In his debut effort, director/writer Steven Baigleman put together an interesting premise and collected a talented cast to execute it. Unfortunately, he never sets the tone, so we are caught between a wildly black comedy and an emotionally brutal drama. A firmer footing in either genre would have better defined our reactions to it. Keanu Reeves plays Jjaks, a man so badly trod upon by fate that his very name is the result of a typo. He arrives back at his mother's house in a lower working-class Minnesota neighborhood to witness the marriage of his older brother (Vincent D'Onofrio) to an obviously reluctant bride (Cameron Diaz). By the time Jjaks is on his way, he's stolen a car, a dog, and his brother's wife. You have to give Baigleman credit for serving up intriguing characters. Unfortunately, he spins the story in circles instead of moving it along. Reeves and Diaz attempt to leave Minnesota, but never quite make it. Reeves repeatedly returns to a boyhood home he hates, always stumbling into his brother's angry clutches. [+]

The Philadelphia Experiment takes as its jumping-off point an incident that is now paranormal legend, the U. S. Navy's supposed 1943 induction of an extremely powerful electromagnetic field around a destroyer in Philadelphia, causing its crew to become transparent, go insane, burst into flames, and so forth. The movie takes the tack that this was to render the ship invisible to radar, because of the war that was on. The test goes awry, however, and two of the crew leap forward in time to the filmmakers' present tense, 1984, where a similar experiment has caused a vortex that has trapped the 1943 ship and its crew along with a small Nevada town. The key to unbollixing this sad time-fracture lies in our heroes, the two time-travelling crew members, David Herdeg (Michael Paré) and Jim Parker (Bobby Di Cicco), whose electromagnetic instability keeps drawing them painfully back to the vortex to set things straight. This is silly stuff, but it's very fun silly stuff. One might cavil at gaps in plot logic, such as when Michael Paré seeks out the '80s version of his partner and finds more or less a trauma patient, while subsequent action contradicts this characterization. Still, there are plenty of still-worthy special effects, creating the requisite sense of awe and wonder. And for romantic interest, there's Nancy Allen's '80s girl paired with Michael Paré, affording plenty of amusing occasions for culture comparisons, most notably when Paré sees Ronald Reagan on TV, says, "Hey, I know that guy!" and refuses to believe he's president. [+]

Big Jake is not one of the Duke's classics, but a diverting attempt nonetheless. Everyone seems to think that Jacob McCandles is six-feet under ("I thought you was dead" is a running line throughout), so some bad men kidnap his grandson. They want a piece of the family fortune and will kill to get it. Patrick Wayne, the Duke's own son, plays one of Big Jake's kids, and together they start out after the boy's abductors. Richard Boone makes a worthy adversary to Jake's larger than life figure, and the final confrontation between the two contains some great gritted-teeth dialogue. Maureen O'Hara is barely in the feature, sharing the same fate as Bobby Vinton as the boy's father. He seems to be onscreen just to get shot. -Keith Simanton.

Paul Newman is the blue-eyed "savage," a white man raised by the Indians who rejects so-called civilized society for his spiritual family, in Elmore Leonard's take on Stagecoach. It's not exactly Grand Hotel on wheels. The hypocrites, crooks, and racists Newman travels with cast him out of their polite company in the coach, then turn to him for salvation when outlaws hold up the stage and hunt them through the desert. It's hard to "like" Newman's cold, hard survivor, but you can't help but respect his cunning and his unsentimental directness. Fredric March is sweaty with corruption as a crooked Indian agent, and Richard Boone smiles his deadly charm as a lusty bad man. While this 1966 Western wears its social politics on its dusty sleeves, director Martin Ritt tempers the revisionist moral of the tale with a stripped-down ruthlessness befitting the rugged, unforgiving landscape. -Sean Axmaker.