Frank Scheck

A predictable, whimsical exercise that only occasionally produces the sort of bittersweet emotion it seeks to elicit.

Trafficked proves reasonably effective for educational purposes, with statistics and information about how to help inevitably projected during the end credits. But as a thriller it’s plodding and predictable, not distinguishing itself from the seemingly endless other movies dealing with the subject that have been released in recent years.

Maslow and Pepe's attractiveness and charm go a long way toward making the proceedings palatable. While we're never actually invested in the fate of their characters' relationship, they make the 90-minute running time go by fairly painlessly.

The film wastes several talented performers with its low-key, rambling humor and one-dimensional characters.

Attempting to be a meditation on the nature of creative passion and the emotionally liberating effects of physical labor, Triumph of the Wall is as much of an exercise in frustration for the viewer as for its hapless protagonist.

The character deserves better, and so does the audience.

Fortunately, Prinze Jr. and Hewitt are on hand to provide some much-needed gravitas to the proceedings (which is not a sentence I ever envisioned writing). Both are in excellent form, providing connective tissue to the original film and its sequel.

Pod has a hallucinatory quality that makes up in ferocity what it lacks on cogent storytelling.

Supposedly chronicling the experiences of a man attempting to reconnect with the alien form he encountered as a child, Skyman squanders whatever potential thrills it might have offered with its lackluster execution.

The film is notable more for its unusual conceit than as a serious exploration of grief and familial relationships.

The execution, however, leaves something to be desired, as this effort seems more visually muddled and choppier than previous installments.

This thriller about child sex trafficking is well-intentioned but dramatically stilted.

Director Alex Merkin does reasonably well with an obviously low budget, and the screenplay by Jesse Mittelstadt thankfully doesn't take itself too seriously. That's not to say it's good, mind you, with the film's last line, delivered by Richards, definitely not destined to go down in screen history.

While the performers are appealing, 3rd Street Blackout is a too determinedly quirky affair to fully mine the comic potential of its clever premise. Much like its setting, the film could have used more energy.

The film falters when it ham-fistedly attempts to detour into sensitive drama.

The episodic screenplay lacks narrative momentum, and the use of faux-documentary commentary by older versions of Sawchuk's colleagues (played by actors) doesn't come across convincingly.

The dark humor feels forced and artificial, especially when tied to the utterly ludicrous plot machinations

Although based on a true story, this drama directed by Bob Yari about the relationship between a young journalist and the aging Ernest Hemingway never rings true despite the authenticity of its setting.

Much of the film’s effectiveness can be credited to King, who makes Shannon appealing even when acting selfishly. It’s also refreshing to see a teen character portrayed by an actual teenager as opposed to the usual twentysomething.

With neither the dramatic nor comedic aspects of the story line being remotely convincing, the best efforts of the talented cast go for naught.

Dull, talk-heavy snoozer that most closely resembles something that would show up on the CW network.

DriverX, which has the style but not the substance of a strong '70s indie drama, stalls out quickly and goes nowhere interesting.

Other than the luminous Dawson, who somehow manages to rise above the hackneyed material, none of the principal players emerge from this cinematic wreckage unscathed. Director Macy emphasizes the comedic aspects of the material in such overly broad fashion that Krystal begins to resemble a demented sitcom that could only have benefited from a laugh track.

Lacking a high concept or memorable central character, the film is a by-the-numbers actioner that coasts on its star’s soulful gravitas and low-key charisma.

The fight sequences are staged with admirable proficiency despite the often cheesy special effects.

As an update to his 2002 effort on the same subject, Biggie and Tupac, this film provides new testimony about Knight and the alleged role of corrupt LAPD cops in Smalls’ murder. But it mostly proves a tired rehashing of familiar material that doesn’t justify its 105-minute running time.

Director Miguel Angel Vivas (Kidnapped) fails to bring any visual flair to the sluggishly paced proceedings, and the CGI effects prove less than convincing.

Heavy on oppressively humid atmosphere and light on originality, the film is a mostly forgettable genre exercise whose viewers won't miss much by watching at home.

The film’s genuine sweetness and affection for its characters go a long way toward compensating for its numbing overfamiliarity.

