Jade. Joe Eszterhas ought to win a special award, because he's responsible for two of the worst films this year. At least Showgirls has campy laughs, extravagant choreography and soft-core nudity on its side. What does Jade have? Ornate set design, an extended (and very boring) car chase and an incomprehensible murder-mystery plot, for starters. Directed unpleasantly by William Friedkin, it's kind of like Basic Instinct without the sex. David Caruso does his NYPD Blue shtick--again--as an investigator trying to uncover the identity of Jade, a prostitute-turned-psychologist played by Linda Fiorentino. The role is supposed to showcase the cold, ruthless sexuality Fiorentino displayed so engagingly in The Last Seduction, but the actress is lost in this dispiriting mess. Let's hope she finds something better soon.

Jeffrey. Based on the play by Paul Rudnick (the scribe behind the wildly funny Libby Gelman-Waxner movie reviews in Premiere), this tale of love and sex in the age of AIDS has caustic wit to spare. The movie becomes stale, however, whenever the love story between Jeffrey (Steven Weber) and HIV-positive Steve (Michael Weiss) receives focus; the sparks don't fly and you become too aware you're watching a stage adaptation. If only Jeffrey had concentrated a little more on Rudnick's rude, crazy comedy, it would have been a great film--the kind of entertainment that could break down barriers between straights and gays with laughter. Also starring Sigourney Weaver, Nathan Lane and Patrick Stewart, whose supporting performance as an intelligent, tough-minded decorator couldn't be more perfect.

THE JERKY BOYS. Crank-call kings The Jerky Boys play themselves in this weak attempt to capitalize on the success of their recordings. The plot is a series of transparent set-ups that allow Johnny Brennan and Kamal Ahmed to fall into their familiar subversive voices and characterizations, fooling slimy New Yawkers every step of the way. The picture is harmless and watchable, with a few good laughs, but the filmmakers can't get past the fact that crank calls aren't as funny when the victims are actors pretending to be duped.

JOHNNY MNEMONIC. Keanu Reeves stars as the 21st century courier who carries the weight of the world, literally, on his shoulders in this sci-fi action flick based on the short story by the father of cyber sci-fi, William Gibson. This dark prophecy of an Information Age breeding a new world order of affluent "High Techs" vs. underground "Low Techs" follows the predictable futuristic formula--perpetually dark, dirty and dangerous. Though the special effects are spectacular, Johnny would benefit from fewer explosions and more character development--even with a bionic brain, Reeves is his old, uninspiring self.

JUDGE DREDD. Sylvester Stallone's futuristic summer offering is a comic-book hybrid of Blade Runner, Robocop and The Terminator, with parts of Star Wars and other films thrown in for good measure. At first the picture holds promise, with luxuriant effects, welcome support by Max Von Sydow and Rob Schneider and inspired, self-mocking comedy by Stallone. But that doesn't last. The movie's biggest action scenes feel like video games, and the filmmakers throw away the story's wildest possibilities--including the prospect of a battle with slimy, half-baked human clones. At the end, the picture feels unfinished.

THE JUNGLE BOOK. Disney delivers the goods for this live-action take on the Rudyard Kipling book, which means that the Tarzan-ish tale is filled with lovely animals, impressive sets, a heroic heroine and loathsome villains. Kids may get a charge out of the story, especially with the likable, alert Jason Scott Lee in the good-hearted wildman role. But adults wary of predictability may leave the theaters with the same bland reaction provoked by the recent remake of The Three Musketeers. Disney has a way of making movies that are at once perfect and devoid of any cinematic personality.

JUNIOR. Arnold Schwarzenegger reteams with Danny DeVito for yet another high-concept comedy involving genetics. The film's one joke--Arnold going through pregnancy--goes a long way thanks to director Ivan Reitman's careful story construction and Emma Thompson's credibility-giving performance as a clumsy cryogenist. Arnold's not too bad, either; he always does much better with comedic tone in films where he is not required to act funny and kill people in the same breath. The movie has "plastic Hollywood product" stamped all over it, but at least it's baby-safe plastic.

JUST CAUSE. Sean Connery plays an anti-capital punishment Harvard law professor who begrudgingly agrees to "put his money where his mouth is" by investigating the case of a man on death row (Blair Underwood) who was coerced into a murder confession. Laurence Fishburne is the menacing small-town lawman who held the suspect at gunpoint during interrogation, and Ed Harris plays a snarlingly evil convicted serial killer who seems likely to have really committed the murder. Of course, nothing is as it seems. This premise looks like a good enough starting point for a thriller, but with the exception of Fishburne, none of the A-list team of actors brings anything more to his role than what is required by the contrivances of the script, which turns out to be a shameless hybridization of The Silence of the Lambs and Cape Fear anyway. The title sounds like the most likely reason Connery chose to appear in the movie.

A KID IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT. This low-quality fare from Disney features a lame script, bland direction and contemptible acting. If you take your kids to see it, they might lead a violent revolt against you using whiffle bats and plastic swords, so be careful. Even Runaway Brain, the 5-minute Mickey Mouse cartoon that precedes the movie, is second-rate all the way. With the hundreds of Arthurian, time-travel and old Disney videos that infinitely outclass this tripe, consider setting up your own round table at home instead. Christen it with a VCR and let Merlin's magical remote control be your guide.

