Take out the weak acting and what's left in this sequel to Enter the Ninja is a fairly good display of martial arts.

Shot as "Backwater" and test-screened as "The Reaper," this film contains a couple of bracingly mean sequences, but it cleaves so closely to the slasher-movie formula that it can't muster up any suspense at all.

Ritter lacks the charisma to bring his role off, the slapstick is tiresome, and Edwards' script fails to generate sympathy for Zach or to develop characters.

More a standard haunted-house comedy than a parody of FRIDAY THE 13TH, this uninspired farce rarely succeeds...Pitifully childish on all counts, SATURDAY THE 14TH really doesn't contain anything fresh or funny, save one gag in which the gill man emerges from a bubble bath.

There's nothing very new or original in this dull sex comedy.

Director Michael Cimino turned YEAR OF THE DRAGON, an engrossing novel by Robert Daley, into a confused, overlong, preachy, and at times downright annoying crime epic with a wholly unsympathetic main character played by the totally miscast Mickey Rourke.

Burt Reynolds hits new lows as he mugs his way through this film as Stroker Ace, a race-car driver who's under the control of chicken-franchise owner Clyde Torkle (Ned Beatty). The script is filled with good ol' boy humor and car crackups.

The lesson is that money can buy a vanity project, but it can't buy talent, imagination or an audience.

This time around, expect more of the same -- a tedious, muddleheaded tale about a malevolent spirit haunting cyberspace -- with somewhat tastier special effects.

Levy can't seem to tell if something is funny or not and keeps up the sledgehammer intensity throughout every scene, comic subtlety and timing abandoned in a desperate attempt for laughs--even pained ones.

The dialogue tries to give Godzilla some higher meaning, but it doesn't know what it wants that to be.

Rocky IV is a far cry from the delights (both large and small) of its illustrious original.

What was a subtle farce when directed by Yves Robert in French becomes an overstated comedy here, with all the actors hamming it up to no end.

Enjoyable in a foolish way as Dickey performs amazing acrobatic feats while slicing up dozens of people with her sword. This film constitutes more slick exploitation from schlockmeisters Golan and Globus.

A preposterous misfire.

If your tolerance for repetition in genre films is already low, this one will probably push you right over the edge.

Ali G Indahouse simply revels in mainstream inanity, doing its incremental bit to dumb down the popular movie going experience and encourage rampant stupidity. There's nothing funny about that.

An anemic adventure that epitomizes generic feature animation.

Fans will clap along with the many songs, but the tunes aren't interesting enough to win over the unconverted -- a fact made clear when genuine teen star Taylor Swift shows up to perform -- she demonstrates all the spontaneity and authenticity that Miley Cyrus lacks.

The special effects are good, with some nifty computer-generated animation, but they're an empty, ineffective crutch on which to support an entire film--and besides, better visuals had already appeared in THE LAWNMOWER MAN.

Viewers are spared nothing as Steve Burns undergoes degrading brutality after brutality; virtually nobody is portrayed sympathetically.

Silly but not always funny, WILDCATS relies too much on Hawn's familiar screen persona, getting little mileage from the actress' "serious" moments, yet it manages to provide more than a chuckle or two.

Sure, the humor is witless and the gags are often inane, but, given the quality of its predecessors, POLICE ACADEMY 3: BACK IN TRAINING has the dubious honor of being the funniest of the series to date.

So awash in tired ethnic clichés that the story drowns.

Certainly, it's gross, and maybe even a bit shocking, but these filmmakers are smart enough to realize that raising the bar on crassness in teen sex comedies is a zero sum game.

Jack H. Harris, the cheapie producer who went on to make the forgettable Mother Goose A Go-Go, struck it rich with this silly picture that gave McQueen his first starring role after a few supporting jobs in Somebody Up There Likes Me and Never Love A Stranger.

An innocuous comedy chiller, HAUNTED HONEYMOON isn't very chilling and, worse yet, isn't very funny.

Because of their restricted movements and expressions, we never believe for a moment that the creatures exist, thus making the film an utter failure.

The film tries to be a modern-day female version of THE DEFIANT ONES but fails to be anything more than 87 minutes of tripe.

Somehow, this one's even worse than the first. Called a sequel, it's basically the same movie, except that this time a different cast of teenagers gets killed in the usual, very graphic manner.

Larter just doesn't have the same bite as the bunny-killing stalkers of years gone by.

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

Lots of gore and some decent artistic effects may keep audiences interested; if not, then the scantily clad.

One of the largest wastes of money ever. More than $33 million was spent on this futuristic version of THE DEFIANT ONES or HELL IN THE PACIFIC, both infinitely superior films. The basic flaw is that its premise is older than your great-grandfather's hat.

