The Bombs of Summer

So far, this movie season has been depressingly respectable-there's only been one box-office bomb worthy of total scorn and derision. And fittingly, it's based on a book by a kooky Hollywood cultist-and it stars one, too. Battlefield Earth, John Travolta's galactic fiasco based on the novel by Church of Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard, clearly ranks as the year's most implosive critical and commercial bomb. We decided we'd pay tribute to B.E. by compiling our very own list of unforgettable hot-weather turkeys from summers past.

The Avengers (August 1998; budget/gross: $60 million/$25 million) In this absolutely incoherent travesty of the '60s caper series, Ralph Fiennes and Uma Thurman very nearly dispel more pleasant memories of The English Patient and Pulp Fiction. As an ersatz John Steed and Emma Peel, the stars spend most of the movie trading languid banter with Sean Connery, playing (and not half-badly) meteorological manipulator Sir August de Wynter. The scattershot plot manages to incorporate a Peel döppelganger, mechanical wasps, a teddy bear convention and Eddie Izzard as a menacing androgyne. Low point: Fiennes and Thurman ford a river in translucent globes. It doesn't make any more sense on the screen. Immortal dialogue: Cackles the sinister Sir August, plotting his imperial regime, "Rain or shine, it's all mine!" Best critical potshot: "I can't remember another Friday morning show where I heard actual cries of 'Ugh!' on the way out the door." (Janet Maslin, The New York Times) Worth watching if: You're convinced Ralph Fiennes can do no wrong.

Batman & Robin (June 1997; budget/gross: $120 million/$107 million) George Clooney, a long way from Out of Sight, dons the cowl and codpiece to wage war with subzero ice lord Mr. Freeze (Arnold Schwarzenegger) and nymphomaniacal botanist Poison Ivy (Uma Thurman, who didn't learn from this experience and proceeded to make The Avengers). Wildly overproduced and packed to the gills with lame quips, the fourth Bat-film effectively killed Warner Bros.' most lucrative franchise and managed to seriously impair the careers of Schwarzenegger, Thurman, director Joel Schumacher, and co-stars Alicia Silverstone (Batgirl) and Chris O'Donnell (Robin). Holy debacle, Batman! Low point: Thurman, wearing a gorilla suit, sways sensually atop a parapet. I said, Thurman, clad in a gorilla suit, sways sensually atop a parapet. Immortal dialogue: "You're not sending me to the cooler!" Or, "The Iceman cometh!" Or, "Tonight, Hell freezes over!" Best critical potshot: "Batman No More would be much more fitting." (Joe Baltahe, Sacramento Bee) Worth watching if: You still aren't convinced of the Law of Diminishing Sequel Quality (see Alien, Superman, Jaws).

The Island of Dr. Moreau (August 1996; budget/gross: $60 million/$27 million) Few big-budget films have ever wallowed so zealously in grotesquerie. The third screen adaptation of H. G. Wells' 1896 cautionary novel features a mincingly camp turn by Marlon Brando in the titular role (i.e., Dr. Moreau, not the island), but that's the least of this film's problems. John Frankenheimer, a director capable of tightly wound thrillers (Ronin), badly mishandles the action sequences; Stan Winston's creature effects are more odious than convincing; and a miscast David Thewlis barely registers as Edward Douglas, a UN ambassador marooned on the island where Moreau and his assistant Montgomery (Val Kilmer) breed hirsute "humanimals." Douglas witnesses a grisly mutant birth, sympathizes with a resistance movement, and finally flees from a pyrotechnic revolt. Moreau is genuinely appalling, and a permanent fixture in the pantheon of Val Kilmer disasters. Low point: Moreau and his sidekick play "Rhapsody in Blue" on a double-tiered piano. Immortal dialogue: "I have seen the devil in my microscope, and I have chained him," gloats the doctor. Best critical potshot: "Exactly the kind of movie that becomes legendary for its absurdity." (Barbara Shulgasser, San Francisco Examiner) Worth watching if: You enjoy stories of half-breed mutant wretches, awkward Darwinian postulates, and megalomaniacs with MD's. (Why leave Duke for that?)

First Knight (July 1995; budget/gross: $75 million/$38 million) Gorgeous, lushly produced, and turgid in the extreme, this unabashedly silly recounting of the Round Table legend isn't offensively awful, merely irredeemably dopey. Richard Gere, as the film's Lancelot, looks about as pretty as Guinevere (glacial Julia Ormond), while Sean Connery's Arthur broods over the blooming romance more like a stern patriarch than an enraged husband. Director Jerry Zucker, one third of the trio responsible for the Airplane! and Naked Gun series, might have crafted a lacerating parody of fairy tales, but instead opts for staid dignity at every turn. Low point: Gazing down at her adoringly, Lancelot funnels rainwater into a supine Guinevere's mouth. With all the overt eroticism and phallocentric violence, this flick could hold its own against Boogie Nights. Immortal dialogue: "I take the good with the bad. I can't love people in slices," muses the sagacious Arthur. Later, he demonstrates his uncertain talent for deductive philosophy: "Lancelot, just a thought: a man who fears nothing is a man who loves nothing; and if you love nothing, what joy is there in your life? (pause) I may be wrong." Best critical potshot: "A round table, a love triangle, a square movie." (Zach Woodruff, Tucson Weekly) Worth watching if: The Cliff's Notes on the book are unavailable.