Q: Slaughter High the tale of revenge by a nerdy guy who fell victim to one of the coolest and coldest jokes in cinema history. Unfortunately after the promising opening the flick went straight to hell. A very tedious and redundant mess with mediocre slashings and a final half hour that sucked on a whole new level of suckiness. The guy who played the nerd actually killed himself shortly after the flick was released. If you wanna rent the flick stop it after the prank and remember, choose life.
A: negative
Q: This flick was a blow to me. I guess little girls should aspire to be nothing more than swimsuit models, home makers or mistresses, since that seems to be all they'll ever be portrayed as anyway. It is truly saddening to see an artist's work and life being so unjustly misinterpretated. Inconcievably (or perhaps it should have been expected), Artemisia's entire character and all that she stands for, had been reduced to a standard Hollywood, female character; a pitiful, physically flawless, helpless little creature, displaying none of the character traits that actually got her that place in history which was being mutilated here. Sadder yet, was to see that a great part of the audience was too badly educated in the area to comprehend the incredible gap between the message conveyed in the film, and reality. To portray the artist as someone in love with her real-life rapist, someone whom she in reality accused of raping her even when under torture, just plain pisses me off. If the director had nothing more substantial to say she should have refrained from basing her story on a real person.
A: negative
Q: I caught this at a test screening. All I can say is: What...the...hell? This movie plays out about as smoothly as Mickey Mouse reading the script for "Scarface." It's bizarre beyond making the slightest bit of sense; and even if you do leave your brain in the car, the film is still so bizarre that it isn't even funny.

The plot involves crocodile hunter Steve Irwin trying to "save" a crocodile which contains a CIA probe. The CIA comes after Irwin to get their probe back, Irwin mistakes them for poachers, and sets out to "stop" them.

That's about all the story there is; the rest is over-the-top lampooning of Australian culture ("Didja see dat?" and "Crikey!") and strangely choreographed action sequences. At one point, Irwin mounts a speeding RV and knife fights with a CIA agent on top of it. Yes, that's right: Steve Irwin knife fights a guy on top of an RV. Let that be your guide for this ridiculously bad film.
A: negative
Q: Well, you might not actually SEE any women in love in this movie, but you'll certainly hear women TALKING about love, and men talking about love, and women talking about men, and men talking about women, and men talking about men, and everyone talking about death, and talking, and talking, until you yourself will want to scream and do something that requires no talking at all, like paint your bedroom or water your plants.

Welcome to the world of D.H. Lawrence, where psycho-babble reigns supreme, and where no one can get down to living a productive life because everyone is too busy talking about how unproductive their lives are. Spending time with the characters in a D.H. Lawrence novel is like being locked in a closet with a group of your most self-absorbed acquaintances who you would run away from if you met them at a party. When I read "Women in Love," I so desperately wanted to strangle every single character in it, but since I couldn't, I was hoping they would at least strangle each other. Alas, only one of them dies, not by strangulation, and I won't spoil it for you by telling which one, in case you actually give a damn about this story or any of these people.

To give director Ken Russell his due, he makes this filmed version about as entertaining as it's possible to make this essentially unfilmable novel. He throws out much of the psychological mumbo-jumbo that Lawrence adored, and focuses instead on all of the naughty parts, so we get lots of histrionic lovemaking in beds and fields, two buck naked men wrestling by firelight, and one embarrassing scene featuring Alan Bates (yup, buck naked again) roaming around in a meadow making love to bushes and grass (I'm not kidding). Glenda Jackson won an Oscar for her performance as Gudrun, the more dominant of the two sisters at the story's focus, and she certainly tries her hardest to do something with this material; anyone would deserve an Oscar simply for having to bear Russell's decision to give her a scene where she has to dance wildly in front of a herd of mystified-looking cattle. Oliver Reed has one expression, an intense glower. The whole thing is over-written and over-directed, and it's deliriously campy. Indeed, this vies with "Mommie Dearest" as perhaps the most unintentionally hysterical movie I've ever seen.

Grade: D
A: negative