Whereas Tod Browning showed the warm humanity of such people in FREAKS (1932), Winner cruelly exploits their handicaps for the purpose of repulsing his audience. This alone makes the film detestable.

By Romero's own admission the film was a disaster and shouldn't have been made at all. It is quite obvious the director's heart just wasn't in it.

Feeble attempts at black humor can't save this stillborn teen terror-tale. The humor misses the mark, and the "suspenseful" moments slow the proceedings down even further.

While the King source material forcefully taps into some deep-seated fears, PET SEMATARY (which was to have been directed by George Romero) squanders its potential through the ham-handed direction of Mary Lambert (SIESTA), who continually goes for visceral shocks at the expense of the more deeply disturbing psychological themes inherent in the material.

The performances, surprisingly, are not bad at all. Kristen Minter does well with what she has, as does Vanilla himself. However, it's impossible to take anything seriously--the film's dramatic premise is utterly insupportable and David Kellogg's direction renders the choices flat.

Stereotypes abound in this foolish, witless western--a production misusing the fine talent in its cast.

So consistently, outrageously wrongheaded in every way it's hard to know where to start.

A little stingy in the action and thrills department, but Moore, in his limited way, seems to be having a good time.

Grown-ups will come away feeling violated by the film's clumsy comedy, ancient plot, and unimaginative action sequences.

None of the episodes is especially exciting, and they are all so brief that very little depth can be found in any of them.

The difference between this movie and the original is Bill Murray, whose charm gave the first film its best moments and raised the mediocre plot into something mindless but sweet. Here the characters are stereotypes. Perhaps the only reason to see the picture is for Paul Reubens, who has a relatively minor part.

Ridiculous detective Randall stops a sadistic killer from working his way through an alphabetical victim list. Agatha Christie and her legendary detective, Poirot, get a not-at-all serious treatment in this unbelievably unfunny comic mystery.

Lazy, superficially au courant and utterly forgettable.

Perhaps a die-hard Freudian desperate for a laugh could find humor in this wretched attempt at a holiday heart-warmer. Unfortunately, that leaves the rest of us twisting in the wind.

Despite the intriguing premise, Pierce is a stupifyingly unimaginative director, and the film is incredibly dull.

Tuff Turf is so relentlessly derivative that its good points--chiefly an attractive, relatively talented cast--are buried in cliche.

As slasher films go, this is about average. The sets are cheap, with most of the budget seemingly going to the gore effects.

Cutting Class does a nice job of concealing the killer's true identity, even as it leaves a trail of clues pointing to him. However, this sloppily directed, indifferently written black comedy fails to create sympathetic characters or even deliciously nasty ones.

A few scary moments, but that's about it. Technical credits are good, actors are fair, direction is mediocre, but the public squashed Bug.

Though the material in Madhouse is intentionally sophomoric, though slapstick comedies can be funny, and though there's nothing wrong with a bit of good silliness, assured, deftly paced direction and adroit, lively performances are necessary to pull such broad comic romps off. Madhouse fails to deliver on both these crucial counts.

The best you can say is that it's all pretty harmless and pretty stupid.

There is practically no plot, and even less character development, but the script is based on a novel, most likely a thin one.

The only thing that redeems the film from total worthlessness is Connery's Green Knight, a frightening vision in armor.

Overall the movie is too stupid to offend any but the most sensitive viewer.

Trying to appeal to both old and young audiences, the movie ends up shooting itself in the foot.

At well over two hours it's merely exhausting, and the constant evocation of the fearsome power of "The Lodge," which proves Pat's salvation (Nwamu is himself a Freemason), is as silly-spooky as the White and Black Lodge hokum of "Twin Peaks."

It's fun for awhile, but soon the sheer lunacy of it all wears thin as Corman keeps trying to top himself.

Rob Reiner's feel-good tear-jerker, in which dying well is the best revenge, wants to be heartwarming. But first-timer Justin Zackham's screenplay is so stridently formulaic and disingenuous that the film falls flat at every inspirational turn.