Camille's desperate, destructive antics just don't seem especially cute or funny.

Calling CHILDREN OF THE CORN II a better film than its predecessor is something like damning with faint praise, but this sequel manages to be somewhat less ludicrous and occasionally a little more chilling than the first film.

The best part of the movie is the fetid, oppressive atmosphere Hooper works up inside the sweatshop that evocatively serves as an industrial hell. The Mangler itself is an imposing creation, and its gory activities (which are more so on an unrated video version) pack an occasional chill, but too much of the movie is devoted to slack plotting and overstated acting.

Danner, whose Dina actually resembles a human being, would be its saving grace if her gracefully controlled performance weren't lost in a sea of braying caricatures.

Diehard Sandler fans will probably find it uproarious, but others will have to make do with the occasional chuckle.

The climactic shootout might have more impact if we actually cared about the so-called characters.

Producer Irwin Winkler's directorial debut is a well-intentioned history lesson that may play like a clear-eyed relevation for the last person in the world not yet aware of the period of the Hollywood blacklist. For everyone else, Guilty By Suspicion is a mediocre, pointless non-examination of a paranoid, hysterical historical tragedy.

The film's sense of humor is relentlessly smutty. Rifkin attempts to wring laughs from gross food, breasts, garbage and sex with fat women. He is largely unsuccessful.

It's hard not to feel sorry for the high-profile cast, obviously working for brownie points in heaven -- they're so good, yet nothing they do can make the movie fly.

Smith's unrepentantly juvenile sense of humor leans heavily on elementary pop-culture parody, a particularly tiresome and parasitic form of humor that depends on an audience of smirking know-it-alls who can be trusted to snicker whenever they get the reference.

Most of the occasional chuckles are provided by the spunky York, who really gives Diesel a run for his money.

A meandering and deeply shallow tale of spiritual redemption.

Loud, stupid and clumsy.

For horror fans in a forgiving mood, it's an adequate fear fix.

This tepid romantic comedy not only fails to break the rules, but it follows them to the letter.

The less time you've devoted to thinking about the nature and uses of the erotic imagination, the more challenging this will seem.

This lackluster sequel was surely much more fun to make than it is to watch.

Essentially a big-budget, modern-day version of a 1960s acid-trip film, ALTERED STATES was helmed by flamboyant, talented, but frequently self-indulgent director Ken Russell, who takes a confusing Paddy Chayefsky story and wraps it in a pretty package, but fails to bring any clarity to the silly affair.

Visually stunning and breathtakingly frank, but thrill-seekers beware.

The violence is excessive and the plot predictable, although there is some style to director Winner's approach.

For most of the film, Cedric seems to be holding back, though his relationship with genuinely charming rapper-turned-actor (Lil') Bow Wow offers up a few funny moments.

It doesn't help that the cast is populated by unfunny actors, with the possible exception of Evans, who is an appealing presence if not necessarily a great comedienne.

Falls victim to an overly tricky rethinking of the way familiar TV shows are transformed into movies.

If Michael Wincott -- who under normal circumstances can chill your blood just by breathing -- can't make the villain compelling, you know the movie's in trouble.

The main characters are defined by their problems, and the secondary characters (notably Brigette's parents) are so crudely drawn it's hard to imagine what Cates was thinking.

The film's greatest asset is Linney, whose prickly, finely calibrated performance as the doomed Harraway makes her loss resonate more powerfully than any of the point-counterpoint rhetoric.

It's a silly, stupendously artificial enterprise.

This old-fashioned Western about the glory years of the Texas Rangers, cast with fresh-faced, telegenic young actors whose performances range from adequate to awful, is undermined by a serious lack of true grit.

A hastily assembled follow-up to the surprise smash hit of summer 1992, SISTER ACT 2 is a slapdash affair, with paper-thin plotting and characters more or less redeemed by some winning musical sequences.

The picture is dull and the pacing abrupt rather than quick. STICK might have been a good movie about 20 years ago, before people became sophisticated and demanded depth in characterization.

There are a few sparkles of humor here, but this remake is an inferior product. Whereas Sturges played out his story with wit and flair, Howard Zieff's direction is flat and uninspired.

Overboard aspires to be a wacky, heart-warming screwball comedy, but it is neither memorable nor particularly funny. Hawn and Russell have both shown themselves capable of bringing this kind of light comedy to life, but even their likable screen presences aren't enough.

