Originally one-third of Miramax’s aborted sci-fi anthology Alien Love Triangle, director Gary Fleder’s Impostor clearly should have stayed that way instead of being expanded into a full-length movie. As a half-hour short (which the DVD allows you to see), it’s nice and compact in a perfectly acceptable Twilight Zone-ish way. But multiply that by three, and it only succeeds in not succeeding.

The elfin-faced Gary Sinise (TV’s CSI: NY) stars as Spencer, a weapons designer some 75 years into the future. One day at work, he’s arrested by military man Hathaway (Vincent D’Onofrio, Full Metal Jacket) and assumed to be an android with a bomb in his heart, intended to assassinate a government official.

So is he or isn’t he? Even Spence doesn’t know for sure, but he spends the rest of the movie running and trying to clear his name, making Impostor an uneasy mix of The Fugitive and Minority Report, which, like this, was based on a Philip K. Dick short story.

Somehow, the film seems to progress at half the speed of its on-the-lam main character. This is because it’s padded with repetitious scenes, needless subplots and just plain ol’ drawn-out sequences. Sinise’s miscasting doesn’t help matters; he’s about the most unappealing action hero modern cinema could think up. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Even as a kid, I knew Krull to be a weird and not altogether successful amalgam of Star Wars, Excalibur, The Lord of the Rings, Clash of the Titans, Dragonslayer and many, many others. Peter Yates’ film follows the standard adventure template set out by its betters: Take some reasonably attractive and devastatingly dull people, throw in an incomprehensible evil only they can stop, mix with secondary actors far more charismatic than the leads, and stir. It doesn’t really matter that it feels like the people behind the camera are making it all up as they go along, as long as something is always happening.

And what happens offers its share of pleasures, if you can fight your way past a few substandard effects and the pale-white blandness of leads Ken Marshall and Lysette Anthony. Past that, Krull offers:
• bizarre Stormtrooper/alien hybrids conquering a pseudo-feudal kingdom with laser muskets;
• invaluable character actor Freddie Jones (Dune) as the movie’s Obi-Wan;
• fierce-yet-lovable highwaymen (including Liam Neeson and Robbie Coltrane!);
• a wimpy-yet-lovable shape-shifting magician;
• a towering-yet-lovable cyclops;
• the glave, a legendary weapon that actually has very little purpose, but is kinda cool;
• and the crystal spider, terrifying and not-at-all-lovable. It’s one of the last true examples of Ray Harryhausen-esque stop-motion monsters and cinema’s last great giant spider until Shelob replaced it in my nightmares.

If nothing else, I would love Krull just for its part in one of my favorite geek jokes of all time, a quick visual gag on TV’s American Dad: a close-up of Wizards and Shut-Ins magazine, the cover proudly proclaiming, “500 Reasons Why Krull is Better than Sex!”

Better than sex Krull ain’t. But it’s far preferable to more modern, but far less fun adventure epics like Dungeons & Dragons and Eragon. Those movies were craven attempts at pandering to a fan base, whereas Krull, for all its numerous faults, at least tries to have some fun. —Corey Redekop

Buy it at Amazon.

The “jumper” of Jumper is a young man named David (Hayden Christensen, Star Wars episodes I through III) who suddenly and inexplicably acquires the gift of teleportation. (Plot points pop up and vanish almost as quickly.) The newfound power allows him to escape an abusive father and get the bright idea to “borrow” considerable cash sums from bank vaults.

While romancing Millie (Rachel Bilson, TV’s The O.C.), a childhood crush grown up to be a clueless barmaid, David is chased not by the cops, but by the Paladins, a shadowy organization for whom Roland (Samuel L. Jackson, sporting white hair that makes him look like a Fisher-Price toy) works. Yes, that’s right: David is not the only “jumper,” as he learns when he meets the cocky Brit named Griffin (Jamie Bell, Billy Elliot).

The mild joy of Steven C. Gould’s 1992 source novel stems from its childlike view of an amazing power. With the on-the-page David greeting his newfound skills with equal guilt and glee, it’s not unreasonable to view it as a thinly veiled tale of hitting puberty and discovering the magic of erections.

For the screen, however, the normally gifted director Doug Liman (The Bourne Identity) reduces that story to a mere special effect. Although mildly diverting, there’s nothing all that innocent — or human — about it. Wooden, however, is a quality Christensen has in spades. –Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Birds committing suicide by smashing into a Japanese airliner doesn’t bode well for its passengers. Shortly thereafter, a glowing UFO appears and forces the plane to crash-land in a remote area not only without water, but an almost equal hope of rescue.

Among the survivors is a white-gloved, would-be terrorist (Hideo Ko, Horrors of Malformed Men) who wanders into a cave where a blue blob of space Jell-O throbs and telepathically splits his forehead vertically, from hairline to nose tip – or, as a fellow passenger puts it, “like a pomegranate.” Now under the control of an unseen alien force, he becomes the host for its bidding.

The aliens’ objective: Exterminate the human race. They do it via body snatching. You know how to snatch a body, don’t you? You just press your lips together and suck a neck.

In Goke, Body Snatcher from Hell, there exists a surfeit of survivors arguing over who will leave the confines of the downed jet and when. Pacing and padding issues, however, are made up for in the vibrant visuals. Impressive miniatures in the plane crash and rockslides (both of them) are one thing; the use of saturated color is another — even the plane’s pilots make note of it in the opening scene.

While the title links itself to the classic pod-people Invasion of 1956, Goke appears to hold influence itself, most notably on 1987’s The Hidden. More than just sci-fi shocks, the film is a pointed commentary on the nuclear age from Hajime Sato, the director of Terror Beneath the Sea, with the most memorable moments arriving in the final minutes. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

In the late 1970s, sci-fi flicks popped up like mad, because producers wrongly assumed any space-themed film would be the next Star Wars. Italy made scads of them, including Cosmos: War of the Planets. If a plot exists to its first half, it skipped the translation process.

For 45 minutes, the members of a spaceship push buttons, take orders from a computer named Wiz, go on a spacewalk where acid seeps into the suit, and have virtual sex in the “Cosmic Love” room (which has two settings: “violent or gentle”). Because they all wear red cloth helmets that obscure a majority of the head, it’s extremely difficult to tell the characters apart. Okay, so one has a beard, one is black (and gets the whitest voice-dub of them all) and a couple of them have breasts, but other than that, baby, they’re the same.

Then they visit a mysterious planet, where a semblance of a story takes shape. Our heroes come across a Stonehenge-like structure that, when walked through, zaps them underground to a cavernous dwelling housing a race of mostly naked slaves who look like Blue Man Group with Mr. Spock ears. As these slaves explain via telepathy, they’re lorded over by a boxy slot-machine robot that suspiciously resembles that non-threatening educational toy Tomy put on the market around the time.

The last few minutes is one of those endings that makes you go, “What the—?” for several reasons, not the least of which is a crew member who inexplicably turns into a rabid, pustule-faced monster. With the flick’s low budget, expect a goofy electronic score, rudimentary optical effects and cardboard direction by Super Stooges vs. the Wonder Women‘s Al Bradley (aka Alfonso Brescia); ironically, don’t expect the one thing that costs nothing: lucidity. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.