-up scares and gross-out effects of this British haunted-space-ship story seem less terrifying than quaint.

Black comedy often asks viewers, in exchange for the hilarity, to suspend their moral objections along with their disbelief...Here, we keep our part of the bargain only to be cheated of our payoff.

Where's 007 when you need him? Neither shaken nor stirred, The Good Shepherd is a flat draft of history that looks at the Central Intelligence Agency's early years through the horn-rimmed gaze of a fictional spook.

So the big question for the new Disney adaptation of The Nutcracker, sure to ride the wave of the ballet’s seasonal popularity: What’s to be done with the cumbersome story?

Both original and good; the problem is the original parts aren't good and the good parts aren't original.

Cold Souls begins to lose its comic focus, however, when Giamatti comes to realize that he needs his soul back.

The story is a much more serious problem, a run-on, overstuffed narrative that feels like a very long prologue for a climax that never comes.

Poehler’s Parks and Rec co-star Adam Scott is there, playing a sound engineer and so is John Stamos from "Full House," because, you know, that’s funny. Until it’s tiresome.

It’s only mildly entertaining, never funny enough nor smart enough to summarize the cultural moment in the manner of a "Working Girl" or "The Social Network."

Fort Apache, The Bronx, set primarily in a precinct house, is the S & M Barney Miller... One comes away from the film exhausted, both by the excess of incident in the script and by the reality in which the excess is so obviously grounded. [7 Feb 1981]

Doesn't work because it isn't much of a ride. The action scenes are strictly by rote. The incidental characters are all incidental.

The mutations never stop. But that won't upset those 8-year-olds; changing so rapidly themselves, kids love tales of metamorphosis, the more the merrier. For them, caught in the commercial grip of the latest craze, it matters only that their cute little mutants have taken the giant step onto the big screen. That's probably all they need; that's definitely all they're given. [30 Mar 1990]

Don Taylor, a director who specializes in sequels and imitations dutifully puts image to celluloid without distinction. [10 June 1978]

Unfortunately, Hart and her co-writer/husband Jordan Horowitz don’t have much more to offer than a different perspective – and no POV shift can compensate for a film that looks otherwise so familiar in its twists and turns.

Biggs, in particular, seems positively frozen by his imitative efforts -- less Woody than wooden. Ricci is a bit looser, and has the added advantage of hiding behind those saucer-eyes.

Ocean's Twelve lacks the courage of its star-driven convictions. Next time, Steven and George and Brad and Matt should ditch the hypocrisy and just shoot themselves shooting the breeze, poking fun at each other from within the smug sanctuary of their precious celebrity.

Even though Rain comes up short in overall effect, it is noteworthy for the singularly powerful performance of Nick Nolte. [14 Aug 1978]

The goal is apparently a double exercise in heartfelt lessons and deep hilarity, but it's hard to tell because the pace feels so lethargic. Director and screenwriter Wil Shriner is a TV-sitcom veteran (Frasier, Everybody Loves Raymond) whose idea of directing a movie is to make another sitcom, only four times as long.

The fun of Biker Boyz should be in the racing, and though director Reggie Rock Bythewood throws around a lot of techniques, nothing really ignites.

Anyone interested in a no-seatbelts, out-of-control action flick will find much to enjoy in Faster; although even they may prefer seeing it in Blu-Ray at home, which would allow for trips to the fridge for fuel when the film begins to idle in the last reel.

Brooks knew how to engineer a well-crafted script. Yet on the evidence here – a stuttering two-hour outing bereft of any rhythm, a bunch of scenes in search of a movie – he's apparently forgotten.

A disposable, ultimately best-forgotten movie.

A meditation of life, death, reincarnation and biblical symbolism that feels peculiarly like a head-shop poster, blown up to feature-movie size.

As in so many essentially childish movies, it's an actual child who's always the smartest pants in the room.

[Walken's] every minute on screen is filled with that level of jittery invention, and, watching him at play, not even the flintiest temper could resist a wide grin. Envy can surely be a trial, but Saint Christopher is there to ease our troubled journey and see us smilingly home.

Even if I could muster the strength to defy studio marching orders on plot details, there is no point. There is little in Endgame that is worth spoiling, given how its core is spoiled rotten to begin with.

Dark Shadows only meaningful relationship is between Depp and his audience. He's a persona now, no longer an actor. And the kick here, as always, is watching him try on funny accents and hairdos.

As a script it is uneven and tonally inconsistent – best as a brainless, gross-out comedy, less successful when striving for emotional poignancy.

One is inclined to say Stone Cold is unadulterated trash with no pretensions to art - which means that, judged by the criteria of simple- minded action movies, it is not half bad; it delivers its formulaic goods on time and on budget. [17 May 1991]

The Black Stallion Returns is not a magic monument - it's only a terrific film for kids. [26 Mar 1983]

At the heart of the problem with this period piece is an absence of a riveting scene or a memorable slice of dialogue.

