Moritsugu's film is really just a loose collection of encounters between characters that at times barely hangs together.

Ambles to a surprisingly affecting conclusion, almost despite itself.

This film, with an all-black cast, is a cut above most black -exploitation films of the period, despite the regulation blood and gore.

The picture is nearly stolen, however, by co-star Greg Germann (of TV's Ally McBeal) in the role of Joe's company's resident corporate weasel. Germann's squinty-eyed insincerity is truly a marvel to behold, and it's an astringent corrective to the film's rather too frequent feel-good passages.

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.

The action sequences, especially the climax, are painfully deficient, one of the many demerits of Hamilton's dull direction. Only the cast makes this worth catching for less demanding fans of the war genre.

Starts with a bang and ends in a long, protracted whimper.

The original Phantasm was an inventive fever-dream, but the sequel, unfortunately, lacks that delirious youthful imagination. There are some memorable moments along the way--fleeting images scattered throughout the film that have a cumulative effect--but when the shocks do come, they are mostly retreads of highlights from the first movie.

This solid, if familiar, neo-noir premise is nevertheless given a fresh spin by the funky NYC locales, the dubwise hip-hop soundtrack, the terrific chemistry between Brody and the underrated Seda and the one and only Pam Grier.

The movie's physical violence isn't gratuitous -- it's the emotional violence that makes this a movie for grown-ups, not kids.

Director Kleiser fails to bring the kind of loopy energy that Pee-Wee's Big Adventure director Burton brought to the first film.

By the film's downbeat climax, Cerda's dread of death and uncertainty about digging too deeply into what's better left buried have become palpable, and The Abandoned lingers beneath the skin as any decent horror movie should.

This is pure big-budget formula filmmaking.

The story's incredible coincidences, lazy cynicism and easy ironies recast a real-life horror story as easy-to-dismiss melodrama, complete with sequential "happy" endings.

The big trouble here is that there seem to be pieces of three different films rubbing up against each other without ever fitting together.

Although phenomenally well-acted, the film's leisurely pace ultimately makes it feel as oppressive as the tropical heat and humidity that gradually turn the characters into slow-moving heaps of damp, dirty rags.

Stone Cold is a stupid, no-stakes movie, and no manner of high jinks can hide that fact.

Polish director Agnieska Holland paid no mind to the actors' accents during casting, and the melange of British, French and American speech helps sink a film that's already foundering under the weight of its pretentions.

Embry and first-time actress Sparks have charming chemistry, but Christopher's slight screenplay wears out its welcome long before the film - which runs a scant 80 minutes - is over.

Armstrong gives an annoying, strident performance of her complaining character. The film is devoid of wit, excitement, or interesting characterization.

This remake of the classic Hitchcock mystery is a far cry from its predecessor, lacking the style and subtle humor of the master.

It seems the children's grim purpose on earth is to be destroyed in a violent manner, enabling fearful, warlike, and ignorant modern man to learn a valuable lesson about himself.

The first film by director David Cronenberg, the black and white, hour-long feature Stereo is more self-consciously avant-garde, and less visceral, than his later work. Nevertheless, many of the usual Cronenberg concerns are present: a futuristic setting, bizarre scientific experimentation, and an obsessive exploration of perverse forms of sexuality.

A delightful surprise, a tightly written, savvy slapstick comedy with genuine heart.

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.

In time-honored Hollywood fashion, PHENOMENON suggests that smart people are friendless freaks who'd be far better off if only they were just as dumb as the rest of us.

Director Jack Sholder is a whiz at coordinating the traffic in the many catch-me-if-you-can-or-explode sequences, which provide a visceral thrill to appeal to the six year old in everyone, but which must be balanced against the lame story, offensive ethnic stereotypes, and perfunctory acting.

The movie's tone fluctuates wildly, suggesting that no one was exactly sure what kind of movie they were making.