Reviews

I'm a big fan of naked women, but even I don't need this much

nudity. THE MONSTER OF CAMP SUNSHINE takes place in a

nudist camp and, almost exclusively, involves nudists (who we are

informed in a pre-credits card, are not monsters) who are

terrorized by a dopey guy who has drank some nasty lake water

and turned into a threatening dopey guy.

Most of MONSTER is very dull, directed without any sense of

pacing or style. Obviously, people at a drive-in in 1964 didn't care

about that, they were excited to see the nudists. They certainly get

what they paid for, with lots and lots of women disrobing and

strolling around the idyllic Camp Sunshine. This was probably a

gas at some point, but now it's very tame, and eventually one gets

tired of it. Too much of a good thing takes all the fun out of it.

There are some highlights for bad movie fans. A unknowing

nurse is pushed out of an office window...by some crazed killer

mice. They even go so far to have guys throwing mice at the poor

woman from off camera. Then, after the monstrous Hugo has

fallen under the spell of that contaminated water (it also got to

those mice), MONSTER looses all semblance of reality and

becomes a bizarre montage of naked bodies, and stock footage of

various armies and military explosions. There's so much of it, you

might think that the editor accidentally forgot what movie he was

cutting. Then, when the craziness dies down (and there certainly

is a lot of it), the nudists get back to doing what they do best. This

includes the one of them who just lost a brother, and another who

is a doctor (He takes off his white jacket to reveal nothing

underneath).

MONSTER OF CAMP SUNSHINE is a very bad movie, but it rarely

offers the sort of z-grade thrills you'd hope to see in something of

this caliber. If you fast forward a whole lot, you might be able to

enjoy it.

It would impossible for Psycho II to live up to the original, but the cast and crew give it their best shot. The film is actually pretty competent throughout, though the silly finale ruins what is otherwise an interesting and suspenseful (if totally unnecessary) sequel.

After a pre-credits reprise of the shower scene (Done for no reason other than to start the movie off with an easy scare), Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) is released from the mental hospital after more than 20 years of psychiatric treatment. He's deemed "sane" and allowed to return to his home and motel, despite the protests of Lila Loomis (Vera Miles). Bates gets a good job at a diner nearby, but things immediately start going sour. The interim motel manager is a sleaze (played with greasy gusto by Dennis Franz), and when Bates fires him, he begins to taunt and harass the "psycho." Norman also takes a shining to co-worker Mary (Meg Tilly), but almost as soon as he begins to get comfortable in his new life, notes and phone calls from his long-dead mother start appearing and Norman starts to go just a little mad. Then the murders start all over again, of course, since this is a sequel to a slasher film.

For a while, the movie works. Perkins' Bates is still a likeable oddball despite the ending of the first film. While his performance closes in on camp during some of the more "intense" sequences, the quiet scenes of Bates are still powerful. And Miles' Lila is an interesting extension of a character who was ostensibly a plot device of the first film. There's even a plot twist (revealed in the middle of the film, not at the conclusion) worthy of a Hitchcock thriller. As Bates cracks up, and Mother starts to return, director Richard Franklin creates some fine suspense sequences, playfully returning to certain sequences and images from the first film (A girl takes a shower, someone peeps through a hole in a wall, jump cutting on a victim's scream). Eerie music, and careful editing make for some enjoyable tense sequences; for a while, I was impressed. Psycho II isn't as unnerving or scary as the original, but it's a fun thriller.

As the film ramps up towards what looks to be a juicy climax, it sadly falls apart. The body count starts to rise in unwise ways. Since this film was made in the splatterfest decade that was the 80s, the violence is a lot bloodier than the first film. However, Psycho II becomes less disturbing as more gore is shown because the effects, mostly rubber knives sticking out people's faces and backs, are profoundly bad. And instead of obeying Hitchcock's rule that there be a reasonable explanation for everything, the filmmakers settle for a finale that is completely absurd. In a matter of minutes, the film descends from tight thriller to wacky groaner.

Psycho II initially defied my low expectations; sadly, I was proven right in the end. No sequel could ever match up to Psycho, and in trying to do so, the creators here throw in so many twists and so much gore that they do far too much for their own good, veering off the path to success down the road of cheap horror cliche. It's an interesting film to see for its successes and failures, but it's not one I can recommend.

It's not easy being Neutron, let me tell you. American wrestlers, they get off light. All they have to do is wrestle. Mexican wrestlers, on the hand, are called upon by their society to act as masked peacekeepers against the forces of evil. Such is the life of Neutron, who is the hero of our film, a mediocre entry in the Mexican wrestler genre.

An important scientist is working on a brand new type of bomb, confusingly called a neutron bomb (No, it doesn't have any connection to Neutron the wrestler). He's killed by a duplicitous lab assistant and the police later discover the formula for the bomb is actually broken into several small pieces which must be recovered to protect the world from the evil Doctor Curante (Julio Alemán). Luckily for the free world, the scientist's son is best buddies with Neutron, so he starts to investigate the case. We're also fortunate that the police seem content to have a son of a murdered man and his wrestler friend assisting in the investigation.

The only treat this movie has to offer is the character of Doctor Curante, an inspiringly silly villain. Wearing a white shirt and pants combo, white gloves and a bandage mask similar to Darkman's, he strikes an uncomfortable image, especially when the script calls for him to trudge down long hallways barking orders to his midget sidekick. It's unclear exactly what he's a doctor of; he does little to suggest any medical knowledge, though he's especially good at insulting his minions and denigrating the heroes. He acts more like a bad guidance counselor than a doctor. Foolishly, the filmmakers banish Curante to limited scene time and focus on the less interesting supporting cast.

There's little else to recommend in Neutron and the Black Mask, including the title; Neutron IS the guy wearing the Black Mask, so it's redundant. The fight scenes aren't as exciting as some of the Santos movies, and while the production values aren't bad, they are squandered on a meandering plot and weak characters. I told you it's tough being a Mexican wrestler; even your movies stink!

There are so many puns to play on the title of the spectacularly bad Valentine that I don't know where to begin. I will say this though; here is a movie that makes me long for the complexity of the Valentine cards we used to give out in elementary school. You know, the ones with Batman exclaiming "You're a super crime-fighting valentine!"

Valentine is a slasher movie without the slightest hint of irony, one of the few horror movies in recent years that ignores the influence of Scream. The villain is omniscient and nigh-invulnerable. The heroes are easily scared when people run around corners and grab them by the shoulders screaming "HeyIjustleftmycoatbehind!" The score is more overbearing than Norman Bates' mother.

