By Ralph Novak
Updated May 07, 1990 12:00 PM

Randy Quaid

Anything else you have to do would be more fun and more worthwhile than going to see this movie. That includes edging your lawn with hand clippers, sorting through grocery store coupons to find the ones that are outdated and dividing recyclable from unrecyclable cardboard.

Irredeemably stupid and relentlessly vapid (are you getting the idea?), this wretched film stars Quaid as a Hollywood composer whose sound track for a sci-fi movie somehow attracts Martians to Earth. It’s easy enough to tell who they are. They are boring, idiotic and have green skin.

The ostensible comic premise is that the Martians’ insistence on telling the truth throws a hilarious wrench into human existence. One of them, for instance, shows up on a news telecast to point out that the anchorwoman is having an affair with her producer. Whoa! Hold those bellies!

Directed by David Odell and written by Charles Haas—may they never darken our multiplexes again—this is a grim excuse for a movie. Quaid hereby negates all the terrific acting he has done in his career, all the way back to The Last Detail. And Barry Sobel, who is listed in the credits as “comedy consultant,” should never, ever be consulted by anyone for any reason, up to and including those who want to know what time it is, which way is up or, especially, why the chicken crossed the road. (PG-13)