The performers' fine acting and vocal efforts (the film is almost entirely sung-through) are not enough to compensate for the vacuousness of the material.

Although Sutherland is an amiable and charismatic figure, his lack of emotional expressiveness doesn't help matters here. The film does, however, offer the spectacle of his getting a tattoo of the film's title (one of the band's songs) in Icelandic.

ABCs of Death 2 mainly serves to demonstrate that even talented filmmakers need a lengthier running time to craft even a moderately successful short.

The film’s stage origins, and a cameo appearance by Lin-Manuel Miranda, may be of interest to theater buffs, but everyone else will be left wondering what all the fuss was about.

The action sequences and gun battles are staged with enough flair to satisfy genre fans who haven't gotten their fill with the recent Magnificent Seven remake.

The degeneration into familiar genre tropes reduces the impact of the wittily satirical set-up, with the result that Starry Eyes fails to live up to its initial promise. But the film indicates genuine talent on the part of its directors/screenwriters, who infuse the proceedings with a dark, gothic creepiness that is further enhanced by Jonathan Snipes' retro, synthesizer-infused score reminiscent of John Carpenter.

Has little to offer besides unrelenting strangeness.

The film is certainly watchable, thanks to the elaborately staged action sequences and Statham's killer charisma.

Director-screenwriter Hopkins is unsuccessful in navigating the absurd storyline’s jarring tonal shifts, with the result that this kinder, gentler variation on Ms. 45 mainly emerges as off-puttingly bizarre.

Rather than delving deep into its subject, the film loses focus by concentrating on the feelings of Harlan's descendants rather than a deep analysis of the man himself.

The Pale Door represents yet another stylistic mash-up that ends up less than the sum of its parts.

To paraphrase a famous line from an old political debate--I've seen Carrie, I love Carrie, and Some Kind of Hate is no Carrie.

Unfortunately, despite some fine performances and enjoyable moments, the film never manages to make its quirkiness engaging.

The resulting cat-and-mouse game -- occupies most of the film's running time, to gradually diminishing results.

Less a sequel than a remake featuring a younger actor going through the same narrative paces as Murphy in the original, Coming 2 America includes so many nods to its predecessor that it feels like a feature-length Easter Egg in search of a movie.

While the CGI effects are undeniably impressive, the laughable story line, risible dialogue and cheap humor (most of it involving a hapless zoo security guard) seriously detract from the fun.

Ferrell works hard, very hard, to put the material over, and to his credit, he occasionally succeeds by dint of his boundless comic energy. And Witherspoon, returning to the sort of broad comedy with which she triumphed in such films as Legally Blonde, matches him effectively with her sharp timing and appealing screen persona.

Director Hallivis keeps the proceedings at a reasonably fast pace, with Adam Taylor's electronic music score helping to quicken the film's pulse rate. But it's not enough to prevent the proceedings from lapsing into incoherence.

Postman Pat: The Movie is a mostly charmless and dark affair.

Wit is in short supply, but director Miller at least keeps things moving briskly throughout the relatively brief running time.

Like so many animated movies these days, it buries its ideas in a visual and aural cacophony of frenzied action sequences designed to engage the shortest of attention spans.

Straining for a quiet poeticism and, to its credit, occasionally achieving it thanks to the beautifully photographed scenic environs, Pilgrim Song fails to involve us in its central character’s introspection.

The loosely structured assemblage of damning information eventually proves more numbing than illuminating.

The latest example of a distressing wave of undistinguished theatrical versions of Saturday-morning kid shows.

Uneasily combining its determinedly edgy plotline with failed sentimentality, Flower is redeemed only by Zoey Deutch’s magnetic performance, which would be star-making if in the service of a better vehicle.

For all the authentic genre tropes on display, Marlowe never comes to life on its own, lacking the verve or wit to make it feel anything other than a great pop song played by a mediocre cover band.

While the actor lends his formidable presence to the proceedings, this rote thriller mainly succeeds in squandering his talents.

It uses numerous hoary techniques -- including tabloid-television-style editing and ominous background music -- that tend to detract from the seriousness of the issues being addressed. Morgan Freeman delivers the portentous narration.