The flimsy plot follows several childhood friends, now grown up and extremely curvaceous. Since the film gives them nothing else to do, they stand around and wait until a masked stalker kills them one by one. This stalker appears to be former nerd Jeremy Melton, who was constantly rejected by women and beaten by men in high school. With Valentine's Day approaching, the women begin receiving scary cards foretelling their doom. Melton seems like the obvious suspect. Only problem is, as numerous characters warns, in thirteen years Melton could have changed his appearance to look buff and handsome. So (insert terrified gasp here) everyone is a suspect!

Here's problem one. In order to have any sense of suspense while watching Valentine, you have to accept a reality in which a high school nerd is capable of becoming David Boreanaz. Nerds don't turn into Angel when they grown up, they turn into older, balder nerds. He's not a terrible actor, but the script, by no less than four writers, gives him and the rest of the cast nothing to do but scream and make out. Denise Richards (the bustiest actress in Hollywood never to star in Baywatch) is especially exploited; most shamefully in the blatant excuse to get her in a bathing suit just before a crucial suspense scene. Note to self: always bring a bathing suit to a Valentine's Day party. Just because it's February doesn't mean you might not feel like taking a little dip.

The slasher in Valentine dresses in head-to-toe black with a Cherub's mask. Here's problem number two. The filmmakers clearly thought this would be a disturbing image to have on the head of someone who's whacking people in the face with hot irons. Plain and simple, it's not. Instead, it just made me wonder how a guy with a mask that covers his entire face, including his eyes and ears, can move so stealthily without bumping his shins on chairs or tables. Then again, given the things the Cupid Killer does, maybe he can teleport and his eyes are on his hands.

Not only is the movie bad, it isn't even sure who the killer is; the final "twist" is more "Huh?" than "Hah!" When you're not scratching your head you're yawning, then groaning, then searching for the nearest exit. Do not watch this movie. Even if you're alone on Valentine's Day, find something, ANYTHING, else to do. You'll be glad you did.

Spider-Man fans will like Sam Raimi's Spider-Man; in translating the comic to the screen he's done little more than take the best parts of forty years of history and plastered it onto a movie screen for two hours. For die-hards, the best part is the perfect tone and great characters. Newcomers will enjoy the great visuals and Maguire's fantastic portrayal of everyman Peter Parker. It's a fun movie.

Readers will know the story, and those who don't will be able to predict most of the twists anyway. Peter is a likeable, shy nerd with a crush on the (literal) girl next door Mary Jane (Kirsten Dunst). He's bitten by a genetically engineered spider just as he makes his first advances toward MJ. As Peter tests out his new powers, his classmate's father, Norman Osborn (Willem Dafoe), is performing his own experiments, using a vague strength-enhancing serum on himself with rather nasty results. The two gain alter-egos and are brought into colorful conflict.

In any movie like this, the special effects are bound to hog the spotlight, but Maguire and the supporting cast do a wonderful job of making you care about the people surrounded by the explosions and spandex. Dafoe's Green Goblin is clearly in the vain of Jack Nicholson's Joker but Dafoe manages to give a memorable turn as the more human half of his character. Dunst as Mary Jane is great at subtly showing you the stuff going on behind her initially giggly facade. And J.K. Simmons steals all his scenes as Daily Bugle chief J. Jonah Jameson. If any character is the complete essence of his comic book counterpart, its Simmons as JJJ.

Like the rest of Raimi's best work, the camera in Spider-Man is completely unchained; it follows him through the air, out of windows, dive bombing with a joy that translates beautifully on the screen. Some shots of Spider-Man in action are, for a long-time fan, breathtaking. Raimi as director was a bold choice that really pays off. His handiwork is all over the film; devotees will recognize touches from Darkman and Army of Darkness among others.

The movie works for the same reasons the comic works. Some people might not like the frenetic changes of pace and tone but it's a touch right out of comic books, where pathos, action, and comedy mix every twenty-two pages. The movie hits all the right notes until it pauses after the conclusion of Spider-Man's origin. It loses some steam in its middle third, before it cranks up the juice for a great climax and a perfect epilogue that summarizes all that is great about Peter Parker: no matter his successes as Spider-Man, he will always be deficient as Peter Parker and vice versa. Throughout, the movie has the guts to remain true to the character, both in the costume and out. And they don't even use the silly cartoon theme song.

The Scorpion King marks the official start of the 2002 summer movie season, and woe be the moviegoer who wants logic and brains in his movie. If The Rock's starring debut is any indication, this summer will be the worst on record. Scratch that; it's not an indication, it's a warning. Summer movies are here; no brains allowed.

Audiences should have known something was up when Universal claimed they were so excited by The Rock's `performance' in The Mummy Returns that they simply had to give him his own starring vehicle. In his five minutes of actual screen time (the rest of his performance was completed by a CGI scorpion), he did little more than grimace, grunt, and growl.

This film charts the character's ascendancy, from mercenary named Mathayus to a powerful sovereign capable of a transformation into a giant CGI creature. A terrible despot named Memnon (Steven Brand) rules the ancient world with an iron, arrow-catching fist, with the aid of a clairvoyant, semi-nude sorcerer (Kelly Hu). Over the course of ninety-odd minutes and endless swordfights, Mathayus tries time and time again to kill Memnon while bearing his teeth and arching his eyebrow.

Clearly a film in the Conan vein, The Scorpion King gives The Rock plenty of opportunity to twirl things in the air and glower with hammy abandon. Of course, the dialogue is kept to a minimum. `I've come for the woman – and your head' is about the most complex sentence Mathayus utters; although you might be inclined to believe that the character's silence is less a function of his stupidity than the film's inability to go more than four minutes without increasing the body count.

I never thought I could miss the Mummy movies so much. While Steven Sommers' movies were dumb, he knew how to make great action sequences. The Scorpion King, all clanging swords with squishy sound effects, is a film dying for a great action scene. Time and time again, indistinct royal guards charge The Rock, who dispatches them with quick, bloodless swipes from his sword. Helpfully, The Rock's sword appears to be enchanted; no matter how many times it gets lost or broken, it always reappears at his waist at the start of the next scene.

In a crazier movie, The Rock's overbearing acting style, wide eyed and frowning like he smells something bad, could work. But director Chuck Russell's work is uninspired; he's missing the sense of uninhibited abandon he brought to The Mask. A novel of The Scorpion King would probably be just as bad as the movie; there are no standout images, no great fights, no good performances, and nothing worth remembering. It is the epitome of bad Hollywood filmmaking. Here's hoping this bad omen is only a false alarm.

