Elizabeth Weitzman

A superficial tween comedy that mocks celebutantes like the Olsen twins while simultaneously pushing stars Hilary and Haylie Duff as their replacements.

There is a fair share of turkeys at the multiplex this week, but none are quite as overcooked as Extreme Ops.

Rare is the film so ineptly made that it barely deserves the dignity of a review. Which, on the one hand, makes this slapdash horror romance somewhat unusual. On the other, however, you’re wasting valuable time just reading about it.

Still, if it gets little else right, at least Epic Movie is accurately titled: It may be only 86 minutes long, but it feels as if it lasts forever.

The truth is, no review could really do justice to the monumental trashiness of this mess; it really has to be seen to be believed. Although if Lohan is lucky, no one will bother.

Although it's recycled from start to finish, there are some decent jokes laced throughout, plus enough gore to satisfy the most bloodthirsty tastes.

You can always tell when filmmakers get their ideas from watching other movies. First-time writer David Congalton must be a Christopher Guest fan, because his derivative mockumentary feels like the work of someone who’s seen “Waiting for Guffman” and “Best in Show” too many times.

Though Flicker based the story on real events, the execution is so melodramatic that none of it feels remotely true.

Too solemnly boring to entertain parents or older siblings - but, alas, too loud for a long nap - Yu-Gi-Oh! is basically a feature-length promotion for the trading cards.

Why would you watch a bad movie about better movies, when you could just rent the originals instead?

Director Uwe Boll wholeheartedly embraces the film's concept, and with some fancy editing and a pulsing soundtrack, the effect really is like watching a video game.

What's most baffling is that such a canny actor is so unable to direct his own cast.

If you're looking for a modern-day "Meatballs" - or, for that matter, "Meatballs 4" - you're out of luck.

Preposterous collegiate drama that exists simply to show pretty girls kissing, pretty boys undressing and pretty people of every sexual orientation drinking, doing drugs and otherwise wreaking postadolescent havoc.

This failed epic — really, an epic failure — would barely be noticed, were it not for former Oscar-winner Nicolas Cage taking on a “Sharknado”-quality remake of a Kirk Cameron movie.

Ever fast-forward through a late-night cable romance just to get to the good parts? This amateurish relationship dramedy features all the stuff you'd skip, and nothing else.

Dumber than the worst UPN sitcom.

The most bizarre cinematic experience of 2002. So misguided as to be utterly mystifying, this shameless vanity project is almost surreal enough to be entertaining. Almost.

It's bluntly written, poorly shot and edited, and cruel without being clever.

The cinematic equivalent of a gangsta rap song, State Property is little more than a marketing tool for Roc-A-Fella Records.

Even if we had never heard of Woody Allen or Adam Sandler, this schlocky effort would feel about as fresh as a week-old bagel.

You've got to give Norm Macdonald credit. When he cheats his audience, he warns them first.

You've got to admire Hilton's complete conviction in herself as the center of all that is beautiful and good. And maybe such unwavering self-regard is actually kind of hot. Or not.

Features amateurish acting and direction, and a going-nowhere script.

After languishing unseen for years, Laurent Firode's long-delayed comedy is finally getting its day in the sun. Too bad there's such a heavy shadow hanging over it.

A convoluted mess of a horror movie.

Does John Leguizamo need a better manager, or does he just have terrible taste in scripts? Because aside from voicing the "Ice Age" movies, he wastes too much time on misfires like this one.

Charlie Minn seems intent on educating the world about the crisis of violence occurring in Mexico. While his new film feels too much like a retread of "8 Murders a Day," which he released last year, it's still urgent enough to warrant a view.

Stephanie Riggs never manages to develop her debut documentary about Broadway performers into a satisfying feature. But the stories alone ought to be appreciated by theater fans and, especially, aspiring actors.

This is a thoughtful and enlightening documentary about artistic censorship and free speech.

The impact of the last-act reveal also speaks to the considerable strength of the filmmakers, including not just Lucks but his gifted co-writer Natalie Medlock. Because although the movie concerns itself with love and sexuality, its true subjects are vulnerability, trust and self-knowledge.

The movie is composed of three disparate shorts meant to explore a range of connections. Instead, all three feel as if they were designed inside an echo chamber thematically, and none displays a desire to push the envelope creatively.

Shot in anamorphic, with long, silent scenes backed only by Amin Bouhafa’s haunting score, there is not a spare word or wasted image in the 92-minute running time. It should be said that this is not an easy watch, by any means. But it would be fair to call it a revelatory one.

I’ll Find You is an ideal diversion for those who like their cinematic escapism with heavy doses of music and love.

For all its telling — and showing — of sex, Bloom Up never really gets going until its final few minutes. And that late-stage twist occurs during the rare scene in which everyone is fully clothed.

If you set out to combine the worst parts of Hallmark holiday movies with the worst parts of frenetic ‘90s rom-coms, you’d probably wind up with something a lot like About Fate. The women are nuts, the men are clueless and the production is so cheap you could pass the time spotting every mistake no one bothered to fix.

It is rare to find a film that reflects its subject so insightfully, in both an artistic and thematic sense.

Given that Kalderon juggles as many tones as Erez has moods, it’s tough to imagine how he could possibly wrap them all up. And yet he brings his hero, and all of us now cheering him on from the stands, to the perfect conclusion. Unveiling one of the best finales of the year, he turns his ambivalent swimmer into a superstar.

Too much of Dear Zoe, though, feels factory-designed to engineer emotion rather than aiming to earn it organically.