In a simpler form, Mojave might have been a gripping if minor genre film. Instead, it's undone by the sort of pretentious overwriting that might have seemed impressive in the '70s but now comes across as merely forced.

Unfortunately, the film lacks the hypnotizing strangeness of Foreman's best stage efforts and also pales in comparison to cinematic works like Matthew Barney's far more ambitious "Cremaster" series.

Not only doesn't provide any real information, it barely manages to convey why we should care. It represents a true squandering of a potentially fascinating subject.

Striking nary an unfamiliar note, The Song sluggishly lurches towards its predictable conclusion — spoiler alert, Jed sees the error of his ways — but it does offer some pleasures along the way.

By-the-numbers screen parody fails to resurrect an increasingly tired genre.

While its intriguing setup sounds like it could make for a provocative and original thriller, The Dark Below never lives up to its promise, although it earns points for originality.

So understated in both its dramatic and comedic aspects that it fails to make any real impression whatsoever, Dr. Brinks & Dr. Brinks demonstrates little reason for being.

The film is a relentlessly loud and ultimately exhausting exercise only partially leavened by the usual heavy doses of wisecracking humor and visual gags.

The filmmakers are clearly most interested in re-creating the murders in a gruesome and repugnant fashion. It's a shame the film is so exploitative, because Howell and especially Turturro deliver chilling, all too convincing performances.

The fight scenes are indeed the film’s strongest element, even if at times they seem overly choreographed and slightly cheesy.

The film just seems to lack the courage of its convictions. Hartnett doesn’t bring much depth to his troubled character, making it hard for the viewer to care about his fate.

With a running time of nearly two hours the overall silliness wears thin rather quickly.

This is the sort of exasperating horror film that whips audiences into a frenzy. Not because they're having fun, mind you, but rather because the characters behave so stupidly and self-destructively that yelling profanity-laden advice to the screen becomes a bonding exercise.

There’s certainly an interesting documentary to be made about soccer, the world’s most popular sport by far, but This Is Not a Ball isn’t it.

Sluggishly paced and featuring lengthy voice-over narration by Strong in which his character ponders his role in the universe like a graduate philosophy student, the film never achieves liftoff.

Sacrifices the quietly creepy qualities of the original in favor of ramped-up horror film techniques that by now seem distressingly familiar.

Substitute a cat for the bunny (no spoilers here about its fate) and you have the ironically titled, generic thriller The Perfect Guy that somehow wound up on the big screen instead of on Lifetime.

The supporting players are either nondescript or overact to the point of exhaustion.

There’s a terrific central idea at the core of the film, but it’s lost amid the endlessly repeated nightmare episodes, the banal subplot concerning the couple’s domestic problems and the clunky exposition and visuals.

Lacking objectivity and the necessary contextual information and commentary that would provide a balanced examination of its subject matter, Hare Krishna! mostly preaches to its robe-wearing choir.

River Runs Red is neither substantive nor thrilling enough to prove satisfying.

The film doesn't have much in the way of genuine laughs despite a plethora of attempted gags, but it does have a geniality that makes it hard to entirely dislike.

The frequently dazzling performance footage is offset by long dull interviews with dancers who intone such platitudes as "the language of music is rhythm…rhythm is the language of life."

Unfortunately, Kampai! For the Love of Sake is more cheerleading than informative, concentrating largely on personality profiles of three figures—two of them Westerners--obsessed with the Japanese rice wine.

Most problematically, the film is simply atrocious on a technical level, featuring subpar cinematography (a generous term, in this case) and muddy sound that wouldn't pass muster on anything larger than a cellphone screen. If you 're going to put all of those magnificent bodies on display, we should at least be able to see them clearly.

Equal parts thriller and feel-good inspirational tale, 33 Postcards succeeds mainly in provoking the viewer’s sense of disbelief.

Lacking the objectivity or contextual analysis to more fully examine the important issues it raises, it’s a minor chapter in an unfinished story.

None of the performers are able to bring life to their schematic characters, although Nelson appears to be having fun as a modern-day pirate. You do get the feeling, however, that he would have much preferred to play the role with a patch on his eye and a parrot on his shoulder.