You know Jason, you know Freddy, and you know Leatherface. Now, get ready for: The Safety Pin Killer! That's right, in Killer Workout, a dumb slasher movie if I've ever seen one, the unseen murderer dispatches his (or her?) victims with an oversized, novelty safety pin. It is an odd choice to be sure, the kind of thing that deserves an explanation. Naturally, the movie never even attempts to clarify where the killer acquired such a thing.

As the title suggests, an aerobics gym is under siege by a mad killer and everyone is a suspect. In fact, the movie gives so few clues as to the identity of the killer, just about everyone in the movie is a potential murderer until they get killed. And since just about everyone but the killer winds up dead, it's really just process of elimination.

Oddly, while the entire name cast is killed off, the aerobics classes continue in earnest. In fact, nothing is capable of stopping the dancing. While three men are murdered in the next room, the workout goes on. Death isn't even a factor; one character dies, but is still seen prominently in the later workout sessions. Director David Prior knew what he was doing when named the movie Killer Workout and not Logical Workout.

Cop chases, explosive tanning beds, and hundreds of shots of women's exposed flesh are thrown in for good measure. Much like the woman caught in the tanning bed, I felt very uncomfortable by the end of Killer Workout. Finally, thankfully, THE END flashed on the screen. What happened next? You got it, shots of the women working out. Not even the end of the movie can stop them!

What's the most violent movie of all time? Rambo III? Commando? Robocop? Add these three very violent together, and you still won't equal the carnage in The Stabilizer, the wildest, silliest, craziest action movie I have ever seen. For one hundred minutes things blow up and people die in dozens of strange ways. It will make you laugh and cheer, and when it's all over you'll be more than a little exhausted. This movie is a buried gem, a cult classic sadly lacking a cult.

The Stabilizer is the nickname of our hero Peter Goldson (Peter O'Brian), a large oily man with a curly mullet. He arrives in Indonesia on the trail of the villainous and mean Greg Rainmaker. We know he is evil because he is only referred to by his full name ("I hate SCUM like Greg RAINmaker!") and utilizes a method of killing that is so horrible I can't even utter it here. Wait, yes I can. He steps on people in spiky shoes. Greg Rainmaker: Cleat Killer.

When Greg Rainmaker isn't pouring alcohol on women for their sexual pleasure, he's kidnapping important professors and heading a huge underworld empire. It's up to Goldson (A Jewish action hero? Gevalt!) and his motley crew of sidekicks to stabilize the situation by killing everyone and blowing lots of stuff up. Maybe "stabilize" has a different meaning in Indonesia.

And the violence, oh the violence. This is a film unwilling, nay, uncapable, of letting five minutes of screen time go by without some sort of explosion, knifing, car crash, or squib interrupting the dialogue. The violence is extreme; not graphic and bloody, just really weird. For example, The Stabilizer & company invade one of Rainmaker's warehouses (by driving through a solid concrete wall on a motorcycle, of course). When perched on the balcony, with heavy fire coming from below, The Stabilizer does the one thing he can do. He drives off the balcony into the guy's head, his front tire bouncing off it like a basketball. Astounding.

From the overly-gratuitous love scenes (Both major female characters hop in the sack with the hero of their choice not two minutes after they speak to them alone for the first time) to the poorly dubbed dialogue ("Victor, you talented bastard!") The Stabilizer has it all. This is a film for the ages, right up there with Citizen Kane and Gymkata. It is not widely available in release. If you find it anywhere for any price, buy it and relish the insanity.

The title of Say It Isn't So is a better review of the movie than anything I can write. Just when I thought I had seen the worst 2001 had to offer (Including, among others, Freddy Got Fingered, 3000 Miles to Graceland and Lara Croft: Tomb Raider), this movie pops up on late night cable and makes me wish it hadn't. Let's be blunt; this movie stinks.

If there is a God in the universe in which this movie takes place, then Gilbert Noble (Chris Klein) is his favorite person to torture when He's having a bad day. Gillie is an orphan, a lonely guy working at his local animal shelter. He finds the love of his life Jo Wingfield (Heather Graham), but there's a problem. It seems that Jo's parents are also Gillie's. Jo leaves and finds another guy, when Gillie discovers that he isn't really her brother, so he heads after her.

The incest joke could, I suppose, have been good for one laugh in a movie. But as the WHOLE movie, it is a rather thin, and the script (by Peter Gaulke and Gerry Swallow) feels like a Farrelly Brothers ripoff, not the real thing. Odd since Peter and Bobby Farrelly are actually two of the producers on this movie.

As told in the film, everyone in the entire world except Gillie, Jo and one or two other characters, is cold, heartless, and greedy. Gillie is held to a standard of behavior whereby he would need precognitive telepathic abilities to act properly. Even though he didn't know he was sleeping with his sister, he is ridiculed mercilessly, scorned, and abandoned by his "parents." You feel bad for Gillie, especially since Jo is an awful mate, except that she looks like Heather Graham. They fall for each other as she gives him an awful haircut and cuts off his ear. This, Van Gogh fans, is played for laughs.

The movie is a series of low notes. I thought it couldn't get worse when Sally Field wiped her armpits with a sandwich to give to her stroke-inflicted husband, but that was before the movie shifted locations to Beaver, Oregon, hitting the audience over the head with Beaver joke after Beaver joke. They finally flog that bit to death, but just when you see the light at the end of the tunnel, Gillie sticks his arm in a bull's behind up to his shoulder, then gets dragged through town, then loses something in there he has to retrieve. Chris Klein, so good in Election and American Pie, followed those two fine movies with Say It Isn't So and Rollerball. Say this for him, it's only up from here.

The only reason to watch this movie is the soundtrack, featuring songs by Teenage Fanclub, Third Eye Blind, and others. I'd like to say skip the movie and get the soundtrack, but apparently the movie did so poorly they never even bothered to release it on CD. I know what you're thinking, "No soundtrack? Say it isn't so!"

Bubbling just beneath the surface of Showtime is a good idea. Actually, it's more like two or three ideas that constantly fight for screentime. This film doesn't just have its cake and eat it too; it has the whole bakery.

Detective Mitch Preston (Robert De Niro) has a drug bust interrupted by the media and a brash, cop-slash-actor named Trey Sellars (Eddie Murphy). When Preston's partner is shot, he angrily shoots the camera out of the hands of a pestering newsman, and the tiff lands him in a new reality cop show produced by Chase Renzi (Rene Russo). In the first of many errors and oddities in the movie, that injured partner is never heard from again or alluded to for the remainder of the film.

