DANGEROUS MINDS. Michelle Pfeiffer stars in this mostly effective drama about an unorthodox inner-city high school teacher who wins the attention (and affection) of a classroom full of hard-to-reach minority students. The material, though clumsily constructed, has social relevance to spare, and the filmmakers' commitment to a bare-bones plot is honorable. The uneasy mix of realism and Hollywood slickness does create some embarrassing notes, but Pfeiffer's charm overrides most of the rough spots--with her soft-toned, tough-loving demeanor she's a perfect educational love object.

Dead Man Walking. Sean Penn gives an amazing performance as a death-row inmate in this Tim Robbins film. The movie is based on the true story of Sister Helen Prejean, a nun who befriended a convicted killer bound for a lethal injection. The nun slogs through a moral minefield as she visits the prison, the victim's families, and the family of the condemned man, trying to figure out what she's doing hanging around with a low-life. Susan Sarandon does a fine job as Sister Helen, but it's Penn who really steals the show with his restrained, charismatic portrayal of the convict--it's almost weird how good he is as the hate-filled, anti-social Poncelet. The rest of the story sometimes drifts into sentimentality or preachiness, but whenever Penn is on-screen, everything clicks.

Dead Presidents. The Hughes brothers, the twin directing team behing the stark, unsettling Menace II Society, try for too much with their second effort. Starring Larenz Tate, the film starts in '60s coming-of-age territory, then turns into a Platoon-ish Vietnam movie, then a violent '70s-style bank-robbery-gone-wrong movie. It's a major waste of talent, and the idea that this taped-together series of Hollywood conventions represents "the black man's experience" is nothing short of ludicrous. Danny Elfman's unusual score is the most notable aspect of the picture.

DEATH AND THE MAIDEN. Adapted from Ariel Dorfman's play about the tension in a Latin American country that has just overcome a fascist government, this political thriller places a torture victim (Sigourney Weaver), her diplomat huband (Stuart Wilson) and a man whom she believes to be her torturer (Ben Kingsley) together in a secluded beach house. Weaver ties up Kingsley and attempts to coerce a confession out of him, but Wilson (and the audience) remains uncertain of his guilt. Roman Polanski directs this power-play with his trademark perverted eye, and the actors do their best with the material, but the casting is weak. Weaver's angry descriptions of victimhood sound off-key, and all speak with American, not Latino, accents.

DEMON KNIGHT. Will somebody please kill that Crypt Keeper thing? It's dorky and its jokes aren't funny. Fortunately, the latest Tales from the Crypt movie relegates the cackling corpse to a brief introduction, then gets on with the real business of trash. With multiple jokey dismemberments, exposed boobs galore and a hokey plot about an eternal demonic quest for God's Seventh Key (which is filled with Jesus Christ's magical morphin' blood), the movie easily rates six dumpster loads on the trashometer. You'd think it was personally designed for Joe Bob Briggs.

DESPERADO. Richard Rodriquez, in his $7 million sequel to the $7 thousand career-making actioner El Mariachi, has crafted a funny, enjoyably senseless tribute to the over-the-top violence of directors like John Woo. And he's found the most attractive of leads: Antonio Banderas stars as the dark, vengeful loner with a guitar case full of guns, and Salma Hayek plays the shapely love interest who stitches up his many wounds. Offering their comic services, independent film icons Steve Buscemi, Quentin Tarantino and the shifty-eyed Cheech Marin make valiant efforts, but Rodriguez makes one unfortunate mistake: He kills them off too soon, leaving the second half of his film without much personality. As a friend said, "Good gunplay, bad screenplay."

DESTINY TURNS ON THE RADIO. Quentin Tarantino fans, don't unite: this painfully unhip attempt at a hip Las Vegas farce doesn't use Tarantino, or any of its other cast members, to humorous effect. Working from what may be one of the worst screenplays ever given national distribution (written, interestingly enough, as part of a Sundance workshop), the filmmakers strive for a dusty tongue-in-cheek attitude reminiscent of Repo Man or Raising Arizona. But the movie takes itself so un-seriously that the lack of characters worth caring about renders the picture seriously boring. Tarantino's five-minute cameo in Sleep with Me contains more life, and laughs, than this entire movie.

Devil in a Blue Dress. No, Denzel Washington doesn't get into drag here--you're thinking Wesley Snipes in that Wong Foo thing. In this noirish period piece, Washington confidently stars in the kind of role Humphrey Bogart was known for 50 years ago: a small-timer who, finding himself enmeshed in a mysterious scandal, must negotiate with a series of colorful (and dangerous) characters in order to climb his way out. Director Carl Franklin does only a fair job forging the basic elements of intrigue and personality necessary to sustain this sort of picture; his film is more notable for re-imagining the genre from a black perspective, placing Washington in a world where he must overcome not only seedy characters, but racial boundaries as well.

