This testosterone-fest even features a battle inside a strip bar replete with topless women. Talk about your guilty pleasures.

The film becomes so much urgent nonsense, its killing spree neither cheaply thrilling nor even more cheaply cathartic. It's only gory.

Everything in it is old bat.

The B-movie is back, folks, but who knows how long the fun will last.

Generally engaging.

What distinguishes The Watcher from all the films it consciously or unconsciously emulates is the intermittently witty, offbeat writing of debuting screenwriter David Elliot.

Endgame has become a nincompoop's travelogue, drenched in stage blood, fake beards, and crappy special effects.

If you give it half a chance, it will entertain you.

Confusing to anyone who's familiar with the word "plot."

Pop junk, an airport paperback, literally, turned into a mid-budget devil thriller.

Words cannot do justice for this homage to Ed Wood.

There are lots of elements that make no sense whatever.

A teen screamer with enough implants for the boys and enough bitchiness for the girls.

Ah, young love. It can be quaint and heartwarming, but is largely inconsistent and painful -- kind of like this movie.

Its film school aesthetics and sophomoric storytelling are sense-deadening.