Yankovic fails to come up with anything new to freshen the stock storyline, and is content instead to let it serve as a creaky showcase for his forte, media parodies. But even the quality of these parodies is inconsistent, with the movie and music takeoffs being obvious and out of date.

Director Zelda Barron has a real affection for her characters, enabling them to retain a sweet dignity even under some excessive circumstances dictated by the unimaginative, slight script.

Hardcore Bond fans may be dismayed by some of the changes, but no one can deny that the action scenes staged by director John Glen are some of the most spectacular of the entire series and well worth the price of admission.

The plot may seem anything but fresh (and the borrowings from Woody Allen certainly are stale), but director Rob Reiner has a killer instinct for setting up jokes and punchlines.

Returning director Richard Donner seems to have smoothed over the few stylistic rough edges remaining from the earlier film to deliver here two hours of pure, breathless, high-impact entertainment.

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.

It is a subtle and humane entertainment with a refreshingly serious view of the world.

It's difficult to figure just what is going on here, and most certainly not worth the effort.

More a sequel to the original than an extension of the action in Part II, The Karate Kid Part III is half-hearted and very dull.

Most of the cast of accomplished actors are wasted in these roles, although two do manage to stand out: Ryder as the innocent-savvy Myra and John Doe, in an underplayed performance, as her father. The musical sequences are entertaining and energetic.

Despite its interesting, grim tone and undeniably striking visuals from director Burton and production designer Furst, the film fails to synthesize its strengths into a compelling whole.

Nicely shot with a good youthful cast.

Ghostbusters II is such a lazy effort that the formula machinery is laid bare for all to see. It suffers from writing that is obvious, sloppy, and unimaginative.

But what truly distinguishes the movie is Cage's performance, which is so off the wall that even if you don't like it you have to watch in awe.

No Holds Barred is paced well, with broadly drawn good guys and bad guys. Somewhat problematic is the murky status of the wrestling fans in the film. The "goodness" of Hogan's character is so markedly contrasted with the grossness of the wrestling-bar patrons that the film actually appears to be criticizing its star's fans--who are, after all, also the film's audience.

Director Jack Sholder is a whiz at coordinating the traffic in the many catch-me-if-you-can-or-explode sequences, which provide a visceral thrill to appeal to the six year old in everyone, but which must be balanced against the lame story, offensive ethnic stereotypes, and perfunctory acting.

While the film does contain a handful of suspenseful sequences, it also suffers from poor pacing and an overall reliance on cliches.

Bad Taste was probably intended as camp, but its humor falls flat even as a parody of the horror genre. It is best viewed as a film strictly for movie makeup and special-effects aficionados.

The plot isn't much (some described it as an unsuccessful combination of Midnight Run and Betrayed), but Pink Cadillac is rich in character, containing some of the most heartfelt and engaging moments in an Eastwood film since his unjustly neglected Bronco Billy.

Despite strong acting (the slapstick energy between Ford and Connery is wasted), obligatory chases and stunts and splendid art direction, the virtuoso technique evident in every frame remains formulaic--unaccompanied by revelation, epiphany or surprise.

Director Rowdy Herrington lives up to his name: once he's seen to it that all the conventions of the western are in place, he presents an all-out brawl on the average of about every 12 minutes or so, and the battles quickly grow tiresome. Swayze is up to a part that requires him merely to show his muscles and dexterity, but Gazzara is trapped in his hopelessly evil caricature, leaving Sam Elliott (in a too-limited role) to provide the film's only real charm.

Full of cheap disability jokes, stupid car chases, and boring shootouts, and none of it is very entertaining. Wilder and Pryor struggle mightily to pull it off, but the comic duo are capable of much more than this gimmick-filled rubbish allows.

The darker hues of Amis's story, though frequently discernible beneath the gloss, are ultimately submerged beneath the usual set of artistic compromises.

Hoping to titillate, while keeping a PG rating, the film opts for tantalizing talk and a constant display of bra-busting females in stiletto heels. The acting here is respectable, but doesn't rise beyond the indifferent script and direction.

With its endless string of good-naturedly cheap jokes and its comic-book style, The Return of Swamp Thing is good campy fun, spoofing its horror premise effectively.

More subtlety or quiet introspection might have lent greater credibility to the role, though Grant and Robinson unquestionably have made their point.

Its interrogation of cross-cultural dysfunction and the colonialist legacy notwithstanding, Chocolat's foremost pleasures are visceral. Denis, even at this early stage, already seems attuned to film's power to suggest and seduce. Her debut emanates the effortless sensuality and sinewy elegance that have come to mark her movies, making it a sterling introduction to her cinema of sensation.

The plot has lots of holes, but veteran TV director Rod Daniel keeps the proceedings light and lively, and Belushi does a fine job of relating to a dog as a multidimensional character. Jerry Lee--while no Benji in the acting department--is likable and receives ample help from the film's editors.