De Niro's best gag is his speech to a classroom of small children to open the picture about how TV cops don't act like real cops. Funny thing is, as the movie progresses, his character and Murphy's begin to act more and more like the clichés they supposedly clash so strongly with. In a smarter movie, De Niro's diatribe could have played as ironic comment; here, it only shows to point out how truly lame the movie is. While a spoof of a reality based cop show could be funny, the team of writers and director Tom Dey (Who made the far superior Shanghai Noon a few years ago; see that movie instead) seem to be on unsure footing, and instead of slamming the TV industry, they really let them off light (The harshest thing they seem to be able to say about network execs is they like to play ping pong at work). Russo's character has a glint of fiendish delight in her eye, but her dialogue and actions rarely match the actress' enthusiasm.

With little on screen to keep my attention, my mind began to wander, and that's dangerous in a movie with this many plot holes. For instance; if Showtime (the name given to the cop show) is such a popular smash, why doesn't anyone seem to recognize De Niro and Murphy when they are on the job? For that matter, if their investigation of smuggler and all around mean guy Vargas is being televised, why the heck hasn't someone mentioned to him that they are on his trail? Then again, given this villain's actions maybe I shouldn't be surprised; this is the same joker who is very angry at an associate for using his new supergun without approval, jeopardizing a deal, and then dispatches him how? By using about ten of the superguns to level his entire house, of course! That's like putting out a fire with a bigger fire.

Occasionally, Showtime gets laughs, but there simply aren't enough for the film's nearly two hour running time. Even worse, the really smart gags suggest that this movie really could have been on to something, if only they had put in a few more drafts of the script. Murphy mugs and talks as fast as he can with minimal results, and De Niro looks flat out bored through most of this. After a completely unnecessary fistfight between cops and gangsters (That remarkably results in no injuries and no arrests) Russo's character shouts `That's great television!' Perhaps it's great television, but it's far from a great movie.

A cute premise nearly done in by a weak dialogue and some weak characters, 40 Days and 40 Nights is nearly a good movie, but not quite. Thanks to the fine performance of star Josh Hartnett and some nice comedic bits, the movie plugs along on genial inertia for 100 minutes, dragging only occasionally, but leaving you not completely satisfied when it concludes.

Hartnett plays Matt Sullivan, a webpage designer for a dot-com company in an alternate universe version of San Francisco (Clearly another reality, since super-model types are the only females employed at computer companies, and still more supermodel types spend Friday nights doing their laundry). After a messy breakup sends him into the arms and beds of most of the female population of San Fran, Matt decides he is fed up with feeling like an empty void. To fight his libido, he swears of all sexual activities for lent. It's a good thing Matt's not Jewish; otherwise he would have had to give up sex for Yom Kippur; a scenario that would have created a much shorter (and significantly more dour) film.

Quickly, Matt's roommate (Paulo Costanzo) and his fellow employees catch wind of his scheme, and soon bets are made, and saboteurs begin to try to taint his quest. Yet another monkey wrench gets thrown into the celibacy machine when Matt meets Erica (Shannyn Sossamon), a dreamy, quirky cutie who just might be `the one,' not to be confused with the super-powered One played by Jet Li last year in the film of the same name.

Writer Rob Perez gets a lot of mileage using the ridiculously attractive cast as spoiling seductresses, and as the days tick away toward forty some genuine suspense is created from the will-he-won't-he tension. Hartnett makes a likeable protagonist, especially considering he's a guy who's unhappy because he gets way too many women (Just like in the real world…). As the gags get more sexual, Hartnett plays his role in appropriately hammy fashion; but the budding relationship with Erica slowly distracts and hurts the main plot; mostly because while the script calls for Erica to be sassy in the meet cute, her character quickly becomes a complaining downer; soon we're questioning why Matt's so hung up on such a frequently harsh woman. And the pseudo-sex scene involving flowers is far too sappy to belong in a movie that also sports a CGI dream sequence featuring a sea of female breasts.

40 Days only recovers from that cumbersome scene by the very end of Matt's journey, but by then most of the film's goofy energy is gone. And a climax that involves a reconciliation between characters we don't care too much about doesn't make for gripping entertainment. You leave liking the movie more than you enjoyed it; Matt deserves a movie (and a love interest) worthy of his and our imagination.

In a year with such bombs as Glitter, Freddy Got Fingered, and Driven, it's easy to pass over 3000 Miles to Graceland in the race for the highly coveted Razzie for Worst Picture of the Year. In any other year, 3000 Miles might have been a favorite; it's the poor film's luck that it came out at a great time for terrible movies. But don't forget this dark horse Razzie voters, this movie has the goods; er, bads.

I'd like to pinpoint where this movie went wrong, but in this case it seems difficult to find a way in which the film could have gone right. From the opening credits we're heavy into oddball territory, as a film about Elvis-impersonating gangsters opens with a lengthy (and highly inauthentic) battle between two CGI scorpions. Clearly director Demian Lichtenstein is trying to suggest something about super-mean character Murphy, played by a mutton-chopped Kevin Costner. Murphy, coincidentally, has a scorpion tattoo and a scorpion belt. He likes scorpions a whole lot.

His nemesis in this thing is Michael Zane, another Elvis impersonating criminal, played by Kurt Russell. Along with a team of additional King impersonators (Including David Arquette and Christian Slater), they rob a Vegas casino about a half hour into in the picture, and spend the remaining ninety minutes following each other around trying to secure the loot. Courteney Cox plays requisite love interest Cybil (with a `c'), and her young child/annoying sidekick is perhaps the most irksome movie tyke since Thomas Ian Nicholas in A Kid In King Arthur's Court.

It's curious that the movie sets up the Elvis bank robbers, and odd and intriguing premise, only to have the robbery play out completely in Act I, so the rest of the movie is a series of typical (and bad) gangster chases and double-crosses, except all the characters have sideburns and sequins (Note: The longer your sideburns in this movie, the more dangerous you are). Lichtenstein and co-writer Richard Recco don't have a firm grip here; is this a goofy heist flick? A gritty Tarantino-esque neo-noir? A road trip love story? I wish I could have heard this movie's pitch. `Well, it's Reservoir Dogs meets Honeymoon in Vegas meets Dutch.' A winning pedigree like that; it's shocking this thing went wrong.

Among the most glaring omissions in the film is the lack of character motivation. We know Costner's Murphy is real evil; cause he kills people but especially because he smokes indoors while wearing sunglasses. But why is he so gosh-darn angry? The movie doesn't have time bother with a reason, it's too busy finding spaces for disappointing cameos from Jon Lovitz and Ice T (whose last appearance on screen will get a huge unintentional laugh even from the film's most ardent supporters). Say this about the movie; Howie Long doesn't have to say Firestorm is the worst movie he's been in any more. Congrats Howie.