Performances, over all, are a mixed bag; Zeta-Jones does a fair, if incongruous, impersonation of a forties vamp, while Chandler and Pepper do well with limited screen time. As usual, Wright, as a Machiavellian police commissioner, transcends so-so-material to establish himself as the most complex character in the film.

While the outdoor sequences were filmed in New Zealand's Woodhill State Forest – the movie's most stunning 3-D moments – Yogi Bear does feature notable "Canadian content" via two Ottawa-born thespians.

The movie itself seems more familiar than fascinating, more innocuous than inflammatory, and, at 2½ hours, more tedious than anything else.

[Cohen] can't quite decide whether to play the picture for high camp or pure adventure or just plain belly laughs. Predictably, he blasts away in all directions at once and hits precious little. [31 May 1996]

Two great beginnings disappoint in the end. If the novel is a dying form, film treatments are the poison. [21 Sep 1981]

The film's long middle section is basically "Paranormal Activity" sans that series' handicam aesthetic, as things go bump in the night and the grown-ups take forever to get their act together.

It gets as stale as pot left too long in the freezer. It isn't until the gang hits the road with some joints and pepperoni sticks (with their nemesis Lahey in hot pursuit) that this film takes off.

The movie, which is roughly as predictable as the attraction of flies to dung, is a hackneyed mix of sentimentality and anarchic comedy.

The original was shot in 3-D; this, by contrast, is 1-D all the way.

More entertaining in concept than execution. What starts as geek comedy gradually slides into a familiar morality play about the savagery beneath the veneer of civility.

Graham Baker, a British director of television commercials, makes a debut that is technically auspicious, and Robert Paynter and Phil Meheux, the cinematographers, have approximated the rich, chocolaty chiaroscuro of The Godfather saga. Does anyone care? [24 Mar 1981]

Luckily, Pugh is captivating as Alice, enriching this otherwise rote thriller with as much turmoil and betrayal as she can. Styles does his best to keep pace but it’s hardly a fair ask.

The film itself struggles to do justice to each victim. Turns out three stories are two too many. The Company Men should have been downsized.

Altered States can be accused of many things, but never of harboring a new idea. Because the script's lessons have been drowned in fruity religious imagery, Altered States is at most an accomplished horror film, the kind of stomach-churning movie to which people like David Cronenberg aspire. [23 Jan 1981]

It should be a better, more authentic movie, considering that screenwriters Maupin and his ex-partner, Terry Anderson, are retelling parts of their own story here.

Horns is allegorically cluttered, unsure of its tone and outrageous with its snakery in a half-serious supernatural thriller about good, evil and redemption in a garden of Eden.

If the facts of the story are essentially true, their presentation is as formulaic as ever.

The movie is a preholiday trifle that’s mildly risqué and a lot sentimental.

Predictable and maudlin. [14 Oct 1985]

In the world of pulp movies, where horror, westerns and Asian exploitation borrow and blend with each other, there's a point where the cross-genre mishmash begins to feel like gobbledegook. That's definitely the case with Sukiyaki Western Django.

The premise of Child's Play, in which the murderer is a much-merchandised doll patterned after cartoon characters known as Good Guys, is long overdue. Unfortunately, the package in which the present arrives is often too little, sometimes too much, and always too late. [11 Nov 1988]

Partly because of Alda's comedy training on television, he has succeeded in making, for two thirds of its length, an amusing and very commercial film. But the last part shows him failing at what he really wanted to do. [23 May 1981]

For all its cinematic assets, Maverick seems a less charming vessel than the show I watched at my daddy's knee.

This is the kind of picture that is faux subtle when it should be bold, and really ham-handed when it should be delicate.

Where this PG-rated adaptation of a hit Broadway show, adapted by Adam Shankman falls down is by being far too mild for its supposedly outrageous subject.

There's a scientific law to be discerned here that producers would be well to heed: Mediocre movies start to drag as soon as the action speeds up; when the explosions start, they fall to pieces.

Comes close to collapsing under the weight of drawn-out scenes and an earnest story that piles on minor themes and subplots, but the energy and visual kick of the band numbers saves the day.

The Woman in the Window isn’t sure whether it’s a thriller, a drama, a psychological study or a slasher. Each Big Moment™ succeeds in eliciting a reaction, but that just leads to a new state of confusion. Confusion that’s spurred on by questions that aren’t answered.

Wobbles like a punch-drunk fighter. It never finds its legs, but allows Ryan -- whose wardrobe looks like Erin Brockovich crossed with Barbarella -- the space to do what she does best: turn on the charm, and make audiences wonder why she's slumming in such a lame storyline.

There’s little here to improve upon the stilted quality of the original, and it’s even more cumbersomely plotted.

