Reviews

This movie was stunningly poor. Stunningly poor. I am at a loss to explain how anyone could justify one sequel, much less three. Hell, I can't figure out how the damned movie even managed to get distributed in the first place (despite the Jennifer Aniston factor, which is really no factor...her feeble powers are completely overwhelmed by this amateurish nightmare of a film). The story is dull, the dialogue is flat, and the decrepit little villain is evil in the most unimaginative, unmagical ways. It's hard to believe anyone could write such a boring, labored script. If you're looking for a pot o' gold at your local Blockbuster, don't bother searching for it in a plastic case marked "Leprechaun." All you'll find there is a tepid cauldron of algae-coated swamp water.

Is anyone familiar with this (sub)urban legend? A menagerie of mooncalves herds into a movie theater, pays eight dollars a muzzle to see a poorly-reviewed film, and then spends an interminable length of time yawning and staring morosely at radium-illuminated watch dials. A few months later, each of those intrepid filmgoers develops cancer from excessive short-term radiation exposure. So have you heard about that myth? Just curious. (Cough, cough. Damned chemo.)