The movie drags so long they might as well have called it 3000 Minutes to Graceland. I saw it on television, and I still want my money back. The film closes with a protracted and unsuspenseful orgy of gunfire, after which FBI agent Kevin Pollack tells his men `Go make sure everyone's ok.' At that point, you hope he's sending someone out to check on the audience and make sure they are still breathing too.

A Beautiful Mind is, on its surface, a story of a brilliant mathematician who submits to schizophrenia, but underneath its a fascinating examination of the power of human perception, and the danger of suspicion when it clouds intellect. It's a powerful film with exceptional lead performances and strong direction and script.

For two hours and fifteen minutes, Russell Crowe and Jennifer Connelly emerse us in the lives of their characters, John and Alicia Nash. Nash is a brilliant but arrogant and antisocial mathematician, who slowly loses his grip on reality and becomes consumed by paranoia and schizophrenia, and Alicia is his pupil-turned-wife-turned-caretaker when he becomes dangerously unstable. Crowe's performances is phenomenal, on par with the best of his work, and certainly superior to the role that won him an Oscar, and Connelly, brilliant last year in Requiem For A Dream, constantly finds ways to support and compliment him.

The film's Oscar nominations and box office revenue speak to its success, but likely Crowe and Connelly will receive the lion's share of the credit. One shouldn't overlook the work by director Ron Howard. He takes a potentially dreary story, filled with insanity and lots (and I mean lots) of mathematical equations, and constantly finds new ways to portray them visually. A standout; Nash rides around in circles on his bicycle, muttering to himself, as the camera rises to bird's eye level, revealing his pattern as the shot fades to a window with the same pattern written on it; the symbol of infinity.

The best movies present us with new ideas, questions to ask ourselves reflect on. I wasn't just engrossed in the situations of A Beautiful Mind, I was constantly absorbed by the questions it posed about reality and obsession. Nash tells his students at one point that a problem he has presented them with might take them months to solve. Or, even worse, he adds with a wry smile, the rest of their human existence. Don't expect the answers to the questions in this movie to come even that quickly.

That seems to be the message of Raw Deal, an absurd Schwarzenegger vehicle from the 1980s, in which an intricate plot of mob wars and double-crosses is resolved with a hail of perfectly aimed, vengeance-fueled bullets.

Arnold plays Mark Kaminsky, a small-town sheriff who used to be in the FBI, before he was forced to resign because he brutally beat a man who had raped a small child. His wife (Blanche Baker) hates him because he resigned instead of fighting for his job, she's bored in small-town America, prompting her to ice a cake with an expletive frosted on the top. After she throws it at his head, Arnold returns with the immortal line, "You should not drink and bake."

That sort of depressed but oddly humorous atmosphere permeates all hour and forty minutes of Raw Deal, as Mark is brought in by his old boss Harry (Darren McGavin) to infiltrate the Patrovita mob and bring it down from the inside. Soon the bitter wife is all but forgotten as Mark fakes his own death by blowing up an oil refinery. (Probably an effective way to fake a death, but would a law-loving sheriff fake his death in a way that ensures a hugely disastrous oil fire?)

The plot trudges along through double-crosses and betrayals involving various police officers, mobsters, and the obligatory love interest (Kathryn Harrold, given little do since, even though his wife is awful to him and he's technically dead, he's still a dutiful married man). Arnold bides his time, cracking jokes and doing battle with the minimal threats that come along, until a surprising hit prompts him to forget his weeks of careful planning and simply kill everyone in the mob. It's a shame that hit hadn't happened earlier, it would have saved everyone involved a good deal of time. Wait, make that a RAW deal of time.

The shoot-em-up ending is preceded by a odd scene in which Arnold takes out his vast arsenal, and lovingly inspects and loads each weapon. The scene is filmed with such drawn out zeal that it could only be defined as sexual. As for the climactic battle itself, Arnold breaks the windshield off his car, pops "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones in the tape deck, and drives around a construction site firing at will.

Handling the scene in a such a ridiculous manner speaks to the way this movie could never have worked as an exciting action movie. When the hero is so invulnerable that he can put on rock tunes as he blows away his enemies, there's no audience investment in his fate. As soon as Arnold joins the mob we know everyone but him is going to be dead at the end, and not only that, he will be rewarded for his mass genocide (He gets reinstated for killing roughly fifty men, forty-nine more than it took to get him kicked out in the first place). As silly Arnold-tinged action, this movie can be laughed at, and enjoyed to a certain extent, but never without acknowledging that for the most part the entertainment is at the movie's expense.

Nothing in the world can prepare you for Breakin 2: Electric Boogaloo. No description does it justice, no warning truly gives you an idea of what you are in store for. Few movies are as bizarre, yet oddly compelling at the same time.

Because one movie wasn't enough to contain these people; Breakin 2 picks up where the first movie picks off. Or so I assume, I haven't seen Breakin, but the three main characters Kelly (Lucinda Dickey), Ozone (Adolfo Quinones) and Turbo (Michael Chambers) are the same. In this installment the trio try to save a youth center named Miracles from the clutches of evil (read: white and unhip) government bigwigs who want to bulldoze the unsafe building and make way for a new shopping center.

It's fortunate that the trio live in an alternate universe in which breakdancing can solve all of society's ills. No exaggeration here; over the course of ninety-four boogie filled minutes, dancing stops bulldozers, pays bills, ends gang wars, and even cures the ill and the infirm (One person bounds out of the wheelchair in jubilation; apparently they simply forgot they could walk). There is so much dancing in this movie that it frequently appears that the plot is intruding on it, and not the other way around. These are people who work a hard day's living dancing then go home and blow off some steam by, what else, dancing.

This isn't a poorly made movie in the traditional sense; it isn't full of continuity holes or bad special effects. For all its silliness, it probably succeeds in exactly the way it wanted to; as a movie about people who love breakdancing so much they'd rather do that than say, eat, sleep, converse, or share meaningful human contact. More than fifteen years later, it's terribly quaint, and hilariously dated. But it has a city-wide dance party, a hospital-wide dance party, a dance-filled climax (a shock, I know) and two performances by Ice-T. What more do you want? Do yourself a favor and rent this movie. By the end, you'll be dancing too.

If you invite a bunch of friends over for a movie party, but the night is getting a little old and you want to subtly kick everyone out, pop in Renny Harlin's Driven. A recent viewing I witnessed resulted in more than half the audience leaving before it was over. Only four people made it all the way through. Of course, those four felt extremely rewarded. For you see, although Driven fails to achieve most of its goals, it succeeds on other levels.

