Times Square is the kind of movie I love not despite its flaws, but because of them. Rather than be put off by its lack of authenticity and enormous leaps of logic, I find myself instead pulled into its fantasy and want to stay there for far longer than I am allowed. It’s not great. It’s probably not even good. I don’t care.
Directed by Allan Moyle, who also made Pump Up the Volume (which is great), the film follows two mismatched young girls who meet in a hospital room while being tested for their psychosomatic fits. Pam (Trini Alvarado) is the daughter of a well-known New York councilman. Nikki (Robin Johnson) is a charismatic delinquent who likes to cause trouble. The two run away together and become famous, thanks to a popular radio DJ (Tim Curry) who relishes the irony of the councilman’s daughter being a street kid on the very street her father has been tasked to transform.
In reality, the girls would have been torn apart by the titular location within minutes of their arrival, but Times Square is a fairy tale. Viewed as such, it is a well-made and moving one, thanks especially to a stand-out performance by Johnson (who should have gone on to much bigger things, instead of her only other film, Splitz). Equally important is the amazing soundtrack, which features not only the best music of the era, but also two great original songs performed by the leads.
I can’t recommend that you check Times Square out, because you’ll probably hate it, but I love it all the same. I’ll take uplifting musical fantasy over gritty, depressing reality every single time. How does that not make sense? —Allan Mott
Heads up, everybody: In 
Despite the screenwriters putting zero thought into naming their characters, Faster is no generic actioner. In fact, it’s fast, furious and fairly no-holds-barred, with Driver never hesitating to raise his weapon, pull the trigger, and launch a bullet clean through his target’s forehead. Director George Tillman Jr. (
Now the guy in the room next to hers is a serial killer named Volpe (Patrick Kilpatrick). So dangerous is this monster, he’s kept standing up in chains and masked so he can’t hypnotize the staff. Right, he’s in the room next to a sleeping girl. This place is not on the shortlist for Asylum of the Year honors.
No movie ever should start with Eddie Deezen driving a pink jalopy, Tom Bosley wearing a cowboy hat, and/or three blondes with a burning need to urinate. (It’s in Cahiers du Cinéma. Look it up.) That’s 
Like 
What do you get when you combine the plot of a bad ’50s sci-fi alien invasion movie with the visual aesthetics of a backyard slasher film and add just a dash of early-’80s porno sensibility? A terrible mess, naturally, but a strangely compelling mess for those not overly offended by others’ incompetence.
Despite their noble attempts to harvest these platelets without killing their unwilling donors, many of the kids die as a result of the harsh methods employed by their chief kidnappers, two mentally deficient mechanics (Neville Brand and Aldo Ray). The fact that we don’t actually care if any of these kids survive does have a somewhat negative impact on the movie’s overall tension.