Kids. Claims that Larry Clark's grim, documentary-style film is an important social wake-up call have some merit, as Kids comes closer than any other recent film to describing the empty lives of urban teens. But it's equally tempting to dismiss the film as exploitation: a series of sensational images with few organizing principles to elevate the material above mere voyeurism. Devoid of well-articulated themes or a strong narrative, the picture often comes across as less a moral statement than an aesthetic one. It's a series of staged photo-ops where the director seems every bit as fascinated by his subject as repelled--the vapid world he inhabits is a landscape fit to be photographed for its decadent beauty.

KISS OF DEATH. Loosely translated, the title might as well read "sex and violence," which is about all this David Caruso vehicle has to offer. It certainly doesn't have anything worthwhile going on in its story, a feeble blend of the usual cops-and-mobsters elements. And Caruso's performance, with his television-trained tics and eyebrow raising, is sadly limited. The whole enterprise looks and feels an awful lot like a TV program, and you'll probably walk out miffed you paid cash for what is essentially an episode of NYPD Blue with a more lenient censor. Nicolas Cage and Samuel Jackson also star, in roles so unimaginative that each is given a colorful physical ailment (asthma and a broken tear duct, respectively) to make them more interesting. It doesn't work.

THE LAST SEDUCTION. Linda Fiorentino isn't just a femme fatale in this modern noir piece by Red Rock West director John Dahl. She's a superbitch. The story, by local screenwriter Steve Barancik, takes Fiorentino from a bad relationship in New York City to a manipulative one in a small town, where she toys with nice-guy Peter Berg until you're ready to shake him and say, "Wake up!" Dahl's direction is swift and sure, and Fiorentino proves herself every bit Sharon Stone's superior. The movie's only liability is its one-note premise; you want these well-drawn characters to go somewhere other than the usual noir path, and they don't.

LEGENDS OF THE FALL. It looks, sounds, and feels like an epic drama of the highest order, but as the credits roll you sit there and wonder: What does it add up to? And that's when you realize that this long-winded tale of brothers who survive Montana ranch life, World War I and prohibition-era corruption together doesn't have much in the way of a point. Most of the plot happens as a consequence of all three men (Henry Thomas, Brad Pitt, Aidan Quinn) falling in love with the same woman (Julia Ormond), who is apparently the only woman in all of Montana. Is the point, then, that men in remote locales should try to get out more? If so, Pitt takes this advice a little too seriously during the film's middle section, in which the stringy-haired wildman travels to Papua New Guinea to hunt and run around without a shirt on. Wait a minute--that's the point. Case solved.

THE LION KING. Dig underneath this colorful, well-animated Disney spectacle and you'll find some disturbing messages. The lions' dominance over the other animals supports class hierarchies and nepotism, and the banishment of the ethnic-voiced hyenas to the elephant graveyards supports racial segregation. The movie's "circle of life" message is undermined by a hypocritical rationalization of meat-eating, and the male lion's need to return home to set things straight suggests that the female lions are either too weak or too stupid to do it themselves. Inherent moral messages aside, this is still a weak entry for Disney, with unmemorable music and a predictable storyline. Kids love them cute kitties, though.

LITTLE WOMEN. Louisa May Alcott's story of sisterhood, liberation and love gets a competent, reverent Hollywood treatment from Australian director Gillian Armstrong, but the casting is all wrong. Since when is Winona Ryder capable of carrying a movie? Starring as the multidimensional Jo March, Ryder robs the movie of its professionalism and renders trivial skilled performances by the other Little Women in the cast: Trini Alvarado (playing the sweet, marriage-bound sister), Claire Danes (who makes sickliness look like a virtue), Kirsten Dunst (as the fiery young'un) and Susan Sarandon (as the ever-consoling mom). Ryder has been OK in other films, but in pictures like this you can tell she's trying to act. You shouldn't be able to tell.

LORD OF ILLUSIONS. A Manson-esque cult leader with supernatural powers, a world-famous magician with an ill-timed sword trick, a New York detective who is "drawn to the dark side," a love interest/potential victim who wears sheer garments with no bra, and more violent impalings than you can shake a stick at... What more could you ask for from a Clive Barker horror flick? Well, for starters, you might ask for a plot that makes sense, intelligent characters or scares that don't become increasingly dull and hokey as the film progresses. A few more impalings wouldn't hurt.

LOSING ISAIAH. Don't be dissuaded by the fact that this tale of a custody battle between a black birth mother and a white adoptive mother looks like a typical TV-movie-of-the-week. It's not. A wise, elliptical script and extraordinarily skilled, heartfelt acting allow this picture to achieve what for so many is impossible: pure, fully effective dramatization of a topical issue. You're there, and you feel the wrenching pain of separation between parents and children. Halle Berry deserves deep respect for her portrayal of a reformed crack addict fighting her way through her guilt and loss, while Jessica Lange's performance as a loving, struggling mother is nothing short of heroic.