Before the film even starts, its hero, Jimmy Bly (Kip Pardue, a name that would better serve a game show host) is wracked with self-doubt. He's the greatest rookie Indycar driver ever, so naturally he's upset about how horrible his fantastic life is. Pardue spends this portion of the movie pouting and playing with his hair.

Joe Tanto (Sylvester Stallone) was a great driver, but then he freaked out, but now he's better, so he's brought in by Bly's mentor Carl Henry (Burt Reynolds) to play Mickey to Bly's Rocky. They spout dialogue about driving for fun, and losing fear, and finding fear, and losing driving, and fearing finding fun, and all sorts of very deep, philosophical materials. They also share a chase through the Chicago streets in 200 mph Indycars. Of course this behavior has absolutely no repercussions whatsoever.

By explaining the plot in large detail, I might actually be doing the movie a disservice, for, upon viewing, it feels like the creators didn't much pay attention to silly trifles like "plot" or "conflict." Essentially every scene is a car racing scene or a setup for more racing; and even crucial scenes that expound on the multi-faceted relationships of the race car drivers take place at tracks. Don't these guys have homes? Or at least hotel rooms?

If the plot had been terrible, it would have been enough. But what in the world was Stallone thinking when he made a movie without a single antagonist? European driver Beau Brandenburg (Til Schweiger) seems like a villain, but he repents his ways thanks to Stallone's teachings, and instead of fights or even races, people settle their differences in taut, riveting apologies. Burt Reynolds has a few scenes where he yells, but by the end he's cheering alongside everyone else as our three heroes are showering each other in champagne.

If the characters had been terrible, it would have been enough. But what in the world was Renny Harlin doing editing his movie like a two hour commercial for Nextel, Motorola, and women's behinds? Scenes are chopped up and filled with jump cuts, the cinematography is blown out and overexposed, and the editing frequently jumps the line of action. It seems like Harlin saw a few too many Steven Soderbergh movies and tried to emulate.

Stallone's already applied the Rocky formula has been applied to Broadway dancing and arm wrestling, and in Driven it gets applied to Indycar racing with rather weak results. It's no wonder it got nominated for all those Razzies; this movie is a tremendously successful failure.

John Rambo, Vietnam vet first appeared in the film "First Blood," based on the novel of the same name. He was a decent guy who, when pushed, became dangerously unstable. He'd have combat flashbacks and generally be a menace to society. He spent an entire movie antagonizing the uppity police force of a Northwestern US town before being led off in handcuffs to serve time in hard labor (as we learn in the second film).

Time has been kind to Rambo; not only has he gotten far, far buffer and hairier, but he's been completely cured of his flashbacks and mental illnesses. Or at least, the fact that neither sequel even MENTIONS the trouble seems to indicate that it went away. Then again, blowing guys up while you hang them will tend to soothe the ache in one's soul.

Rambo III, technically an incorrect title, is a hilariously over-the-top action film, that is right at home with the rest of Sylvester Stallone's finest work from the 1980s. After winning the Vietnam War single-handedly in the last sequel, we find our hero in the far east, finding peace with monks who allow him to participate in barbaric stick fighting contests in between his quests for spiritual enlightenment. It would seem that one would cancel out the other, but these monks aren't picky.

Rambo's mentor, former commander, and occassional jailer, Colonel Trautment (Richard Crenna) finds Rambo and invites him on a special secret mission into Afghanistan to provide military aid to rebels fighting a war against the Soviet Union.

Of course, the irony of the United States providing aid and fighting along side Afghanis called "freedom fighters" throughout gives this silly trifle of a movie yet another dimension of goofy thrills. Nevermind that these rebels are clearly not the Taliban, and indeed are portrayed in a generally positive light, it still makes some of Rambo and Trautman's rhetoric-filled speeches downright spooky.

You know from scene one that even though Rambo is reluctant to fight (His war's over, after all), he'll eventually join the battle against the evil Soviet Empire, and indeed he does, in the fashion of the best macho eighties super action heroes. Stallone, sweating profusely throughout (No doubt because he chose a wardrobe of black in the desert), pulls off some truly momentous stunts. You'll laugh at the lunacy of Rambo versus an entire army then find yourself getting dragged into the excitment just because, despite its lack of believability, it's plain fun.

Director Peter MacDonald throws in some juicy continuity gaffs (Rambo is facing someone in one shot, then spins to talk to him in the next) to keep the early, non-gunshot filled parts interesting, and as soon as the characters stop spouting philosophical gibberish and get down to the mindless violence, you're laughing so hard you don't want this movie to end. Rambo III is one of the dumbest action movies of all time.

Don't let the name fool you, "Farts of Darkness" is an interesting and candid look at the making of Troma's "Terror Firmer." The name's actually a riff on "Hearts of Darkness" the documentary about Francis Ford Coppola's "Apocalypse Now" and like that film, "Farts" is a pulls-no-punches look at what it's really like making a crazy out of control movie.

Unlike many DVD documentaries, "Farts" is a feature-length film. It's not a puff piece about how much the actors loved the director and how the director loved the script and how the scriptwriters love themselves. Instead, it's odd people complaining about one another, while performing debasing acts of perversion and puking foaming green seltzer. Good taste be damned; nothing is spared for the viewer, and even director Lloyd Kaufman comes across as remarkably egoless (if a bit eager to yell at his staff).

On this journey up the river to Kurtz, so to speak, you are privy to the many Troma stunts, goofs, messups and roadblocks; like the "high" fall that had to be altered so the stuntman only fell about two stories, dealing with Lemmy who's on "speed, and booze" and doesn't feel like waiting around for his scenes, or the skinny black man who doubles as Joe Fleishaker, and the highly therapeutic exploding Lloyd scene.

"Terror Firmer" is fun for what it is; "Farts of Darkness" is a good movie, period. It's funny, grotesque, and it really makes you feel like you are part of the crew making the movie. Anyone who is interested in making movies (Regardless of whether it's for Troma or not) should check it out. Entertaining, informative, and genuinely disturbing, it's definitely a good DVD buy.

No one's going to give Zoolander awards for cinematic achievement. The plot is Austin Powers light, and saying the acting is hammy is like saying the sky is kind of above the ground. Still, there are a lot of goofy laughs, most of them pretty clever, so it makes for a good rental or tv movie.

Ben Stiller pulls an Orson Welles, or perhaps more accurately a Woody Allen as Derek Zoolander; aside from starring, he also directed, co-wrote, and co-produced the film. Zoolander is the world's top male model, a vacuous pretty boy (Who isn't all that good looking since it is, after all, Ben Stiller) who finds his world crashing down around him. His hated rival, Hansel (The hilarious Owen Wilson) is "hot" and wins Zoolander's award, Time magazine has just named him a "model idiot" and, to top it all off, an international cartel of fashion designers are plotting to use him as a disposable assassin in a scheme to kill the Prime Minister of Malaysia. It's just that simple!

