First, I’ll tell you that my likes and dislikes regarding la cinema are, to say the least, unconventional. I tend to like films that are complex and wordy (“The Lion in Winter”) and those which don’t serve up a purely linear story on a platter (“Glengarry Glen Ross”). I find it a rare occasion in which even a transcendent performance can transcend a bad script. (It didn’t in “Donnie Brasco”.) I admire filmmakers who step outside the bounds of studio formula (“Uncle Vanya on 42nd Street,” “Angel Heart”), but I have keen radar for those in which it’s evident that the makers either didn’t much care about their craft or were so cynical about what audiences would pay to see that they treated the film as they would a weekend lawn-mowing project (“Ghostbusters II,” “City Slickers II”).