When it comes right down to it, TWO MOON JUNCTION could be far, far worse than it is; but given the built-in limitations of this type of film, it can't be any better.

Written by Fraser Clarke Heston, son of Charlton, THE MOUNTAIN MEN is a mindless, bloody pseudo-western purporting to show the last days of the fur-trapping era.

Judged against other martial arts pictures, GYMKATA is technically superior and more intelligently written and directed, but that still doesn't make it worthwhile viewing. The film has only a minimum of credibility or intelligence, but since these qualities have little or no place in the genre, that becomes irrelevant, leaving pure action--kicking, punching, and the snapping sounds of breaking bones--as the main draw.

We're treated to endless scenes of women getting slammed, thrown and clothes lined, while men's genitals are grabbed, groped, stroked and tasered. It's all just as painful as it sounds.

Sure, there are a few funny moments here and there with several obviously intended jokes, but director Richard Fleischer never milks the elements of self-parody for what they're worth.

Landis' direction is indulgent, to say the least, with big landscapes, big crashes, big hardware, and big gags filling the screen. What he forgets is character development, that all-important factor that must exist for comedy to work well.

The musical number that runs during the closing credits funnier than anything that precedes it, which isn't saying much.

Peter Fonda's cameo appearance is a cute fillip, but hardly worth the wait.

Director Armand Mastroianni, Marcello's American-born cousin, puts this oh-so-familiar material through its paces without injecting anything remotely resembling wit or personal style.

Outside of Fonda's minor role as an executive and Huston's equally small part as a newspaper reporter married to Winters, there isn't much to the ultraboring TENTACLES.

Although Russell and Williams have good rapport, Williams' unique improvisational talents are restricted by the script (save for the hilarious training sequence), and the film suffers for it.

An all-star, all-stupid comedy attempt that proves, once again, no actor can triumph over bad material.

This lackluster tale of redemption has violence aplenty and an undercurrent of humor.

First-time writer-director Ryan Shiraki's crude, gross comedy of campus sexual errors might push boundaries better were it not so painfully unfunny.

The material played upon all the best aspects of the socially conscious movements of the 1960s, and then perverted them by preaching that violence is indeed the solution to problems as long as it's for the right cause.

Kristofferson's performance is as monotone as his singing, showing few changes in dramatic emphasis. Unmotivated story riddled with confusion and disarray.

The best thing about this forced film is the special effects at the finale.

With cheesy special effects (even the volcano isn't convincing, considering the film cost $20 million) and a hole-ridden script, this film offers precious little to like.

Director Milius is wholly unconcerned with portraying the criminals of the 1930s as they really were, mixing up facts and fiction in a tasteless stew of violence, blood, and human gore.

Bad teen film unredeemed by aspirations toward significance.

With even less plot and cheaper production values than usual, this is comedy for catatonics that will bore even fans of past entries in the series.

Big, dull, and noisy, this comedy-romance has chases galore, but its comedy is flat and its romance is grating and graceless.

Ambitious though it may be, this fourth entry in the HELLRAISER saga is easily the least of the film series.

Instead of the witty, intelligent script needed to pull off an interracial buddy story, however, the scenario for this film is an obvious lift from RAIDERS and a flat, uninteresting piece of writing, occasionally interspersed with embarrassingly sappy affirmations of friendship.

Another one of those movies that was more of a "deal" than it was a picture.

The People Under The Stairs doesn't play like a fairy tale; there's nothing fantastic about it, and the happy ending, in which money seems to equal happiness, rings terribly false.

Although the "story" is almost wholly without depth or plausibility, it's carried off with great style.

Just more proof that special effects are worthless if there are no solid characters or story. My Science Project is formula filmmaking with no substance, style, or entertainment to be found in its unimpressive package.

An insult to the intelligence of most moviegoers.

Seidelman has succeeded in making a sow's ear out of a silk purse. Weldon's novel is witty, wacky, and wonderfully way out; the film is none of those things. The problem lies with Barr in the pivotal role of Ruth. Once the part was hers, the whole script had to be rewritten around her monotonous delivery and limited acting ability, much to the detriment of the plot.

The title CB4 stands for Cell Block 4, but it may as well mean crash and burn, because that's what happens to this sputtering satire of modern rap music and Black hip-hop culture.

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

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.

The plot line is as simple as they come, and Badham's direction is as mechanical as his star. The human actors are secondary, for the real star of the show is Number 5. He's really pretty charming, though his unusual antics aren't enough to carry a feature-length motion picture.

Director Peter Medak and screenwriter Leonard Michaels (working from his own novel) apparently tried to make a film like THE BIG CHILL for mature men, but the stagy result of their efforts will leave viewers cold. All of the characters are so broadly drawn that they become laughable, rather than interesting.

