As vast and desolate as the Himalayas it depicts is Man Beast, an abominable turd. In her film debut, Asa Maynor (Conquest of the Planet of the Apes) plays Connie Hayward, a young woman who hires Steve Cameron (Tom Maruzzi, in his one and only acting credit) to lead her high up into the mountains to find her brother before it’s too late.

Like a few other “distinguished scientists,” Connie’s sib has gone in search of the yeti — “a kind of people covered with hair,” we’re told — and yet not a single member of those expeditions ever was heard from again. For quite a while, viewers of this freshman directorial outing by Jerry Warren (The Wild Woman of Batwoman) may wonder if the missing men committed suicide simply to have something to do.

Only two things happen in Man Beast: climbing and boring, in roughly equal measure. Although the movie is a mere 62 minutes, it seems to take hours to reach the bargain-basement creature of the title, who sits in the snow and carries a big stick that resembles a salami hanging in a deli. Upon first glance, it looks like a cosplay version of Bert Lahr’s Cowardly Lion; as Warren allows his monster to stumble toward the forefront, rejected Chewbacca sketches come to mind.

The whooshing of the wind bears more personality than the yeti or any of the human cast, making Man Beast a steaming pile of cryptozoological crap. When Connie cries the flick’s last line, “Take me away from here, Steve! Take me away!,” you will share the sentiment. —Rod Lott

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You’re a movie executive who’s just watched a double feature of Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, and inspiration strikes. These movies are great, no question, but you know what they need? Laughs! You set up a meeting and pitch the filmmakers on a third Batman film, only this time, the main villain will be portrayed by Adam Sandler in full Waterboy mode.

Thus, Superman III, a sequel overloaded with pratfalls, double takes, broad acting, pathetic plot contrivances and the ruinous casting of comedian Richard Pryor (Silver Streak) as a computer genius led awry into cartoon villainy. It’s genuinely mind-boggling that producers would take a beloved and financially successful cultural icon and treat it like garbage. Then again, look at 1997’s Batman & Robin. Better yet, don’t.

With the right material, Pryor was a comedy genius, but in a movie laden with miscalculations — replacing Richard Donner’s stewardship of Superman: The Movie and Superman II with the unsuitable campiness of Richard Lester (Help!); treating Lois Lane (Margot Kidder) like an afterthought; believing that computers can do anything, because science — the stand-up legend’s painful flailing about is by far the most atrocious. He seems to be acting in an entirely different film, and not a good one.

Christopher Reeve, the ideal Superman/Clark Kent combo, heroically survives scenes that would cripple a more cynical actor. Reeve’s main strength was an ability to project decency, and this alone allows him to escape the debacle relatively unscathed. He even adds a dash of surly menace when a piece of faulty kryptonite turns Superman evil — well, more dickish, really; a prick with a 5 o’clock shadow. It’s still campy, but Reeve makes it work, even when he goes all Fight Club and battles himself in a junkyard. It makes no logical sense, but it’s by far the most interesting scene.

The rest, sadly, crumbles away as Pryor and co-antagonist Robert Vaughn (The Magnificent Seven) compete to see who can debase himself more. And at the end, after causing untold danger to life and property, Superman releases Pryor because hey, mistakes are why pencils have erasers. Also, Lester hates you.

Side query: While his job is integral to the mythos, have we ever seen Clark Kent actually perform “journalism”? His big story here is writing a piece on his high school reunion, leading me to believe Clark is less a star reporter and more The Daily Planet’s advice columnist. —Corey Redekop

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Dolph Lundgren fights zombies and robots! Repeat: Dolph Lundgren fights zombies and robots! And that’s all the information needed in deciding whether Battle of the Damned speaks to you.

The Expendables veteran plays Gatling — as in “gun,” get it? — a former Delta Force soldier dispatched to a city in Southeast Asia quarantined on account on the viral outbreak that has turned much of the populace into zombies. Because of that unfortunate incident, a military blockade is thought to be impenetrable, so how else will a rich white guy extract his daughter but to hire a he-man? (And the actual He-Man at that?)