Unfortunately, the screenplay contains little real wit, with the result that the various plot machinations have a strained quality that tends to reduce the proceedings of their intended giddiness. On the other hand, the performers are attractive; there's plenty of nudity; the setting is scenic, and the musical numbers -- well, they're pretty bad.

Unfortunately, despite displaying an admirable stylistic ambitiousness and excellent use of its NYC Lower East Side locations The Girl is in Trouble never manages to feel like more than a strained, modern-day pastiche.

A well-meaning but hopelessly stilted melodrama, Hate Crime sacrifices good intentions with its mediocrity of execution.

Presumably intended as an inspiring portrait of a private individual daring to live his dream of traveling in space, Man on a Mission instead comes across as a cautionary tale about having too much time and money on your hands.

Combining war and horror movie tropes in an awkward manner more silly than scary, this belated sophomore feature from writer/director Eric Bress (2004's The Butterfly Effect) makes you long for the days when American G.I.s didn't have to fight supernatural beings as well as German soldiers.

Another day, another exorcism…ho-hum.

Unfortunately, although Becoming Nobody will prove a must-see for Ram Dass' ardent fans, and they are certainly legion, the film proves frustratingly unpolished and unfocused, providing precious little biographical information or narrative context. It ultimately feels like a missed opportunity, a labor of love that would have benefited from a little more objectivity.

Deviating from the original in some key respects, this version of Martyrs doesn't make much of a case for its inspiration, but it may attract those hardcore horror fans averse to reading subtitles.

Banks succeeds in mining a few laughs from the otherwise strained, contrived proceedings.

Neither tense nor thematically resonant enough to overcome its literally small-scale aspects, Centigrade proves as much an ordeal for its viewers as its characters.

By the time the proceedings reach their "Paranormal Activity"-style violent conclusion, the viewer’s interest has long since waned.

[Beller's] deep-rooted empathy and compassion is plainly evident in her latest effort, but it's not enough to compensate for the tedium engendered by the meandering debates whose impact ultimately adds up to very little.

On the surface, the doc makes some compelling arguments, although most of its power is emotional rather than informational.

While the director/screenwriter is to be commended for avoiding the usual bloodsucker clichés, he hasn't replaced them with anything particularly interesting, with the result that the story plays like a quasi-mystical melodrama featuring characters about whom we care little.

Despite the effective performances by its young lead performers, California Scheming mainly comes across as half-baked.

Its hopelessly stodgy execution will test the patience of even the most enthusiastic audiences for faith-based films.

Its running time is a mere 78 minutes, but the pic feels like it takes much longer getting to nowhere particularly interesting.

Although not exactly original in its aspirations or execution, the film's engaging performances and occasional funny moments lift it a notch above the pack of similarly themed fare.

Lacks the finesse to attract significant attention beyond its target audience.

Ultimately feels as shallow as the lives of most of its principal characters.

Unlikely to inspire a passionate following similar to the original, the film, which opened Friday without being screened for the press, ultimately induces more titters than dread.

An unfortunately muddled portrait of a teenage girl going through a moral and spiritual crisis.

The formulaic writing and stilted direction conspire to bring the movie, and these talents, down time and time again.

This less than subtly titled documentary by Mark Birnbaum and Jim Schermbeck will undoubtedly find few viewers.

Effectively creates a menacing atmosphere within the gleaming white halls of the hospital in which it is set, but its story line and characterizations lack the sufficient originality to lift the film above its many better predecessors.

Ultimately, there's not enough material to sustain a feature-length film, and the sloppy editing, cheesy re-enactments and cheap graphics don't exactly make for compelling viewing.

Getting four mediocre horror efforts for the price of one doesn't exactly represent a significant bargain.

Ladyworld proves as much of an endurance test for viewers as the central characters.

Six Million and One suggests the need for both a more ruthless editor and a well-trained family therapist.

It’s all pleasant and forgettable.

I feel confident that even if I were to be magically transformed into the target demographic, I would still find After to be a cliched, mediocre affair. Come back, "Twilight," all is forgiven.

While One Candle, Two Candles… sheds much needed light on the archaic, barbaric custom that is its subject, its jocular tone threatens to undermine the importance of its message.

