If it weren't for the running flatulence gag, the whole silly business might be mistaken for slight, clean, fast-moving fun.

A sloppy, self-indulgent valentine to the theater, delivered with all the grace of a letter-bomb.

Though occasional flashes of the radiantly bi-cultural romp that might have been peek through, writer-director Deepa Mehta's hybrid is strangely clumsy, given that she's an experienced filmmaker familiar with both Hollywood and Bollywood conventions.

Pure trash, based on a trashy book, filled to the brim with trashy performances, now becoming a trashy cult film.

A dreary, turgid melodrama.

Maybe such cloddish sight gags as dipsomaniac priest chug-a-lugging from the communion chalice or an apparently straight-laced yuppie in full S&M drag just aren't very funny.

This story, directed and cowritten by Joan Rivers, had been done before and somewhat better by Frenchman Jacques Demy in the 1973 film A SLIGHTLY PREGNANT MAN.

Though there are a few chuckles, the presentation is predictable slapstick and takes much longer than need be to get to the main point.

There are two stunning battle sequences, and that rose-tinted bloodbath is a stroke of the eccentric genius for which Stone is famous.

All technical credits are first rate, but Friedkin doesn't draw enough on his substantial cinematic talent.

Writer/director Craig Rosenberg is no master of subtlety -- in fact, he seems to have only two settings, whacking excess and treacly pathos -- and the film is awash in ponderous whimsy.

Gutierrez keeps some of Leonard's tart dialogue, but not enough to hide the fact that the story has no momentum -- those gratuitous shots of pro-sufers shooting curls don't compensate -- and there's zero chemistry between the whiny Wilson and Foster, who has yet to make the transition from model to actress.

How well you'll tolerate this utterly unhinged quasi-feminist comic book fantasy depends on your Lori Petty threshold. As the title character--a smartass riot grrrl who rolls through a fanciful postapocalyptic landscape in a tank, occasionally pausing to snuggle and bicker with her mutant kangaroo boyfriend (Ice-T) -- Petty's onscreen virtually nonstop, and her hyperkinetic mugging, jerking, whining, and sassing wears thin after a while.

Sadly, this inane vehicle was not worthy of the talents of the two great vets.

The film lacks the emotional complexity and classic status of previous Disney films.

For all its sensitivity, the film abounds with movie cliches about the developmentally challenged.

Offers up more of everything: more bloody zombie dogs, more crazy corporate evildoers, more Milla Jovovich unclothed and more over-the-top action scenes.

If Jean-Luc Godard at his most Maoist had felt compelled to make adult movies, he might have cooked up something like pop-art punk-porn auteur Bruce LaBruce's slab of revolutionary raunch.

Only Sol and Sara even approach being real characters; the supporting players, Black and Jewish alike, are shrill stereotypes.

Contains some nicely observed moments, but they're buried in an unrepentantly sitcomy script.

It's too bad screenwriters Gough and Millar didn't have enough faith in their premise to play it straight; if they had, they might have produced a classic rather than a "Blazing Saddles" without the courage of its convictions.

Essentially a supersize episode that ignores a slew of fifth-season developments and adds yet another monster to the mix, one that owes a striking debt to "Alien."

No one expects a light teen romance to be "Madame Bovary," but this is Colorforms filmmaking.

Bad editing, uninspired direction, and a script that teetered precariously on the verge of parodying a John Wayne movie combined to make Joe Kidd nothing more than a plodding shoot-em-up.

Inspired mockumentary-a-clef so clotted with in-jokes that it should come with a crib sheet.

This sequel to AIRPLANE! is just as crammed with sight gags and sophomoric humor as its predecessor, but the novelty has worn off and the humor worn thin. A cast of mainly Hollywood has-beens and unknowns enjoys itself in this spoof of disaster movies, this time centering around a space shuttle headed for a crash. The various bits and cameos flash past without providing the laughs AIRPLANE! delivered.

The film looks great and makes sophisticated use of digital effects.

Routine Dangerfield vehicle in which he plays an inept, slobbish baby photographer who must give up his bad habits if he wants to collect a $10 million inheritance from his snooty mother-in-law. Pesci plays the ringleader of the smoking, drinking, overeating cronies that Dangerfield must resist. It's all an insult to the great Geraldine Fitzgerald, who must have wondered during filming if it had all come down to this. If you're not already a Dangerfield fan, remember he's an acquired taste--like Spam.