It's
an agreeable flawed film, in other words: Officially reduced to a commentator for blind audience members («Damn, I ripped the fuel line,» Marty blurts out to a puddle forming beneath the De Lorean), Fox's comic spark is almost out in this go «round — and don't get me started on Elisabeth Shue (replacing Claudia Wells in the sequels as Marty's gal, she turns in generic work that only aggravates Jennifer's maddening disposability).