Stiller gets plenty of mileage out of dumb model jokes, and his performance is the ultimate innocuous idiot good guy. It's also nice to see the blonde female (Stiller's wife Christine Taylor) break stereotype and far outhink her male counterparts. But the plot starts to fall apart at the end, with a bizarre alliance between Hansel and Zoolander that feels wrong, and a clunky and unexciting finale. And for all his weirdness as evil designer Mugatu, Will Ferrell doesn't seem too funny, just weird.

The movie is so slight, on a bad day I might have said avoid it. But in the right mood for the right price you can probably enjoy the movie on a certain level; goofy laughs and some good comedic acting.

Orange County is not as funny as American Pie, but that's all right. The movie has its share of ridiculous, over-the-top gags (A dean of admissions high on ecstasy, for example), but it's far more interested in its characters than its jokes, a refreshing change of pace for this type of movie. The material's supported by some very good performances, especially from leads Colin Hanks and Jack Black.

Hanks plays Shaun, a high school senior who desperately wants to escape his horrible upper middle class life in Orange County for literary pursuits under his favorite writer, Marcus Skinner, who is a professor at Stanford University. But his guidance counselor (Lily Tomlin) botches his application, leaving Shaun relying on the assistance of his stoner brother Lance (Black) and his selfish father (John Lithgow).

You have no doubt heard that Colin Hanks is the son of famous acting father Tom. Even if connections got him the job, you cannot deny that he puts in a strong lead performance (Even if it does have some echoes of his dad's likeable everyman persona). Comedy stars like Catherine O'Hara, Chevy Chase, Garry Marshall, all put it nice small pieces, but it is Jack Black who owns most of the funniest moments in the film. His mere presence in a scene can make it funny; often he brings out laughs with a look or a eyebrow twitch.

The film gets a little sappy and formulaic as it heads toward its conclusion; Shaun's reaction when he meets his hero is spot-on, but their conversation about his story feels wrong; and the inevitable ending is what you pretty much expect as soon as that initial rejection letter arrives at Shaun's door. Professor Skinner put it best; "My one complaint - You need an ending."

Orange County needed a stronger, more unusual ending to compliment the offbeat, but very enjoyable vibe the rest of the of the movie gives off. Still, I found myself completely entertained until the end, and left really appreciating the fine writing and acting, and even wishing the movie was a little longer. And that doesn't happen too often.

Fans of Kevin Smith's View Askewniverse know Jeff Anderson as "Randal," the hilariously obnoxious character featured in Clerks and a spinoff cartoon show. With "Now You Know," screening for the first time in near completed form at the Vulgarathon 2002 (If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's not worth the typing to explain), Anderson jumps into the world of writer/directors, and it is a very impressive, successful debut.

Jeremy (Jeremy Sisto) is at his wild bachelor party, but he doesn't have the strength to tell his fellow partygoers that his wedding to Kerri (Rashida Jones) has been called off. The two return home to their separate friends and contemplate their future. Jeremy pals around with two lawn mowers by day, bizarre criminals by night named Gil (Anderson) and Biscuit (Trevor Fehrman); Kerri hangs out with Marty (Heather Paige Kent) who loves to sexually torture Kerri's horny younger brother. The film follows the Jeremy and Kerri struggle to come to terms with their respective issues in very different ways.

The film has some very big laughs; most from the weirdos Gil and Biscuit, who have a bit of the famous Clerks in their poor job performance and smart, witty dialogue. The film drags only when it gets more serious and focuses on its two leads; throughout the film we are left in the dark as to the hows and whys of the lead couple's breakup; an interesting story tactic, but one that doesn't quite work because a lot of times the lead performers don't seem to be all that interested in one another. While the story plays, and the ending is extremely satsifying, I was usually more intrigued with the respective sidekicks' antics (Furniture heists and marrital advice from lesbians, just to name a few) than with the leads. Anderson, in a large role, is very good, and the rest of the supporting cast give outstanding performances. Also, keep a keen eye for cameos from Kevin Smith and wife Jen, plus Liz Sheriden, aka Helen Seinfeld.

Screening the film before he showed it to cast and crew, Anderson's print wasn't completely finished (And there were a few continuity glitches that several vocal audience members harped on), but it was clear that the film has some real potential. It played for big laughs, and, with a little tightening in the slower areas of the movie, could be an outstanding romantic comedy. The entire audience loved the film and was pleasantly surprised, it seemed, at the writing and directing talent they saw. Let's hope we see some more of it in the future.

Rushmore was staged like one of its protagonist's plays. The Royal Tenenbaums, from the same director and writers, is instead a novel, complete with chapters and a narrator (Alec Baldwin). Even more than Rushmore, a quirky film to be sure, I'm not quite clear of my feelings about the movie. It has some very big laughs, but I don't think it's much of a comedy. It's more like a very serious movie with some funny moments in it.

Royal Tenenbaum (Gene Hackman) is the despicable patriarch of a bizarre family of genius, who live in a gorgeous house in a version of New York, with old taxis and phones, that only exists in this movie. He is kicked out of the house when his three children are still young, and they have to cope with growing up without a father, and with their status as revered prodigies. Twenty odd years later all the kids are screwed up, and they all move back into the old house with their mother (Anjelica Huston). Royal tries to worm his way back into their lives with unusual results.

Rushmore's hero, Max Fisher, was a brilliant playright who didn't fit with society. The Royal Tenenbaums is like watching a movie with five or six Max Fishers. Chas (Ben Stiller), is an accounting wiz, Richie (Luke Wilson) is a former tennis great, and Margot (Gwyneth Paltrow) is another brilliant playright. But they are all messed up; Chas is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Richie had a shadowy one a few years back, and Margot is eternally sullen. Add to this scene after scene of failure, terrible parenting, possible incest, suicide attempts, drug use, and death of both man and animal, and you don't really get the typical mixture for comedy.

But the movie has genuine moments of comedy. Owen Wilson's performance as a friend of the Tenenbaums is constantly bizarre and often very funny. Royal is a terrible father, yet he is so good-humored and ready with a smile thanks to a great performance by Hackman, that you can help chuckle along with him at all his bad deeds. And the biggest and best gag is at Richie's crucial tennis match, with great physical comedy from Luke Wilson.

