Shock-rocker Rob Zombie's loving homage to flat-out nasty horror films of the 1970s will leave many post-"Scream" (1996) horror fans cold because of what it's not. It's not slick or glossy. It's not funny or self-referential.

As played by the classically trained Robert Englund, Freddy is a vital killer who brings a sense of creepy fun to his demented work — moviegoers actually like the guy. The nightmares themselves are another reason for the series' success. Seldom have films explored the nightmare world with such effect, style, and panache.

FREDDY'S DEAD is one of the weaker entries, with overt violence downplayed, perhaps because Freddy has become something of an institution, star of the silver screen as well as a short-lived TV series and innumerable merchandizing ploys.

Brooks, hardly a great director, doesn't quite pull off this adaptation of the Rossner novel.

More admirable as a sheer technical feat of filmmaking than as a sustained dramatic narrative. It still makes worthwhile viewing.

Unfortunately, the film suffers from the weak script's predictable situations and underdeveloped characters, and the pathos and cliches become hard to take, making Honkytonk Man more of a curiosity piece for followers of Eastwood than a truly compelling story.

Though something less than a masterpiece of the genre, this good-natured skirmish in the war between men and women benefits from Hudson's thoroughly charming performance.

The film is rich with period flavor, and Phillips is superb as Valens, but the rags-to-riches story (even if true) is maudlin and overfamiliar.

Well acted (notably by newcomer Brown), warm hearted and utterly predictable, this film is aimed squarely at everyone who loved "Good Will Hunting."

A thoroughly disappointing and overproduced picture, A Bridge Too Far is nevertheless technically impressive and its sheer scope may interest hardcore warmongers.

This formulaic comedy is a real kid-pleaser, full of spitballs and slapstick mayhem. Most adults will be squirming long before the heartwarming finale -- what a drag it is getting old.

First-time filmmaker Ben Younger makes not a single false move when delineating the merciless, high-testosterone world of boiler-room brokerages.

There's just not enough good material, however, to sustain the comic pace.

An enjoyable, light-hearted romantic comedy with some cute incestuous undertones, CHANCES ARE is among the best of the body-switch films that cluttered movie screens in the late 1980s.

An efficient but shallow fright show.

Between Magruder's oily schmoozing and the camera-ready combo of Spanish moss and constant rain, he and cinematographer Changwei Gu whip up some amazing atmosphere.

Lack of chemistry between Richard Gere and Julia Roberts sinks this souffle.

Director Hyams tries desperately to evoke the feel of the best of the 1940s wartime romantic dramas but, despite solid performances from the leads, his screenplay is predictable and trite, leaving the audience little to look forward to.

Ultimately, the film feels unfocused and attenuated, despite its brief running time.

The climactic revelation is a real disappointment, humdrum rather than chilling.

Days of Thunder delivers only the bare essentials. Boys, the reasoning seems to go, will be lured into the theater by the siren call of gasoline and super-charged engines, while their girl friends will tag along to get a look at Cruise in tight jeans.

Ritt and Field seem to have been trying to capitalize on the southern backwoods setting that served them so well in Norma Rae, but this time around they didn't have nearly as engaging a story with which to work.

Mindless fun, though, if you don't look too hard at the effects and are willing to accept the wooden Urich as Errol Flynn or Louis Hayward.

It's a good thing that Cummings and Leigh have such talented friends: They may overstay their welcome, but it's the entertaining guests who end up saving this poorly planned party.

The obvious product of a corporate search for the next great fantasy franchise, this adaptation of the first in a series of popular children's books by the writer-illustrator team of Holly Black and Tony DiTerlizzi is a lump of leaden whimsy.

The film founders during a series of uncomfortable scenes involving Biggs and DeVito, whose performance verges on painful caricature, but Ricci is adorable and delivers Allen's sharp dialogue with real flare.

It's just plain exhausting to watch the admirably game cast members running around like headless chickens in chic period clothes, surrendering their dignity to the task of navigating the plot's frenetic contrivances.

King's stories are nothing special, and with the exception of the final entry, nothing in the film is particulary scary.