These are some great-lines from Roger Ebert’s book, I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie:
In which we determine how werewolves are made, how they are killed, and how they spread their wolfiness.
Here is an actress meant to play a woman who is in love, and she seems subtly uncomfortable with that fate.
…he finds himself overtaken by a vague discontent.
Blake befriends a hapless flower girl, and is invited to her room for an encounter between innocence and experience.
It could not be more damaging to the career of Andrew Dice Clay if it had been made as a documentary by someone who hated him.
…a screenplay cleverly designed to obscure their strengths while showcasing their weaknesses.
…a ghoulish retailer of human misery.
The Jackal strikes me as the kind of overachiever who, assigned to kill a mosquito, would purchase contraband insecticides from Iraq and bring them into the United States by hot-air balloon, distilling his drinking water from clouds and shooting birds for food.