With a storyline less challenging than that of a typical CBS crime procedural, Ride Along 2 is little more than a repetitive rehash of the original.

Stretching its high concept but thin results to the breaking point, The Family Plan feels like a movie whose best moments were during the pitch meeting.

This Divided State will become yet one more largely forgotten cinematic footnote to an election notable for its divisiveness.

Genuine scares are few and far between, and the climactic explanation for the ghost's appearances comes as something less than a revelation.

A technically ramshackle affair whose primary attribute is Tukel’s deadpan comic performance and self-deprecating willingness to portray his character as a total dick.

Visually stunning but strained by pretentious poeticism and a simplistic storyline, My Father Die is ultimately as labored as its ungrammatical title.

Despite the filmmaker’s best efforts to drum up suspense via the usual jump scares, Night Swim turns out to be just as silly as it sounds.

Cavemen has absolutely nothing fresh to say about its subject, and its tired genre conventions wouldn’t pass muster on a Fox sitcom.

Ultimately a less-than-satisfying cinematic meal.

About as subtle as its subtitle, Gloria Z. Greenfield's documentary attempts to be both a comprehensive exploration of anti-Semitism throughout the ages and a forceful alarm about its modern-day threat. Not fully successful on either level...

It was hard to tell if the resulting groans from the audience were relief or derision. [13 Jan 1997]

Benasra's documentary purports to be a sociological examination of the intimate relationship between women and their shoes. But God Save My Shoes also displays a creepily fetishistic feel.

Ode to Joy fails to live up to its title by attempting to wring comic mileage from a medical condition that sufferers probably don't find very funny.

Unfortunately, Every Time I Die doesn't quite have the cinematic polish to live up to its considerable aspirations, resulting in a frustratingly opaque viewing experience.

A formulaic comedy that displays as much subtlety as its title.

This static, talky effort ultimately doesn’t justify its feature-length running time despite some strong performances and the occasional moving moment.

Even if the sophomoric Porno doesn't make the grade, it represents a promising start for the talented filmmaker.

Playing With Fire strikes strictly predictably beats. Key and Leguizamo, comic talents who are wildly overqualified for this sort of thing, work hard, very hard, to infuse the tired material with laughs. But they're mostly hamstrung by their one-note characters

Easter Sunday earns points for its cultural bona fides, its loving portrait of the community it celebrates and its almost entirely Filipino and Asian-American casting. And Koy reveals himself to be a likable screen presence deserving of more starring roles. But it falls hopelessly flat in its comedic aspirations, more closely resembling the sort of bland network sitcom to which its main character aspires.

Filmmaker Alan Govenar misses the mark in his attempt to document the historical French dwelling of once famous beatniks.

The film never achieves any real depth in its unabashedly admiring portrait. What might have made a mildly interesting short feels vastly attenuated even with its brief 72-minute running time.

Johnson and Efron possess impressive muscles, but the performers have never done as much heavy lifting as they do here. And to their credit, they succeed to some degree.

The film seems more appropriate for a testimonial dinner than theater screens, with virtually no voices heard from outside Larsen's colleagues and acolytes.

Despite a talented cast lead by Halle Berry, director John Stockwell fails to take more than a bite out of this lackluster shark thriller.

Least Among Saints has the strained feel of a basic cable television movie, with modest production values to match.

Spenser Confidential seems to be aiming for a buddy-film, action-comedy vibe, but the problems are that there's virtually no chemistry between Spenser and Hawk, the gags (many of them revolving around Spenser's deepest relationship seeming to be with his dog) are lame at best, and the action is strictly pro forma.

One hates to say it, but after this and "Black Snake Moan," it might be time for the talented actress (Ricci) to keep her clothes on.

Aggressively quirky but lacking any real wit - unless you consider a lengthy monologue about the taste of semen to be side-splittingly funny - the film based on David Gilbert's satirical novel is a non-starter.

A lot of comedic talent founders in this new Harold Ramis comedy that doesn't exactly recall his glory days of "Caddyshack" and "Groundhog Day."

Heading Home: The Tale of Team Israel emerges as a messy hybrid that has some interesting and amusing moments but ultimately feels as inauthentic as the team it chronicles.

