This tale has been told and retold; the races and rackets change, but the song remains the same.

Director Abrahams, working on his own for the first time, has some problems with pacing and with sustaining an essentially one-joke premise that never arrives at its big payoff.

The Connery-Bardot pairing that Shalako offers simply can't pump much life into this otherwise typical big-budget western set in 19th-century New Mexico.

A minor disaster. Director Michael Mann presents a fantastic-looking movie, filled with great production values and lush cinematography. Unfortunately, these are combined with a totally incoherent narrative, punctuated by incredibly inept performances from usually fine actors.

Though the film springs an okay twist at the very end, there's a good chance you won't be awake to see it.

She's Having a Baby could have been a fascinating and funny look at the conflict between marriage and personal ambition had its writer-director probed more deeply into the subject. Hughes instead falls back on the easy jokes, hip music, and superficial character studies that have obscured the basic viability of all his work.

Children may delight in some of DROP DEAD FRED's fanciful effects sequences, but they're likely to be bored by Elizabeth's grown-up problems. And adults may identify with its self-help message, but the rest is squirm-inducing.

While in her earlier movies Jennifer Love Hewitt made an impression by spilling out of her tops, in this one she spills out of her clothes at both ends. This could, if one were feeling charitable, be construed as a broadening of her range.

Tepid action picture that fails to live up to its interesting premise.

The heavy-handed score by notoriously heavy-handed James Horner is often the only indication that there's supposed to be a point to this showcase for Gooding's relentlessly adorable mugging.

Gotcha is a hopelessly shallow film, serving up a good deal of hokum in the ridiculous plot. It's a contrived idea to start with, and the script goes through predictable twist after twist until the inevitable conclusion.

Mimics the kind of comedy that doesn't date particularly well to begin with.

Obviously, gags rather than plot are central to a movie like LOADED WEAPON, but even so, neither the writing nor the acting is strong enough here. Estevez and Jackson are adequate as deadpan actors who remain oblivious to the chaos around them, but they lack the super-straight persona that makes Leslie Nielsen so effective as a dimwitted cop in the NAKED GUN movies. Often the jokes seem to barely squeak over their heads when they should fly.

Shot in shades of steely gray and streaked with near-constant rain, this gloomy revenge thriller is a sadistic cartoon.

This is a psychological study that rejects psychology, an erotic drama of surpassing coldness, and a story of amour fou in which the madness is calculated and the love frozen.

Gordon makes the mistake of preserving Bradfield's highly idiosyncratic dialogue -- dazzling on the page, deadly in any actor's mouths -- and the otherwise talented Lloyd is miscast.

It's painfully corny and surprisingly vulgar, but this embarrassing attempt at a father-son heart-warmer just happens to feature two Hollywood legends, and they're both in terrific form.

The generally competent B-list actors are hobbled by cliché-ridden dialogue but do their best to react in remotely plausible ways each time the script nails them with some new melodramatic contrivance.

A couple of good jokes and a superior performance by Martin are all that distinguish this feeble attempt at capturing the same audience who loved Newman in BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID. Rosenberg's direction is pedestrian.

A genial and instantly forgettable sports comedy.

There are some amusing moments early in the film, as Lattanzi's friends try to teach him about sex as only teenaged boys can.

Weber's losers really are losers -- envious, spiteful, complacent, mean-spirited and ultimately boring malcontents pickled in their own poison, and they drag his film down with them.

In a year that saw everyone from Burt Reynolds to Michael J. Fox to Schwarzenegger himself handcuffed to six-year-old sidekicks in high-concept cartoons, one could do worse than to exploit the image of a professional wrestler forced to play mom. That said, Mr. Nanny is of little interest to any audience other than pre-teens of all ages.

The material is familiar, and doesn't have anything new to say about the ways men and women wound each other.

An underdeveloped script, anemic direction and pacing, uninspired production design, and miscasting of the two lead roles undermine some intriguing ideas and characters in Millennium. Despite its many deficiencies, however, this sci-fi brain teaser with love story elements is not entirely without interest.

Be warned: The end credits contain a particularly nauseating image you'll wish you could delete from memory.

Director Rowdy Herrington lives up to his name: once he's seen to it that all the conventions of the western are in place, he presents an all-out brawl on the average of about every 12 minutes or so, and the battles quickly grow tiresome. Swayze is up to a part that requires him merely to show his muscles and dexterity, but Gazzara is trapped in his hopelessly evil caricature, leaving Sam Elliott (in a too-limited role) to provide the film's only real charm.

Douglas's Chief Executive is no vote-getter; he's a charmless, irritating boob who can't even order flowers for a woman. With friends like Douglas and Reiner, Clinton doesn't need Rush Limbaugh.