An often spectacular but ultimately rather tedious musical/adventure/comedy.

If you were to strip the "Austin Powers" films of their juvenile lewdness, psychedelic decor and swinging soundtrack while leaving intact the potty humor and pratfalls, the result would be something very like this pointless spy spoof.

The insidious influence of too much therapy permeates this misguided and very long picture.

The mystery is terribly plotted and the satirical elements are limited and not very funny.

This high-concept gangster picture tries unsuccessfully to duplicate Reservoir Dogs's(1992) hair-raising high-wire balance between dark comedy and violent crime thriller, undermining some entertaining performances and the script's small virtues in the process.

In a film about the ruthless corporate destruction of small businesses, it's hard not to flinch at the prominent placement accorded IBM, Starbucks and AOL logos.

For the most part, anything resembling a genuine plot is pushed back to give a showcase for Shore, a scenery chewer without conviction or noticeable talent, whose deficits as an actor and comedian have evidently remained safely hidden in the zap-happy MTV format until now.

This third--and, at $30 million, most expensive--go-around gamely attempts to jump-start the viewer's interest with the canny switch of locations (and centuries), but the new recipe can't change the fact that this Turtle soup has grown cold.

Then there's the utter lack of sexual chemistry between Li and Aaliyah, sucking all the urgency out of the relationship between the star-crossed lovers.

Nicely shot around New York City, this dodgy mixture of cutesy romance, dark satire and murder mystery uses the same central conceit as Neil LaBute's "Nurse Betty."

Slight, over-long.

Pacino's no-holds-barred performance is either the reason to see this tepid thriller or the reason to avoid it. His evocation of a Sidney Falco-style flack worn to a nub by decades of trying to spin this dirty town is nothing if not bravura.

The plot is mindless and only an excuse for lots of music video-styled dance sequences.

Has the dubious appeal of a preachy "Afterschool Special."

In its noisy, pointless way, STREET FIGHTER does come close to the frenetic meandering of a video game scenario--which is precisely the problem. Video games are always more fun for the players involved than onlookers; consequently, this whole subgenre seems inherently self-defeating.

It's a good thing the two rappers are such utterly natural actors, armed with terrific comic timing.

Although it looks like an action thriller with a sci-fi twist, the bad guys aren't scary (Biehn's soul patch notwithstanding), the sci-fi element is silly and the action is limited to some extreme bike riding and computer-generated zipping around.

The film's real problem is Carpenter's diffuse narrative, which introduces far too many characters--forcing the director consistently to cut away to each story strand, thus destroying much of the suspense. What does work, however, is Carpenter's unmatched visual style and the marvelous photography of Dean Cundey.

A long, dark night o' slacker despair, courtesy of Richard Linklater and self-important blowhard Eric Bogosian.

Possibly Minnelli's worst screen musical.

If Reeves weren't onboard this picture would have gone straight to video.

OCTOPUSSY features the usual array of fine stunt work and special effects, and Adams' appearance marks the first time that a Bond woman was allowed an encore performance, but little is added that departs from the Bond formula.

This drag comedy is aimed squarely at middle America, where these cuddly queens should play very well -- just so long as nobody remembers that gay people don't just sing show tunes and cook delightful meals; they also have sex.

Veers inconsistently between sit-com jokeiness and nostril-flaring melodrama.

Feather-light and proudly goofy, this Jackie Chan action comedy appears to be aimed squarely at under-12s.

Despite a certain loopy charm, the film's appeal ultimately hinges on the musicians.

The film is content to relentlessly scream "Boo!" behind the audience's back rather than provide any real thrills.

The supporting cast is stocked with far better actors than Seagal -- Kristofferson, Harry Dean Stanton and Stephen Lang among them -- and country music personalities ranging from Mark Collie, Levon Helm, Randy Travis and Travis Tritt to Loretta Lynn's twin daughters Patsy and Peggy, to whom Seagal's character makes some vaguely suggestive remarks.

A three-hankie weeper in disaster-movie drag, and its tear-jerking bull's-eyes are separated by long stretches of tedium.

One soggy, charmless heap of chum.

The movie fails to make Alma a vivid presence -- She deserves better, and so do viewers.

Bland family comedy.

Buried deep inside this ponderous, repetitive psychological thriller is a fantastic half-hour "Twilight Zone" episode.

VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED projects the most basic of human terrors: the fear of group power overtaking individual will is expressed in the children as well as in the government and medical establishment which intervene in the realm of the body by manipulating reproductive decisions.