Qasim Basir's indie drama Destined proves both uncommonly ambitious and frustratingly derivative.

This farcical romantic comedy lacks the charm and star power to compensate for its contrived plotting and only mildly amusing situations.

Despite the plethora of melodramatic plot elements, the film remains curiously uninvolving due to its compendium of clichés and sluggish pacing.

Features a winning performance by Sara Rue as its titular heroine but otherwise has little to recommend it. Playing a wallflower who blossoms when she finally meets the right guy, the actress has charm to spare.

Depicting the effects of a mysterious, ethereal stranger on the residents of a small town, Change in the Air proves frustrating and dull for most of its running time, displaying unwarranted confidence in its ability to cast a spell.

Writer-director Kelker never establishes a consistent tone, eventually aiming for a tragic conclusion that feels hopelessly unearned.

It may be Hot Sugar's Cold World, but that doesn't mean we have to live in it.

Blumhouse has certainly proved very successful with its inventive, low-budget approach to horror, but now that the company is spewing out movies like an assembly line, more and more duds are starting to appear. Everything about this effort, including its hackneyed, overfamiliar title, smacks of laziness and a cynical indifference to its lack of originality.

Far stronger on atmosphere than actual suspense, Grand Isle plods along in tedious fashion, not helped by its awkward framing device that gives it the feel of a Southern fried police procedural.

Despite the best efforts of the talented lead performers and an overqualified supporting cast, this is a movie for which you should practice social distancing.

The charisma-endowed Washington and Sy do all they can to make the proceedings engrossing but even they are hard-pressed to make it interesting.

Director/co-screenwriter Pearry Teo succeeds in investing the silly proceedings with spooky visual stylishness, providing enough scary demons and possessed mannequins to deliver the requisite jump scares. Unfortunately, the film also features sound, which results in the audience being able to hear the inane dialogue accompanying the familiar horror tropes.

Depicting the very long, violence-filled night that ensues after a group of young people trespass in a creepy, abandoned prison, Against the Night proves as generic as its title.

The dialogue suffers from a strained, turgid quality, most resembling a daytime soap opera.

Whatever you have to pay, it's too much.

Making her feature directorial debut at the tender age of 70, veteran actress Connie Stevens delivers an obviously heartfelt but sadly unfocused melodrama in the form of Saving Grace B. Jones.

Onscreen, it somehow manages to be at once wildly overblown and terminally boring.

This talky, ham-fisted effort proves particularly disappointing because it should have been much better than it is.

It would, after all, take a sleuth of Hercule Poirot-like talents to discern what attracted these supremely talented (not to mention, in the case of one of them, Oscar-winning) thespians to such lame, cliched material.

As recently as last year's "Motherless Brooklyn," Willis has proven that, when he feels like it, he's capable of giving interesting performances. Although no one begrudges him a decent living, it's frustrating that he seems to be settling for such low-rent VOD Steven Seagal/John Travolta-style vehicles at this point in his career.

Despite its effort to double as a sincerely impassioned message about female empowerment, My Way mainly comes across as a relentlessly self-serving promotional vehicle.

Lacking suspense and at times bordering on unintentional silliness in its characterizations, the film is a misfire that sorely disappoints as it comes from the director of such acclaimed efforts as The Syrian Bride and The Lemon Tree.

Shot inconsistently in the series’ mockumentary style, which often finds the characters delivering direct addresses to an unseen camera crew, the relentlessly tedious film is devoid of laughs.

Despite its very brief running time, the film feels plodding, never quite managing to land either the intended dark humor or scares to which it aspires. You can admire its ambitions but lament the missed opportunities.

At a lean, mean 90 minutes or so, Ambulance might have been a guilty pleasure. Instead, it’s the sort of cinematic thrill ride so overstuffed that you can’t wait for it to be over.

For all its admirable intentions and the terrific performances by its talented ensemble, Inherit the Viper fails to have any genuine impact. Neither weighty enough to satisfyingly explore its themes nor sufficiently suspenseful to work as a straightforward thriller, the film proves dramatically inert.

