None of this is especially funny, nor is it particularly exhilarating; at best it's throwaway entertainment.

What a waste. Check out "Breakdown" or Aldo Lado's 1971 Italian giallo "Long Night Of The Short Dolls" for a far better treatments of the same subject.

Sure, the humor is witless and the gags are often inane, but, given the quality of its predecessors, POLICE ACADEMY 3: BACK IN TRAINING has the dubious honor of being the funniest of the series to date.

Loud, stupid and clumsy.

The film starts in midbattle and scarcely slows up--a good thing, too, because the few slack spots are heavy-handed mystical interludes without a trace of humor.

As a director, La Salle manages to sustain a mood of looming menace almost throughout, and as an actor he gets the film's best joke: When his Satan fills out his hospital admission form, he gives his social security number as 666.

This heist flick is far more likely to drive audiences away than catch and keep anyone's interest in the title kid -- or more accurately, kids.

The major irritant is the hyperactive direction by Joe Pytka, a near-legendary helmer of TV commercials who films each scene as if it were the last, with everybody in the frame strenuously choreographed and overly busy.

Once you get past the lengthy, graphic geyser-of-liquid-excrement gag, it's not as irredeemably vulgar as it might have been.

It's by no stretch of the imagination a good film, but it delivers what it promises: naked girls whaling on each other, flesh-ripping zombies and genre stalwart Todd growling and glowering satanically from beneath a mane of dreadlocks - the He-Who-Kills teeth are a nice touch.

Adds little to the annals of werewolf lore. But it's briskly paced and features a couple of clever twists on genre conventions.

First-time feature director Andrew Douglas, whose advertising background is evident in every frame, brings lashings of style but no sense of real horror to the recycled script.

This abysmal "Spider-Man" satire has more in common with the lamentable spate of "Epic" and "Date Movies" than Zucker and Nielsen's truly funny "Naked Gun" series.

This psychological sci-fi thriller was originally made as a 40-minute segment of an unrealized portmanteau picture, then expanded into a freestanding feature. That's probably why it's padded with shots of Olham running down corridors.

Ridiculous, yes, but in an eminently watchable way. Most of the plot twists work surprisingly well, and the frequently naked leads work up some genuine chemistry.

Unfortunately, the emotionally resonant moments between Murphy and Fanning are few and far between; the rest of the film relies on goofy physical comedy -- Murphy takes more pratfalls that any young woman should have to.

LaBeouf somehow manages to turn Kelly's self-centered behavior and irritating character quirks into a sympathetic lead, and the well-written script by newcomer Erica Beeney brings a lot of humor to some very touching moments.

Hauser and Miles go for broke, lobbing their every comic idea at the screen. Some work better than others, and overall tomfoolery like this is a matter of taste.

Boyar's best efforts -- which are quite good -- can't begin to compensate for Guttenberg's grotesque excesses or make the weirdly warm relationship that develops between them convincing, let alone appealing.

Nobody goes to these movies for their comic-book plots, klutzy dialog, or hammy acting--all of which Kickboxer has in abundance. They go for action, and on that level Kickboxer delivers the goods.

The first half of Lover's film is surprisingly affecting...But the film comes apart in its second half, when James' flight triggers a long series of flashbacks to the brothers' childhood.

Harlin's brisk pacing leaves little time for reflection, but the whole house of blood-spattered cards dissolves upon even cursory reflection.

SON-IN-LAW is like too much of Disney's profligate output, undemanding entertainment for undemanding people.

This is essentially a glib soap opera whose main characters are two-dimensional cliches used as clotheslines on which to hang sitcom-level jokes.

The cast is uniformly excellent -- Pryce in simultaneously utterly horrible and a real hoot as the wildly egomaniacal paterfamilias -- but the film itself is merely mildly charming.

Halloween makes fright fans even more tolerant than usual of second-rate horror pictures, and this one still doesn't cut the mustard.

The humor is too adult for children and the plot far too childish for most adults; in fact, everything about the film is really too silly to warrant much consideration.

Lars Von Trier's silly script about a group of pistol packing misfits gets better treatment than it deserves, thanks to a fine young cast and the game direction of Thomas Vinterberg.