Insufferably hip piece of science fiction. The hero, an American-Japanese crossbreed, as his name would indicate, is a world-renowned neurosurgeon, part-time rock-and-roll musician, and, in his first screen adventure, explorer of the Eighth Dimension (i.e., inner space; i.e., the empty space inside solid matter). No wonder he is already celebrated in video games and monthly comic books, has collected a loyal band of followers (known as the Hong Kong Cavaliers), and is constantly on the phone with the President of the United States. The clear intention to establish this character as an instant cult figure may foster some resistance. (Cultists like a sense of discovery, not one of capitulation.) Resistance to the character may not quite be equalled, but almost, by resistance to the storyline. The incoherence of the latter produces an annoyance that soon gives way to boredom, which soon gives way (if luck is with you) to weary resignation. A funny idea -- such as the suggestion that Orson Welles's War of the Worlds was a diversion to cover up a real alien invasion of New Jersey in 1938 -- does not come across as funny. John Lithgow, with his mixture of Al Capone, Richard Nixon, and the Hunchback of Notre Dame, comes furthest across as that. With Peter Weller, Jeff Goldblum, Ellen Barkin, and Christopher Lloyd; directed by W. D. Richter. (1984) — Duncan Shepherd
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