Tina Turner got it right. Love just makes you a mess, and it definitely interferes with your authority. Especially if you’re a powerful and independent woman. Probably only if you’re a woman — male presidents, CEOs, and monarchs juggle wives and mistresses with no problems (even all the twirling of Ken Starr’s mustache hasn’t undone Bill Clinton).

Don Knotts as Satan? Sly and sinister, his TV repairman is the serpent offering the town of Pleasantville the apple — here in the form of David and Jennifer, who introduce the town to books, art, sex, even the hedonistic pleasure of standing out in a rainstorm. (If there’s any doubt that Pleasantville is a fantasy, just watch for the scene with all the young people lined up outside the library, eager to read anything they can get their hands on.) And the townsfolk literally start blossoming, going full Technicolor as their horizons expand.

Kevin Williamson really has his pulse on the angst of the modern teen. Why, he’s a veritable heir to John Hughes. His I Know What You Did Last Summer is a touching parable about growing up and growing apart from our high school friends after graduation, about how the many things that brought us close in school — the proms and the classes together and the pep rallies and the midnight dumping of bodies in the ocean — just aren’t enough to create enduring relationships.

Jackie and Max are the film’s central characters, and Tarantino (who wrote the screenplay as well as directed) handles them in a surprisingly tender and melancholy way. Both Jackie, 44 years old, and Max, 56, are facing their twilight years never having accomplished much of anything, and that regret — along with an undercurrent of incipient romance — brings them together in a kind of sad, sweet bond.

Barn of the Blood Llama — written (with Kirk Hunter) and directed by the Austin-based West — is the probably the most awful movie I’ve ever seen. I mean that in the best way possible. Shot on more film stocks than Oliver Stone ever dreamed of and “dubbed in English,” Barn is chock full of everything a Texas-size hunk of exploitation needs: bestiality! cheap trampy girls in a convertible! rock-star hitchhikers! fast food! bad acting! llama funerals! brain transplantation! haggis!

I’ve said it here before (I think), but it bears repeating: The biggest sin a movie can commit is to be boring. Truly awful movies, like Con Air or Lost in Space, I can at least enjoying making fun of. But when faced with duds like Speed 2: Cruise Control and Sphere, the heart just goes right out of it for me. Their inane scripts aren’t atrocious, just flat. There are no really rotten performances to ridicule. Their FX aren’t cheesy but aren’t cutting edge. The movies are kinda just… there.

Okay, so The Imposters — written, directed, and produced by Stanley Tucci — doesn’t quite reach the pinnacle the Marx Brothers achieved. The script is clever but the humor is mostly physical, of the “doors open, doors close” kind, with some crossdressing thrown in for good measure. And there certainly is much more raunch than the Marx Brothers probably ever dreamed of filling their films with. But still…

Chris Nielsen (a wonderful Robin Williams) is one of those lucky few: he found his soul mate, Annie (Annabella Sciorra). It was love at first sight for them both, but their bond goes deeper than mere love.