Bill White

The film's one original moment comes when Bluto has a conversation with a cow. The rest of it, from the distorting lens used randomly to suggest unreality, to the twist ending lifted verbatim from the superior "High Tension," is about as imaginative as a portobello steak with onions.

A disaster on all levels.

It is a pretentious and incoherent blend of ghost story and frontier adventure that becomes more preposterous and idiotic with each passing scene.

The inconsistencies and continuity errors are staggering.

What finally sinks the film is that the more it tries to dazzle us, the more uninterested we become.

Undiscovered promotes one of the stupidest visions of the entertainment industry since "American Idol" opened the celebrity gateway to the dregs of the karaoke generation.

There is a point, however, at which the movie becomes simply sickening. Between the electric shocks and hot-iron branding, feats of grossness are accomplished that are so vile even the hardiest among the cast cannot suppress the upchuck.

There is potential for laughs in a satire of rich people spending big money on religious galas, but that is not even the real subject of the picture.

A gruelingly dull slog through basic horror-movie conventions, should be dumped in the Seine.

This shambling mess -- offers nothing but a lesson in how not to make a movie.

Had Araki chosen to illuminate, rather than exploit, the traumatic aftermath of child molestation, his wallow in the horrors of Mysterious Skin might have had a purpose. As it stands, his film is just another trashy look at America as the land of imbecilic perverts.

Before the movie reaches its climax, it has created a mess that requires divine intervention.

Mostly unfabulous.

Plays like a pilot for a situation comedy about a 40-year-old carpenter who decides to return to the boxing ring.

For the most part, the film is a chaotic blur of disconnected movement that re-creates the feeling of an unforgettably bad concert experience.

When the veterans of this war are finally allowed to tell their own stories, we will have something worth listening to. Body of War is just election year claptrap.

Writer/director Wayne Kramer's approach to storytelling is to withhold any information that might give away the plot.

Exploitive while it pretends to be empathetic.

The actors, all unprofessional with the exception of Kim Chan as the Zen master, step on each other's clipped lines so regularly that it becomes a stylistic affectation, like Mamet directing Beckett.