It’s a shame, because Cuoco’s well-honed comic skills are very much on display and Oyelowo, working in a lighter vein than usual, seems to be enjoying himself. Which is more than you’ll be able to say about the viewers of this tired action-comedy retread.

Combining its adventure and romantic plotlines in painfully hokey fashion, The Space Between Us (the title is a pun, get it?) is so ludicrous that only a cinematic stylist might have been able to pull it off.

Let's Go to Prison ultimately feels as long as a stint in the big house.

This latest installment of the horror movie spoof franchise is mainly notable for its Charlie Sheen/Lindsay Lohan cameos.

There’s plenty of imagination on display in The Blazing World, but it’s buried amidst the narrative and stylistic self-indulgence that assumes we’ll be interested in going on this very strange and ultimately enervating journey.

Notable Bollywood producer-director Vidhu Vinod Chopra makes a highly uneasy transition to American films with this weirdly baroque modern-day Western that, while it boasts undeniably imaginative visual and plot flourishes, is far too absurd to take seriously.

It’s especially sad to see such notable actors as Caan and Patric reduced to appearing in this sort of bottom of the barrel, direct-to-video fare.

This lame effort represents international collaboration of the most mediocre kind.

Despite the high-stakes drama, there's nary a compelling moment throughout, and some of the characterizations, especially Stormare's villainous Sanitation Department honcho, are so absurdly one-note that it's hard not to think that the film is meant as parody.

Using the Desperate Hours template that has fueled countless thrillers since, Survive the Night is a particularly forgettable example of a tired subgenre that, like so many of Willis' recent efforts, squanders his still estimable movie-star charisma.

The film ultimately becomes bogged down by its meandering dialogue, generic characterizations and such mild attempts at suspense as one of the quintet worrying about a brother in New York City.

Its largely Hispanic cast and extensive Puerto Rico locations lend a unique quality to Paul Kampf's prison drama starring Laurence Fishburne as a morally corrupt warden. Unfortunately, those elements are the only original aspects of this turgid exercise in prison movie clichés which doesn't even manage to be convincing as melodrama. Although certainly well-meaning in its condemnation of capital punishment, Imprisoned is too dully executed to achieve its desired impact.

This overly convoluted and contrived farce features a typically scenic setting and an engaging performance by Helena Noguerra in the central role but otherwise has little to recommend it.

It's never remotely involving, and you can feel the lead performers straining to handle their acting chores. The exception is Haddish, who is so convincingly scary and menacing here that you wish her character were in a better, dramatic movie.

It's certainly an imaginative concept for a detective story, but the storyline gets so convoluted and baroque that unintentional humor sets in. By the time we learn the outlandish motivation of the time-traveling serial killer and her true identity, the twists have been coming so fast and furious that we've long stopped caring.

This is the sort of bad film that can only come about as the result of misguided ambitions.

Such an utterly routine, formulaic and forgettable example of its genre that watching it becomes an exercise in endurance. Even the always welcome presence of veteran actor William Fichtner, terrific as usual, isn't enough to save it.

Playing somewhat like a juvenile version of "Rosemary's Baby," this inept, incoherent attempt to cash in on young girls who can't buy a ticket to the R-rated "Saw V" (or are too lazy to sneak in) will be out of theaters long before the Halloween pumpkins start to rot.

The Happys never manages to find a consistent tone, awkwardly blending broad comedy with serious emotional moments that don’t come off. It also attempts to weave in serious discussions about sexuality and ethnicity in Hollywood, generally via stilted dialogue exchanges in which the themes are explored in boldface fashion.

Despite its promising set-up, Hostile Border lacks narrative tension, with the screenplay by co-director Kaitlin McLaughlin never quite coming into dramatic focus. The characterizations feel sketchy, and the paucity of dialogue proves more frustrating than atmospheric.

A thoroughly undistinguished addition to a genre that probably reached its peak a quarter-century ago with "An American Werewolf in London."

The animation, consisting of both traditional 2D and CGI, is impressive, and there’s certainly a lot of it. But it never feels as joyful as you’d hope, too often coming across like corporate machination than inspired imagination.

A slow-burn psychological thriller all too visibly wearing its cinematic influences on its sleeve, Beach House delivers suitably ominous atmospherics but doesn't seem to know where to go with them, ultimately resorting to familiar genre tropes.

