Director Attenborough's film version has a couple of pleasant numbers which serve as oases amidst the dullness.

Like Larry, Cadillac Man doesn't know quite what it wants to do. At first the film seems to be a low-key comedy about a small-time hustler, then it becomes a kind of Dog Day Afternoon-style melodrama. Ultimately it is an uneasy mix of the two.

This southern-fried mess of poetic crime-movie cliches is redeemed by standout performances.

MacDowell, Staunton and Chancellor are terrific, tearing into their juicy roles and reveling in first-time feature writer-director Jim McKay's sharp-tongued dialogue.

Little more than a lengthy Twilight Zone episode.

Frankenheimer pulls out all the stops to lend excitement to the racing footage--splitting the screen into ever smaller increments, mounting cameras to the cars to get shots taken inches above the track, and using slow motion--but ultimately his obsession with technique becomes wearying, and the plot is simply not interesting enough to stand on its own.

All in all, Fritz is best observed as a cultural artifact, with its success allowing Bakshi to follow it up with more heartfelt projects such as Heavy Traffic (1973) and Coonskin (1975).

Benson is as annoyingly untalented as ever, and the film is definitely overlong, bordering on the dull.

De la Iglesia's years of filmmaking experience are obvious in the film's formal touches -- his transitions between scenes and time frames are smooth and very stylish.

It's so perfectly contrived and mechanical and fresh as a daisy, it's infuriating.

The film is merciless in its depiction of death and suffering, Pitt and Corbet are perfectly cast, and Watts, who also served as executive producer, gives a disturbingly raw performance.

A wacky, occasionally inventive road movie that fails to display the vision or the dark intensity of director Lynch's earlier work.

In all, it's a peculiar mishmash, simultaneously bland and suggestive.

This film doesn't know who its target audience is. Adults will find it plodding and predictable. Parents of small children should think twice about letting them see this film: the violence is cartoonish, but still brutal, and much of the dialog will be over their heads. Perhaps teenagers will enjoy it (perhaps they'll get some really neat ideas from it, too). John Hughes' vision of Dennis is much more menacing than Ketcham's fans and parents of small children might reasonably expect.

The direction is routine action filmmaking with no originality. The film, therefore, is both exciting and flat all at once.

Everyone does his or her own singing--a mistake, except in the case of Presnell. Eastwood talk-sings effectively, a la Rex Harrison, but Marvin sings so badly that his numbers are camp classics.

Alien meets Basic Instinct in this textbook illustration of what happens when millions of dollars' worth of technical expertise is brought to bear on a cheap, exploitative script.

Though positioned as a glum expose of America's violent schools (a cause for hand-wringing at least as far back as 1955's The Blackboard Jungle), the story is overwhelmed by the throbbing score, music-video aesthetic (New York scenes are shot in cold blues and grays, while the L.A. sequences are a hazy, burnt-out yellow) and the exotic, colorful psychos who rule Garfield's classroom: It's a New York Times editorial by way of CLASS OF 1984.

A fairly interesting, but somewhat muddled, road movie starring Newman as an ex-cop who now drives cars from Denver to San Francisco for a living.

The second leads are far more interesting: Belushi brings a brash, hearty presence to the film, while Perkins is wonderfully acerbic. Their scenes together are the movie's best.

The devout will no doubt enjoy this picturesque dramatization of an inspirational story many have known since childhood; others may understandably expect something more.

The manipulative climax works, even as you feel like the jerk in tear-jerking.

Bright, bubbly and thoroughly inconsequential.

Grownups who grew up on The Jetsons and children who, like the movie's heroes, aren't yet nine years old, should enjoy this film.

If you like Prince's music, you'll love this movie. If not, stay away.

Whether the source material or Hare's tinkering is to blame for the fact that the story keeps the viewer at arm's length, the end result is still the same: A film that's technically superb, yet still falls short of true greatness.

Fox's performance is surprisingly assured; Sutherland is also convincing as his self-centered, dissipated, and snobbish best friend.

Climaxes in an ending of such sleazy preposterousness that it's almost worth the price of admission alone.