As terrible as it is — and make no mistake, Moonfall is epically awful — it is also undeniably entertaining. A guilty pleasure, if you will. See it on the biggest screen you can. It’s a, er, riot.

The picture is like an onion. There are layers here, and beneath them more layers. Peeling them back with surgical skill, director Alexandre Aja reveals complicated family dynamics.

The irony of it all is that "Stay Tuned" is itself a TV show, filled with razzle-dazzle, but unfolding with the wispy depth of a sit-com. That makes the casting of TV veterans Ritter and Dawber totally appropriate (and lends the physically hilarious Ritter a good-natured dig at "Three's Company"), but Parker and Jennewein don't capitalize on the potential of their ideas. The nuggets are there ("don't watch so much television" is the basic extent of the message), but if taken more seriously, "Stay Tuned" might've been a funny and deeply affecting film. Instead it's just funny . . . which is OK. [15 Aug 1992, p.C3]

Long before the final battle, the movie runs out of steam. At two hours, it's just too long. But taken as a guilty pleasure, it's tolerable. [19 Apr 1996]

It manages to combine the least appealing qualities of several previous Hughes productions - the obnoxiousness of the central character in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," the tedium of the teen-age confessionals in "The Breakfast Club," the gimmicky plotting of "Home Alone." And it has nothing fresh to add in terms of casting, storyline or the kinds of comic insights about suburban life that sustain Hughes' best scripts. [30 March 1991, p.C5]

Steven Seagal should go into a seven-year coma more often. It suits his acting ability. A coma is what happens to him in Hard To Kill, his latest hard-to-swallow and dull-to-sit-through formula vigilante movie. [10 Feb 1990, p.C7]

The funniest element of what vaguely gestures toward dark comedy is how poorly written this story about writers is.

Blackboard Jungle created this genre (and most of its cliches) more than 40 years ago. 187 doesn't add much more than outrage and resignation. [30 Jul 1997]

Passengers turns out to be a very strange journey indeed; here’s hoping these two team up again, in something more worthy of them.

A soggy thriller in which every scene, even a daytime one early on at the newspaper where Lo works, seems to take place in ominously blue darkness.

The main monster communicates in noises that sound like belches. Appropriate for a picture that’s the equivalent of a cinematic burp: gassy and inconsequential.

While it has no real ambition beyond the standard tale of action-packed revenge, it's still pulsing with primitive energy and the thrill of the ultimate hunt. [16 Apr 1994, p.C5]

Rodriguez does just enough to keep things mildly interesting.

Within this uncertain world, Lopéz-Gallego relishes such noir staples as fatalistic shadows, eruptive mayhem and terse, ironic dialogue. But he and his cinematographer, Jose David Montero, also carve out fresh visual territory.

In the cast, only Isaac makes a vivid impression, in a swaggery, relaxed turn that seems to imply that he’s in on the joke, or at least having a good time.

Nowhere to Run isn't the worst of its kind - it's just painfully uninspired. Perhaps that partially accounts for Van Damme's apparent disinterest. With one expression at his command, it's surprising that he actually musters three distinct acting styles: concrete, steel, and petrified wood. [15 Jan 1993, p.18]

"Metro" could easily have been subtitled "Beverly Hills Cop 4."

It just feels like a pretty idea that didn’t get fully developed; an origin story that we didn’t need.

It's easy to see why the Rangers are popular. Even before they magically morph, the kids are sky-diving, roller-blading and living without parental authority. And they kick serious butt. But it's all done quite unhumorously.

This colossus may be mechanized, but it's gloriously efficient. The stakes get higher with each installment, and Donner knows how to corral the show-stopping mayhem into a polished, antiseptically entertaining package. [15 May 1992, p.3]

Avildsen does a good job with all of these actors, and his re-creation of 1930s/1940s South Africa on sets in Zimbabwe and Botswana is convincing; his handling of squalor in the townships is particularly detailed and vivid. It's the best work he's done since winning the Oscar for the first "Rocky." But because of the script's shortcomings the result is only half of a good movie. [27 March 1992, p.22]

McCarthy’s trademark blend of chipper likability and treble-voiced rage just isn’t quite enough to carry things through.

Final Analysis has the most convoluted plot about dreams, heights, murder, infatuation, Freudian imagery and a duplicitous San Francisco blonde since Hitchcock's "Vertigo." It's the kind of whopper that keeps you watching not because it's good but because you can't wait to see what the filmmakers will throw at you next. As it turns out, there's not much they won't try. In fact, by the time this cracked thriller reaches its hysterical finale, it's obvious that anything goes. [7 Feb 1992, p.22]

What we have here is a standard-issue comedy-tinged crime thriller indifferently directed by Tim Story (the “Think Like a Man” and “Ride Along” movies). Its nothing-special plot, the product of writers Kenya Barris and Alex Barnow, features ill-defined villains and briefly touches on Islamophobia and military veteran PTSD and drug abuse — and never follows up on any of those issues.

It’s Harley Quinn’s movie and everybody else in Suicide Squad is just a supporting character. No surprise there. That’s the way it is in the comic books, too. It’s all about personality, and Harley has that by the freight carload.

The Goldfinch feels like a series of often-elegant moments, in service to a story that never quite comes into focus.

Every scene in this film, which stars Robert De Niro as the washed-up title character, is dragged out — kicking and screaming — far longer than it needs to be.

This may be the easiest installment in the series for parents to sit through.