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Though deserving of its esteemed status on account of the cinematic revolution it spawned, the feature itself is something of a relic. But since when isn't it fascinating to reflect on the fossils of the past?

Fonda and Hopper, it should by this time go without saying, give immense performances.

Packs every bit the wallop it did when it was new.

The film is even more imperfect -- and, curiously, still an odd masterpiece.

Talk about simple. But the film's sheer cut-to-the-chase straightfowardness is part of its appeal.

Athough it hits any number of gaping credibility potholes on its careening journey around Los Angeles, Speed delivers the goods as a non-stop actioner that scarcely pauses to take a breath.

Hackman is wonderful as an inarticulate man tense with the struggle to curb a flaring, mysterious anger.

The setting in early 1950s Indiana adds nice texture to the story, but the endless games with the usual ups and downs outstay their welcome.

The dialog is clever, nutty and syncopated, with a soundtrack -- of the "C.C. Rider" vein -- which ain't half-bad, either.

It's a claustrophobic dud, full of ludicrously purple tough-guy dialogue and lip-smacking vamps in bikinis (how hot!), with so much monotonous hip violence there's scarcely room for anything else.

This is the film that brought Clint Eastwood (and his reefer smoking habit) back from Sergio Leoneland to Hollywood

Stuart Rosenberg's direction is a horror, but the cast teems with so many familiar faces that this 1967 film can't help but entertain.

One of those movies you remember Great Moments from.

It's a genuine vault at greatness that misses the mark -- but survives.

A moderately successful guy's movie with both weak and strong elements where lots of things are brilliantly blown up and few things make any kind of sense.

It's the only one of Lynch's works to marry his nightmarish concerns to a story that (very nearly) makes sense.

It made me feel pity for the actors who worked in it and anger at the director for taking liberties with them.

If Rumble Fish fails as a traditional movie about real people, it is beguiling as an exercise in hallucinatory style.

Overwrought and overthought.