Diabolique. A remake of Georges Clouzot's classic, boring thriller of 1955 about a wife and mistress who plot to kill the man they share. With Sharon Stone in the role of the mistress it has been updated into that thoroughly modern genre, the psychosexual thriller. Unfortunately, not much else has changed from the 1955 version. The women seem to be wearing the same clothes, the boys boarding school where they teach is as gothic as ever, and Isabelle Adjani, as the abused wife of Chazz Palminteri, still doesn't seem to have heard of divorce. Come on ladies, get empowered! Kathy Bates does turn in a refreshing performance as the grizzled old police detective though.

DIE HARD WITH A VENGEANCE. The third Die Hard film is as good as you could hope, given that most "three" films are usually only one-third as good as the original. But this one is at least half as good as Die Hard, thanks to loads of Speed-style chases and bombings in downtown New York City and director John McTiernan's deftness with cartoonish action. And while the European conspiracy-plotting and Bruce Willis' working-class hero routine are turning into shtick, Samuel Jackson has been effectively added to the mix as a reluctant, cynical buddy who is a welcome foil for Willis' tired one-liners.

DISCLOSURE. Audience harassment. Michael Crichton's screenplay is a teasing office drama that pretends to have something worthwhile to say about sexual harassment. But Crichton's goal, and that of slick director Barry Levinson, is simply to titillate us, first with a hot "No means no" sex scene and then, in the movie's second half, with a paranoid corporate conspiracy. Michael Douglas once again stars, unconvincingly, as a victimized everyman while Demi Moore leaps brazenly into a role obviously designed to make audiences shout "Get the bitch!" even louder than they did in Fatal Attraction. As if that weren't bad enough, the movie's climax is set in virtual reality, where an angelic Kurt Cobain look-alike helps Douglas find his way through the film's plot holes. At least nobody can say Michael Crichton's movies aren't interesting.

DOLORES CLAIBORNE. In what you might call a female version of Stephen King's The Shawshank Redemption, Kathy Bates stars as a long-enduring widow who is suspected of having killed her husband many years ago. Jennifer Jason Leigh plays her edgy daughter who returns home when Bates is implicated in another death. The mystery that follows is less a mystery than the unearthing of a pain-filled domestic past. Directed in a pungent Gothic style by Taylor Hackford, the movie rises high above the exploitative nature of its material thanks to stunning imagery, emotionally stark sequences and Bates' solid performance.

DON JUAN DEMARCO. As best-lover-in-the-world performances go, Johnny Depp does surprisingly well in this frivolous ode to the pleasures of giving love. With his Spanish accent and confident, soothing manner, you almost believe he could make women melt at his touch. Marlon Brando, meanwhile, does not convey such charisma. Playing the psychiatrist who tries to understand Depp's fantasy, Brando appears to be walking through the movie to pick up a paycheck. Fat and lackluster, Brando does his best to make sure all his scenes (even with Faye Dunaway, who tries her best) fall embarrassingly flat.

Dracula: Dead and Loving It. Those saddened by the recent loss of Benny Hill will be pleased to learn the tradition of breast-based humor still lives on with Mel Brooks. And may keep living on and on, though eternal life would surely be hell if Mel Brooks were in charge of the entertainment. This standard story of an undead foreigner sucking the life force out of stacked young women features no less than a lousy joke-a-minute. And basically, they're all the same joke. Every now and then, something mildly funny happens, but it's not worth all the cringing that goes on in between. Leslie Neilsen, after doing the same act for the last zillion movies, finally admits the truth: he's dead.

Dragonheart. Not since the Star Wars trilogy have we seen an otherworldly creature this "realistic" and lovable. Unfortunately, the quality of the storytelling is light years away from that cinematic masterpiece. The plot (and the occasional quip) err at times on the contemporary side considering the 18th century setting; but Dragonheart overcomes its weaknesses to deliver an action-adventure-comedy that's perfect for bored, young audiences out-of-school with nowhere to go. The moral for insolent teenagers-in-training may alone be worth the price of admission. Dennis Quaid plays the dragon-slaying knight and Sean Connery is wise, clever Draco, the last dragon. Overall, this is a marvel of special effects with plenty of comic relief to make the cloying sentimentality bearable. On an unlikely yet appropriate scale, it's better than First Knight but not as good as Princess Bride.

DROP ZONE. If you expect this skydiving action movie to be the hard-driving alternative to the campy Terminal Velocity, you're in for a disappointment. Wesley Snipes and Gary Busey (as the villain) are still trapped in some sort of Flop Zone that seems based on a quest to recreate the cat-and-mouse tension of Die Hard without the benefit of well-constructed action sequences. Though packed with great stuntwork and stunning images of glow-in-the-dark skydivers leaping out of planes at night, director John Badham isn't up to the nitty-gritty task of building suspense, and his attempts to add humor only accentuate this failing.

Dumb and Dumber. Here's a movie to take all your most sophisticated friends to. Test it on them. Watch as they pretend not to enjoy the adolescent humor and blatant idiocy. Observe as they strain to force down their smiles during the mucous jokes. The movie will win. The key, of course, is Jim Carrey, who has very un-dumbly allowed himself to share the stage with a co-star: the ever-likable Jeff Daniels. The combination works--Carrey provides the pure mania, Daniels adds a soft edge. This is one of the finest movies in the Moron Road Movie genre, only a few notches below Crispin Glover's Rubin & Ed.