None of this is any more fun as it sounds -- the cancer ward scenes are truly disturbing -- but to be fair, writer/director Lone Scherfeg (the first woman to make a Dogme 95 film) manages some black-humored laughs.

An enormous number of symbols--sexual, religious, and political--collide randomly in this pretentious, incoherent horror story.

A series of heavily telegraphed, desperately played and incredibly unfunny sight gags, Silent Movie is truly a maddeningly insulting salute to the golden age of film comedy.

This stage-bound farce could easily be an American sitcom: It's all slamming doors, eavesdropping and stupid miscommunications, garnished with a heavy-handed helping of comedy of humiliation.

The relentlessly self-congratulatory tone is oppressive.

If it's all supposed to be in fun, why does it feel so much like an insult?

Another mindless exercise in unexciting, unmotivated action sequences punctuated by moments of stupid, redneck, good-ol'-boy humor.

Dante gleefully trashes cliches and sentimental Capra-esque notions, but one should not forget this movie was given a "PG" rating and cynically aimed to draw an audience of small children who would no doubt be terrorized by this myth-shattering film.

The screenplay just isn't funny: Most jokes fall flat and just lie there in a pool of their own sick. And while Zwigoff's deadpan pacing was perfect for the wry, sophisticated humor of "Ghost World," here it's a comedy killer; that extra beat after each new outrage is just long enough for viewers to realize just how sad and disturbing it all is.

Incoherent horror film about a woman, Hill, searching for her father, a surrealist painter in a small California coastal town that has become overrun with flesh-eating zombies. Katz and Huyck, who enjoyed great success as the writers of George Lucas' AMERICAN GRAFFITI, stooped to ripping off George Romero's low-budget masterpiece NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD.

It's fun for awhile, but soon the sheer lunacy of it all wears thin as Corman keeps trying to top himself.

The films of writer/director Francis Veber are a bracing reminder that French comedies can be every bit as broad, unsophisticated and cliched as their American counterparts.

A weird picture based on a slim novel by Carson McCullers, this movie fails to engender any sympathy or interest due to several miscalculations.

A classic among lovers of truly bad movies.

Ken Russell applies his rococo outpourings to Pete Townshend's rock opera and botches not only the visuals but the fine score.

The humor here is forced, incoherent, and sophomoric, made worse by Thomas Chong's amateurish direction.

Meredith's narrative helped to keep the proceedings together but could not circumvent Rydell's ordinary direction and the silly script. McQueen could do a lot of things well, but comedy wasn't his forte.

Cassavetes' films can be annoying and enigmatic, but they are usually creative and interesting. Not so with this one.

Insipid, formulaic and suitable for the dumbed-down sensibilities of lowest-common-denominator couch potatoes.

It's difficult to figure just what is going on here, and most certainly not worth the effort.

Stereotypes abound in this foolish, witless western--a production misusing the fine talent in its cast.

We never get a real sense of what made these recordings so different or revolutionary. Part of the problem is that re-recorded versions of songs by the actors were used in the film, with vastly mixed results that never match the ferocity and excitement of the original tracks.

Directed by Charles Band, the son of Italian trash-master Albert Band and the head of Empire Pictures, Trancers is on the same subgutter, grade-school-mentality level as the rest of Empire's output.

Toback quickly reveals himself as an insufferable, opinionated blowhard who pontificates shamelessly about the art of the cinema while indulging his own obsessions on film.

Played for Maverick-like comedy, the film might have coasted on Harris and Mortensen's dialogue. But played straight it's both dull and preposterous.

This attempt to combine elements of vampire lore with the limited format of the teen sex comedy is a monstrous movie all right, a frighteningly awful horror comedy.

Not everyone's cup of tea, but definitely a must-see for fans of the band.

The Big Picture is a failed attempt to spoof the wheelers and dealers behind the scenes in Hollywood. Christopher Guest, who directed and cowrote this diatribe against the inanities of the studio system, has created what amounts to no more than a series of sketches that would probably work better on television than in this prolonged, belabored movie.