Though some individual scenes crackle, overall the film feels unfocussed and flabby, like a series of acting improv exercises strung together.

WELCOME HOME ROXY CARMICHAEL is less a movie than it is an example of what the studios refer to as "product," the kind of toothless comedy that features big stars in frenetic and forgettable farces.

Alexie, who adapted his own novel, bears responsibility for the movie's ham-fisted treatment of racial-identity issues, its tiresome jokes and the dated, throbbing-guitar soundtrack.

Falls far short of its grim potential.

The story's rhythm is so bogged down in unnecessary characterization that the film can hardly breathe.

Where "Charade" unfolds in a fantasy Paris full of glamorous white people, Demme's film takes place in a gray tangle of streets teeming with multi-ethnic Parisians. Newton and Robbins mimic Hepburn and Matthau, while Wahlberg is the anti-Grant, lumpen and thuggish rather than beguilingly debonair.

Halloween makes fright fans even more tolerant than usual of second-rate horror pictures, and this one still doesn't cut the mustard.

Against the odds, this horror series (initially based on a Stephen King short story) has actually improved over time to the point where this third installment is a creditable if far-fetched chiller.

You don't have to be aligned with the forces of evil to despise this infantile, obnoxious sequel to 1992's surprisingly enjoyable 3 NINJAS.

They STILL didn't get it right this TIME.

For everyone who's just dying to know (and can't guess) what it's like to work for Joel Silver, Hollywood mega-producer and notorious egomaniac, Silver's former assistant George Huang has fashioned this mean-spirited revenge comedy. Kevin Spacey is awe-inspiring as the Silver-esque Buddy Ackerman; Frank Whaley is his wimpy whipping boy.

The end is hardly in doubt, since this sweet-natured film treads a path worn smooth and hard by countless other tiny feet. Its message is as unimpeachable as it is familiar, differentiated from countless similar tales only by the Filipino setting.

Norton's screenplay is predictable and the film suffers from its fragmented narrative. Some interest is provided by an unusual visual approach: the various segments employ separate film processes and aspect ratios in an attempt to supply visual analogues for the characters' situations.

While butching up their hero, Moreton and cowriter Dennis Hensley left out one key ingredient: charisma -- for all his macho swagger, the guy's unbearable.

However stale the material, Lawrence's delivery remains perfect; his great gift is that he can actually trick you into thinking some of this worn-out, pandering palaver is actually funny.

To an outsider, it's pretty thin stuff.

Obviously aware that he was hung out to dry with an awful script, director Phil Joanou tries to make up for this handicap with some startling camerawork. Much of it is overdone, but the result is one in which Joanou's visual style transcends the vapid script.

This picture's b-movie values probably play better on video than in theaters.

Weepy, overwrought love story.

CUJO suffers from universally unsympathetic characters, and the dog is just not scary enough to maintain any interest. Significantly, the picture also lacks the sly humor that made ALLIGATOR so appealing.

This poky and indifferently plotted film isn't much of mystery.

The film's utterly predictable dialogue and plot developments will leave most viewers cold. Ice-struck preteens are, of course, the exceptions.

This gentle, slow-moving film contains some charming sequences but no new insights into the pleasures and burdens of family.

The always charming Deschanel manages to rise above most of the film's logy pretensions, but the usually excellent Clarkson isn't so lucky.

Although his film biography features beautiful production design and more than 1,400 costumes, it is unfortunately perfunctory, flat, and predictable.

Far from Bartel's best exploitation work but worth a look for low-budget cult fanatics.

The script is heavy on platitudes about friendship, but since there isn't a single fully fleshed character in sight, who cares?

A truly lousy reworking of a Billy Wilder misfire... The story is drearily predictable, the leads are charmless -- Ormond's 15 minutes are probably already behind her -- and the direction, by the usually reliable Sidney Pollack, is strictly by the numbers.

This has got to be the first time in history that a boy-and-his-dog love story was ruined by having no chemistry between the romantic leads! Hawke doesn't even seem comfortable with the dog. If you want to see a great boy-and-his-dog story, check out Lassie Come Home.

The car stunts are ridiculous, all lightning-fast editing and computer enhancement -- by the time action is this far removed from reality, who cares?

A sporadically funny spoof of aliens-from-outer-space films that begins to run out of fresh ideas after the first 30 minutes.

Has a terminal case of the cutes.