This one-joke film beats its punch line to death, playing its gay character for big laughs with generally predictable and boring results. Hamilton (who coproduced) chews up the scenery with relish, and the bland supporting performances yield to his campy caricature, But the subtle element of self-parody that distinguished the best of the Zorro films is absent, and the gay stereotype is more offensive than comical.

Even Mo'Nique's outsize presence isn't enough to make ancient gags about stuck-up popular girls or about voluptuous vultures clearing a whole buffet table in one fell swoop funny.

For a few flickering moments, we care a bit about the people, but then it's gone. There's little plot, and the picture is far too long and fraught with allegory. Director Hector Babenco's sense of style is evident, but a sharper editing eye would have helped.

There's something special about this underwhelming mess of a Street Fighter reboot that many cinematic cheese-lovers will find very appetizing. The fact is that The Legend of Chun-Li is not at all a good flick, but it's filled with so much cornball ineptitude that one would think some rather broken mad movie genius was behind it.

Really lame.

The film is a mess from start to finish with several main characters who appear and disappear throughout. No character development, no thematic development, no narrative development. No life. No force. No dice.

Like virtually every Disney comedy released for the last several years, Captain Ron starts well but gets soggier as it goes along.

Considering the major talents involved here, one would expect to find something more than a run-of-the-mill crime thriller. In a sense one does, for 8 MILLION WAYS TO DIE is a paralyzingly inept film.

Mean-spirited and depressing, this horror movie in comedy disguise delights in the twin spectacles of morbid obesity and domestic abuse, of which children are often the target.

Sidney Lumet's overblown direction strips the story of its magic, Ross is too old for the part and never quite captures Dorothy's innocence, and Pryor is wasted in a film ill-suited to his talents.

The choice is yours: Shell out 10 bucks for this dire spoof of recent romantic comedies a la "Scary Movie" and "Not Another Teen Movie", or toss your 12-year-old nephew a quarter and get him to act out scenes from his favorite movies for 80 minutes: The entertainment value will be about the same.

Conway's constant pratfalls and frightened, anxious looks may be a riot for the kids, but anyone over the age of six will find them just plain dumb.

The plot is full of huge holes, and the film fails to live up to its terrific opening credit sequence.

An all-but-incoherent mess whose main components are palpably fake-looking CGI effects, video-game-style action sequences and Milla Jovovich's admirably taut abdomen, Kurt Wimmer's film epitomizes just about everything wrong with post-MATRIX, comic book-/video-game-inspired, Hong Kong-action-style sci-fi thrillers.

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.

Virtual reality aside, THE LAWNMOWER MAN suffers all the usual problems: the cliched story is further undermined by wooden performances (Fahey, his naturally dark hair stripped to the consistency of a Harpo Marx fright wig, is particularly excruciating) and the inevitable [spoiler omitted] ending.

Director Edwards confused humor with speed; so the pace is 150 mph, but there is no time to laugh even if there were any reason to.

No matter how you parse it, the film is a bizarre muddle.

This film was a feeble attempt by Hammer to bring some freshness to its series of Frankenstein films by introducing black humor. The jokes are told in such a straightforward, dry manner, however, that you're never sure whether they're supposed to be taken seriously. 

To cash in on footage from a film Lee did not finish before his death, producer Chow puts in a double and uses out-takes for this kung-fu mess.

All in all, that's not a bad premise for a lightweight chick flick, but director Gary Winick and an army of three screenwriters can't come up with a single fresh comedic idea.

Every so often, a neat little moment will appear and RAISING CAIN will appear to be getting back on track, but like his schizophrenic villain, De Palma always winds up letting his worst instincts get the better of him.

STEPHEN KING'S SLEEPWALKERS is an unusually stupid and tedious film that seems aimed at viewers who have never seen a horror movie and will therefore be shocked and surprised by the idea that such apparently nice people as Mary and Charles Brady could be murderous, shape-shifting energy vampires.

A disappointing attempt at comedy, considering the names of the creators and the adroitness of the stars.

Danny Glover is an adequate straight man, as both Lethal Weapon pictures demonstrate, and Martin Short can certainly be funny. But they don't really play as a team; you get the feeling that their sheer physical disparity--tall, dark-skinned Glover and tiny, red-haired Short--struck someone as so inherently funny that it didn't matter that the two of them don't ignite comic sparks.

Lets down both its actress and the audience.

Highlander 2 is beautiful. But it's largely incoherent. The film is desperately overplotted; events and years rush by and pile up like cars in an interstate wreck. It's also terribly overexplained.

There seems to be a message here about being true to yourself, but it's hard to find it under the blubber jokes.

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.