Noisy, spectacular and disposable.

There's about half an hour's worth of sickly amusing material here...Unfortunately, that leaves a solid hour's worth of witless screaming, running around and expiring in a welter of icky special effects.

It's the kind of film Hollywood doesn't make any more, and a pleasant retro diversion.

Handsomely appointed and faultlessly acted, but no more alive than a well-dressed corpse.

If this new film seems less prescient than its predecessor, it's only because reality is rapidly catching up with Cronenberg's warped imagination.

Surprise! An intelligent, well-written high school story.

Even Spade's most dedicated fans would probably be better off staying home and watching a "Just Shoot Me" rerun.

Contrived, meandering, clichéd and just plain preposterous.

Very possibly the most ruthlessly irritating comedy since the dreaded "S.F.W." attempted to put its finger on the pulse of young America, and that's saying something.

The overall effect of Demme's film is a little like experiencing Nazi prison camps through reruns of Hogan's Heroes, right down to the few bona fide laughs.

Only die-hard and undemanding Chan fans need apply.

A dark and edgy teen comedy that's also one of the most excitingly unpredictable American comedies since "Pulp Fiction."

Not even Drew Barrymore's million-dollar smile can save this humiliating comedy.

This slight story of youthful dreams and adult compromise is bolstered by finely modulated performances from the three leads.

The only serendipitous touch is the casting of New York's "quality of life" watchdog, Rudolph Giuliani, as himself.

Despite some lovely performances (though, sad to say, Patricia Neal's isn't one of them) and charming moments, this meandering ensemble piece and its Tennessee Williams-ish finale is oddly out of character.

This teen-oriented gloss on Shakespeare's tale is cute and occasionally quite funny, but it's undermined by slack direction.

This dazzling pop allegory is steeped in a dark, pulpy sensibility that transcends nostalgic pastiche and stands firmly on its own merits.

This intimate, bittersweet romance is proof that a familiar story and the trappings of a done-to-death era can still seem fresh and engaging in the right hands.

Like its star, Howard's movie is affable, but has limited range.

No one expects much from movie adaptations of TV shows but complete incoherence and boredom is a bit too much to bear.

An eccentric historical horror tale whose blackly comic tone wavers distracting.

Make no mistake: This slackly paced picture doesn't gel.

Eastwood, ironically, is the weak link in the cast, a less-than-ideal choice to play a screw-up who squeaks through life on personal magnetism: He's got star quality, sure, even a certain remote sexiness, but he's no charmer.

Garish, animated junk.

If the movie is remembered for anything, it will be for the feature-film debut of fiercely talented Jonathan Jackson: His performance truly transcends its dour setting.

Most of the extreme Trek fans it features are obsessed in a big way, and if they were your children you'd probably be thinking therapy.

The script too often sounds like an encrypted communique itself, and it's tiring trying to keep all the nonsensical space-jargon straight. The effort is more demanding than hanging onto a joystick, and not entirely worth the effort.