Shifting the pieces of this thing around in my head writing this, I still don't quite know what to make of it. I laughed, and in a few of the scenes at the end, I was genuinely moved by the performances of Hackman and Stiller. But the complaint that it's "needlessly quirky" is probably true, and some of the weirder eccentricities (Like Bill Murray's character's experiment subject) don't pan out, and neither do some of the techniques used to shoot the movie (Nearly all dialogue scenes are shot with the character dead center of frame looking at the camera...I wish I could understand why!). And the New York of the film is cute at points, but it does grate; I kept wishing the Gypsy Cab company had more than the two cars that are seen in the movie over a dozen times.

I guess I'm resigned to say that it's an interesting, if uneven, movie that you should see for yourself and try out. Maybe not on the big screen, but this movie should be seen. Great or terrible, it's far more involving than most movies I've seen this year, and deserves to be viewed for that reason at the very least.

Freddy Got Fingered doesn't need a review, it needs a viewer's guide. I don't know whether I just watched the worst movie I've ever seen, or some piece of insane genius that I am far too dumb to comprehend. I don't even know what to rate it. On the IMDb's 1 to 10 scale, I think I'd give this movie a V.

I saw this film explicitly for the purpose of mockery. Given its absolute dreadful reviews, I figured it was a no-brainer for the kind of crappy movie my friends and I enjoy getting together to watch and laugh at. If I was expecting a bomb, I got a piece of fruit. Or maybe I got a piece of a horse's anatomy, since that is actually in the film. Twice.

This is said by a guy who has watched, and occassionally enjoyed Tom Green's MTV show. His sheer enthusiasm for pissing people off is something to behold, if not applaud. And he was funny in his limited screen time in "Road Trip."

The difference between his television antics and his film antics, is that on television is he making people on screen uncomfortable and we are able to sit back and laugh at them; while in the movie we are forced to sit through Green's bizarre and often grotesque antics completely unfiltered. There is no one to laugh at here. On Green's show, he'd have put a camera in the theater where this thing is shown and let you, the viewer, watch the horror on the faces of those he'd suckered into watching it.

That would have been hilarious. This, instead, is uncomfortable in a truly unique way. Green plays Gord Brody, an aspiring animator who has a highly strained relationship with his father Jim, played by Rip Torn, who matches Green's insane antics with gusto that's at once impressive and shameful.

You wouldn't suspect it just by looking at young Gord, but his dreams reach far beyond those of a lucrative animation contract. He also wants to play with a male horse's genitals, which he accomplishes on the way to Hollywood. He also wants to build a half pipe to skateboard on. He does so, and when his friend goes for a first ride he promptly breaks his leg, and Gord suckles on the protruding bone and flesh while his father yells angrily. Oh, that wacky Gord.

The film goes on and on like this; lord knows what PETA thought of the scene with Gord and a dead deer, just after he's received the advice to "get inside the animals."

Green's ability to direct and write (anything but disgusting material) don't rate with his knack for freaking people out. To call this weird thing misguided is the unterstatement of a lifetime. I don't know how this movie could have been made to play as entertainment for audiences who aren't totally in love with Green's offbeat persona. For a casual fan, it just looks like the weirdest movie in a long time. And I saw Pootie Tang.

This movie is trying to make fun of numerous teen movies; primarily "She's All That," "Varsity Blues," and "American Pie." There are jabs at probably a couple dozen other movies. I'm all for making fun of movies, and certainly there is a lot to make fun of in some of these films ("Down to You" I'm looking at you). But in order to make fun of a film, you yourself have to be smarter than the subject matter you are mocking. And I'm not entirely convinced this film is there.

The potential for truly intelligent satire might have been here, we'll never know. The biggest problem is the creators truly underestimate their audience. After almost every joke, there is an explanation for the joke. For example, in one of the few smart bits, a character tries to start a cliched slow, building applause. But because he does it at such an inopportune moment, it doesn't work. Very funny. But then a character comes over (Oddly, Melissa Joan Hart in a cameo) and explains that that won't work now, and he's got to wait for the right moment. Very unfunny. Give us a little credit; we get the joke, we don't need our hands held.

This hurts the movie because parody works best when its characters aren't in on the joke. In Blazing Saddles, the townspeople don't go "Oh that man is tricking us by holding a gun to his own neck." They go "Would someone help that poor man?!?" In "NATM" every character is completely aware of themselves, and so instead of building off of stereotypes, they are mired in them. For instance, the black character knows he's only supposed to say silly retorts that add nothing to the conversation. Funny when he explains it; not funny when for the rest of the movie he actually only says those three things. Instead, why not have the character only say three things, and then have other characters question him on his bizarre behavior. Same goes for Bruce, a white kid who thinks he is Chinese, funny at first, not funny for the last seventy minutes of the film. The foreign exchange student character probably sounded funny on paper, but it's so over the top it's downright exploitative.

I liked a few of performances; the character of "Ox" is an incredible impression of Chris Klein in every movie he's in. And the film makes excellent use of its soundtrack; all the moments they are making fun of have the original songs in the background ("Kiss Me" when the ugly duckling walks down the stairs in slo-mo, for example). It even has a cute song and dance number.

In any case, there is potential here, and certainly a couple of big laughs. But the film thinks it is a whole lot smarter than it is. I guess in that sense, it really IS just another teen movie.

The Naked Gun came out when I was only eight years old, and way too young to appreciate a lot of its jokes. Still, there was enough low-brow and physical comedy to crack me up, and it was one of my early favorite movies. And while I've outgrown a lot of stuff I liked at that age, I can still watch The Naked Gun and laugh, and I even get the jokes that went way over my head as a young'un.

The film, subtitled From The Files of Police Squad!, couldn't be simpler, and that's the way they want it. Lt. Frank Drebin has to to clear the name of his partner Norberg (The now ironic OJ Simpson) while protecting the life of Queen Elisabeth, in Los Angeles on a tour of America. For ninety minutes, the movie exploits, and frequently ignores, the plot in the name of jokes. Just plain and simple, this movie is out to make you laugh, and it will sink to any depth to get there.

Everyone has their favorite Naked Gun moment; mine has to be Leslie Nielsen performing the worst rendition of the Star Spangled Banner in history. His fireside monologue about a lost love who played the harp is priceless as well.

Kudos also to Ricardo Montalban's performance as real estate tycoon Vincent Ludwig. So ridiculous is his accent and accentuations that he makes even straight lines funny. I'll never get tired of him saying to a frightened Priscilla Presley, "It was easy my dear! You forget I spent two years as a building contractor!" Stupidty at its funniest.

This is not a classic, and it didn't change the face of comedy (It is after all, a simple application of the "Airplane!" formula to cop movies), but The Naked Gun is funny, and it never loses its charm no matter how many times you watch it.