With no help from the dialogue, Kidman doesn't have a clue how to make clueless interesting. Not for lack of trying. Her efforts, which often consist of channelling Elizabeth Montgomery by way of Marilyn Monroe, are painful but insistent.

Producer Joseph Levine has spared no expense but achieved very little in this $25- million all-star extravaganza. [16 Nov 1977]

A layabout movie -- not risibly bad, just relentlessly sub-par.

When Uptown Girls isn't trying to play up its wacky high jinks -- and those tend to be so weak they can't possibly float the film -- it stoops to the kind of psychological character development films this shallow should really avoid like the plague.

Full of poop and pratfalls, Daddy Day Care's abrasive marketing campaign promises a fresh slice of hell. So for it not to cause physical pain to any viewer over the age of five is a considerable achievement.

Throbbing musical crescendos and flickery flashbacks abound but apart from some outlandish plot machinations, nothing here is good or bad enough to be memorable.

Ambitious but generic martial-arts movie.

A wild, reckless, gleefully immoral work of pop nihilism.

There are the usual gaggle of embarrassing friends, a lot of voice-over and montages, a wedding, a funeral and wait … something’s missing. Oh, right. Hugh Grant.

No matter how you judge it -- as a strict morality play or simply a psychological thriller -- Apt Pupil just doesn't make the grade.

A Perfect World is perfect indeed - for the initial 15 minutes. After that, the fault-lines start to emerge, widening, widening, until the thing cracks open and falls apart. [24 Nov 1993]

The Addams Family 2 allowed me a couple of nostalgic chuckles, while the kids were entertained by the antics. It wasn’t entirely a snooze, but I can’t say it was particularly memorable for either of us.

This is insubstantial stuff, light as laughter, and every bit as fleeting. [13 Feb 1982]

Sometimes, a strong premise makes for a weak movie, which ends up drowning in its own clever conceit.

Lola Versus is all Greta all the time, a bonanza for fans and proof that Gerwig's easy offbeat charm, obvious smarts and physical comedy gifts can carry a film.

Under better circumstances, Cooper might be said to have stolen the picture outright. But as it is, and compelling as he is, there's just nothing here to steal.

So much of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker is pulled from what has come before, and so much of it carries the wear and tear of repetition.

On screen, the result feels stagey and cramped, as though the film had been "adjusted for your TV set" before going to video. [13 Dec 1996]

Light to the point of disposability, Sweet Home Alabama is a small screwball comic idea that spins out far too long.

In the role, Lawrence dominates. Red Sparrow is stylish and tense enough, but the writing is run-of-the-mill and the film lacks the soul of something like the Nikita movies. The watchability comes from Lawrence.

Beirne and Kolasky's performances hit many high notes.

The Mosquito Coast is a work of consummate craftsmanship and it's spectacularly acted, down to the smallest roles (Martha Plimpton as a classically obstreperous preacher's daughter, for example), but its field of vision is as narrow and eventually as claustrophobic as Allie's. [28 Nov 1986]

The problem with Paradise Alley is that it has been made by the character Stallone was playing in Rocky: it has the cinematic mind of a 14-year-old in the glossy body of a major movie. [14 Nov 1978]

Dealing with such heavy matters as death, faith and forgiveness, the film wants to be a classic-in-the-making, but it just doesn’t hit the emotional and narrative cues necessary for such a weighty job.

As for Vaughn, he seems exhausted by his strenuous efforts to bring a few sparks of spontaneity to such an overcalculated Christmas product.

That feelgood story of a long dormant musical dream finally realized was enough to earn major press attention, but is it enough for a feature-length film? Probably not, which is why writer-director Pohlad piled on the melodrama and leaned into clichés.

Having no emotional stakes leaves me cold, and leaves three cheeky actors with nothing to play. These characters are staring down death. They should be raging against the dying of the light, not going gently into their early-bird supper.

Rude, lewd and occasionally in the nude, The Hangover brings a collection of fresh faces to the familiar raucous male-bonding comedy.

A story only slightly more complex than your average episode of "Friends."

The emotional geometry is familiar enough to be credible yet odd enough to be creepy.

An icy Sarah Gadon can’t plumb it, offering a quietly mannered performance where a beautifully furrowed brow and occasional tear suggest the character cares more about looking elegant than dying. Thankfully, in the warmer roles of Yoli and her resilient Mennonite mother, Alison Pill and Mare Winningham do find the big broken heart at the core of this story.

Since "To pay or not to pay" is banal, the plot takes the popular path of excess to a brain-boggling twist (to be specific would be to ruin what fun there is), then spirals off in a series of ever more unlikely gyrations, until a heretofore decent picture has gone completely south into fantasy-land.

Director Roger Goldby tinkers with important issues around aging, only to steamroll it all with a slipshod script.