I cannot tell a lie: There’s a palpable novelty to watching Lundgren — my favorite of the ’80s action heroes — mow down members of the undead; the addition of dealing with Battlestar Galactica-esque ‘bots is icing on that junk-food snack cake. I cannot tell a lie: And it is a novelty, meaning the gimmick carries a shelf life, which unfortunately falls mere minutes into all the rapid fire. Before Battle stops to catch a breath, its initial sparks of enthusiasm have settled into charred embers, all but extinguished.

Writer/director/producer Christopher Hatton, whose previous movie tread similar geekgasm territory as Robotropolis, gets a good-looking pic out of ugly Malaysian settings, but Lundgren deserves a better vehicle than anything that pairs him with a spunky young girl (feature-debuting Melanie Zanetti, here cast as a poor man’s Ellen Page) with raccoon makeup around her eyes. I’m not saying the sci-fi/action hybrid is a waste of one’s time, but hey, Damned if you do. —Rod Lott

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Part of the Creature Features pentalogy of in-name-only remakes of AIP classics — in this case, Bert I. Gordon’s 1958 tarantula-on-the-loose tale — Earth vs. the Spider stars the bland Devon Gummersall (Independence Day) as comic-obsessed geek Quentin Kemmer, a security guard at a genetics lab wherein experiments are conducted on arachnids.

In broad daylight, the place is robbed and his partner is killed. Somehow, this double tragedy makes Quentin want to inject himself with spider serum, in the off chance that he might become a superhero — a spider-man, if you will. He does gain considerable strength and soon can shoot webs from a hole in his chest, but with his powers comes great madness and eventually, four more limbs, additional eyes and one nasty set of fangs.

Two-time Ghostbuster Dan Aykroyd is the doughy detective on the case as Quentin’s mutated self starts leaving a trail of bodies. So technically, the made-for-Cinemax movie should be called Dan Aykroyd vs. the Spider, but that sounds far less thrilling, doesn’t it?

The film by Scott Ziehl (Road House 2) could be viewed as the dark cousin (twice removed) of Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man, but it plays more like another sequel to David Cronenberg’s The Fly, yet with about half the imagination of The Fly II. The premise is a good one, never brought to fruition, leaving this Spider to spin its wheels as it spins its webs. —Rod Lott

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As he would do in 2004’s Adventures of Arsène Lupin, director Jean-Paul Salomé updates a French pulp favorite in Belphégor: Phantom of the Louvre, based on Arthur Bernède’s 1927 mystery novel. Perhaps owing to the success of Stephen Sommers’ American Mummy franchise, this treatment is first and foremost a fantasy.

In a prologue set in 1935 Egypt, a 3,000-year-old tomb is unearthed, with a sarcophagus intact. Near instantly, the mummy unleashes a virus that causes hallucinations with anyone who dares stare directly into its eyes, like Medusa. Said hallucinations are based upon the individual’s fear, from dogs to needles, and can lead to suicide. In present-day France, the mummy’s spirit exits its dirt-dry corpse, enters the electrical system and causes all kinds of havoc throughout the world-famous Louvre Museum.

Per an on-the-case inspector (Michel Serrault, Diabolique), the floating specter is a belphégor — that is, Satan in human form. Whatever it is, it steals Egyptian amulets from the Louvre’s Egyptology collection and possesses the body of an on-the-rebound woman (Sophie Marceau, The World Is Not Enough) after she chases her cat inside the museum. While she’s soaking in the tub, the spirit makes her scribble hieroglyphics with bath crayons. It also makes her have wild sex with the electrician (Frédéric Diefenthal, Luc Besson’s Taxi comedies).

Belphégor is ridiculously silly, but knows it; why else would a frightened Julie Christie (Don’t Look Now) be made to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” in an elevator? With its overly convoluted story, inconsistent computer effects and game cast, Salomé’s film is right in line and on par with Russell Mulcahy’s Tale of the Mummy, another gauze-wrapped project that’s problematic, but nonetheless a mild kick to watch. —Rod Lott

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