Given the track records of its writer, Neil Simon, and director, Hal Ashby, THE SLUGGER'S WIFE should at least have been entertaining. It isn't. Instead, it is one of the most disappointing, least credible films about baseball in recent memory.

Suffers from wishy-washiness.

If you're feeling open-minded and a little adventurous, this chilling exploration of the gender gap from Gallic bad-girl Catherine Breillat is worth a look.

Set mostly over the course of a single evening, the film is lugubriously paced and filled with improbable turns of events.

Limping along on a scant plot, HOT PURSUIT succeeds largely because of Cusack's handling of his character. Loggia is always a pleasure to watch, even when his part is as mindless as it is here.

Meandering melodrama.

Penn's stark and unvarnished portrait of the challenged Sam makes even the hardest-to-swallow plot acceptable.

Filled with short, rapid-fire takes, edited to a pulsating beat and punctuated with blasts of noise...the style suits the often violent material, as well as Arquette's remarkable physical performance.

Derivative, indifferently acted, artlessly photographed and awash in nudity and rudimentary gore effects, this direct-to-DVD feature mars the producing debut of longtime horror and exploitation distributor Media Blasters.

The result is rather like eavesdropping on a bright but painfully self-absorbed adolescent's secret thoughts: sometimes fascinating, other times just infuriating.

Director/co-writer/co-producer Jon Gunn's Christian agenda is evident without being intolerably sanctimonious, and he's a competent filmmaker who shows sign of having a little style.

Frustrating, confusing, loud, and offensive, this horribly bad sequel not only continues to ruin the story line and characters so deftly created by John Carpenter in HALLOWEEN (1978), but sets a new standard of stupidity.

Attempting to force the story into a romantic comedy template compels Marshall to gloss over the disturbing aspects his characters' disabilities, frequently forcing Ribisi and Lewis to act the part of noble fools.

A movie whose best features are its lush tropical vistas has evident limitations.

This Ashby-directed film suffers most from its too-simple plot, but the often-indecipherable Texas accents that Blake and Harris lay on don't help matters much.

The movie is simultaneously soft and icky; the gross-out effects are grafted onto a sub-"Tales from the Crypt" ghost story that never scares up any serious chills.

No one seems to be having any fun, including the normally masterful Van Sant, whose direction is unstructured, confusing, and lackadaisical.

Uniformly dull and predictable, save for the sight of Borgnine turning into a goat-headed demon--not much of a stretch, perhaps--and Travolta (in a small role) melting along with the rest of the cast.

There are a couple of mildly amusing moments, but overall Howard the Duck is a monumental waste of time.

Most of the jokes are either ethnic slurs, homosexual japes, or unfunny gags with not a shred of wit. Babes and brewskis are just not enough to carry an entire picture.

The film had the calculated feel of a movie made simply because the title was guaranteed to pull in audiences on opening weekend. Sadly, it's the kind of effort that gives horror films a bad name.

The script recycles clichés that go back to 1937'S "Dead End," the performances are one-note, and the whole thing has the flat, bright look of a TV cop show.

What may have looked good on paper across the Atlantic gets lost in the translation to our shores.

The film's only sparks are generated by Tom's last-ditch attempt to win back Sarah's affections, but they come too late to redeem the picture from its surfeit of over-the-top physical comedy and low-brow jokes.

It can make for entertainingly silly viewing, but it should come as no surprise that the film's plea for tolerance and unexpectedly tragic ending -- an unfortunate throwback to the Dark Ages of gays in films -- rings equally hollow.

Executive produced by B-movie veteran Samuel Z. Arkoff and indifferently directed by TV-trained Stuart Rosenberg, the film's reputation exceeds its achievements, and the true story angle has been vigorously disputed.

Although Christopher Lambert repeats his film role as the immortal action hero, he is less dynamic than he was in Highlander or even Highlander 2, The Quickening. He is also far less charismatic and interesting to watch than Adrian Paul of the European television serial. Moreover, in this film, Lambert inexplicably whispers his lines, while the special effects are deafening.

With its porno plot, Undressed production values and ersatz "Will & Grace" banter that manages to be crude without being the least bit funny, Q. Allan Brocka's debut is a tasteless comedy that nevertheless leaves a nasty flavor on the tongue.