Featuring many of the same grandiose elements as those predecessors, Moonfall looks and sounds like a would-be cinematic blockbuster but comes up painfully short in its ham-fisted execution.

This dour, uninspired, Hispanic-themed variation on the profitable "Step Up" dance movies is unlikely to similarly rouse teens.

Expend4bles — the number is in the middle of the word, get it? — represents a nadir for a series that began as an entertainingly nostalgic throwback to old-school action movies and the square-jawed muscle men who starred in them.

Now that the filmmaker has reached a certain age, she no longer seems to have her finger on her generation’s pulse. Case in point: The Hot Flashes, a ribald comedy whose menopause-referencing title is all too indicative of its pandering humor.

You all too vividly feel the strenuous efforts of everyone involved, from the actors struggling to bring life to their one-note characters while hitting all their marks to the cinematographer keeping his camera aimed exactly where it's supposed to be.

Although Rulin displays a compelling neurotic edge as the driven Emily, Chenoweth and Modine are unable to breathe much life into their schematic roles, while the supporting players are basically saddled with conveying a compendium of quirks.

An indie ethnic comedy clearly hoping to become the Jewish equivalent to "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," this well-timed offering, which arrived in time for Passover, is unlikely to have that sort of crossover appeal, or any appeal at all, for that matter.

The screenplay co-written by Nicholas Thomas and director Luke Greenfield fails to mine the potentially humorous premise for the necessary laughs, with nearly all of the gags falling thuddingly flat.

It's So Easy and Other Lies makes for a tedious cinematic experience that will only be appreciated by McKagan's hard-core fans. And even they're likely to come away less than enthusiastic.

A puerile combination of raunchy sex comedy and bland action vehicle, CHIPS will likely manage the difficult feat of simultaneously alienating fans of the original series and newcomers who will wonder why a buddy cop comedy displays so much homosexual panic.

Manages to be insulting both to slasher movies and lesbians. Where's the gay rights movement when you need it?

Reduced to a teen girl empowerment vehicle that trots out every show business cliche about sacrificing your values for stardom, the film is a non-starter.

Attempts scares and yucks in equal measure and fails to deliver either.

Playing the emotionally shut-down driver for an escort service, the actor provides what little interest there is to be found in this otherwise aimless depiction of urban alienation.

This low-rent frat house comedy is at once far more vulgar and decidedly less anarchic than its obvious inspiration and should flunk out of theaters before this year's crop of freshman students even finish unpacking their bags.

Ultimately a hollow and pointless exercise.

The bottom line: Mirthless and unmoving drama about a depressed stand-up comedian finding a new life as a kindergarten teacher.

Attempting to mix emotional pathos with broad farce, the film fails on both levels.

Features sitcom-style stock characters and situations, not to mention the sort of ethnic stereotypes to be found in TV ads for fast-food Mexican restaurant chains.

The hilariously dirty insult comic Lisa Lampanelli shows up all too briefly as Engvall's shrewish wife.

Silent Hill is not a place you want to go, and that applies for moviegoers as well as this videogame adaptation's characters.

The unfortunate result is that you wind up thinking how much more you'd prefer to be rereading that contemporary classic than watching this tedious exercise.

Disjointed and confusing, the film fails to live up to the promise of its spooky setting. There’s a good horror film to be made from this story, but The Axe Murders of Villisca isn’t it.

Sadly, Oliver Daly's kid-oriented feature only strains hopelessly for Amblin Entertainment-style magic. The result is that A.X.L. feels in desperate need of repairs.

Thanks to the efforts of the talented filmmakers and the committed performances by the all-in cast, there are some undeniably spooky moments. But you have to sit through an awful lot of tedium to get to them.

Self-destructs in its quest for comic outrageousness.

The film is the product of the same production company responsible for such previous Willis duds as "Vice," "The Prince," and "Fire With Fire." Either the Die Hard star enjoys working with them, or he's being blackmailed.

The whole enterprise seems like an advertisement for the breed, the ownership of which will apparently improve your life immeasurably while making a holy mess of it.

Smiley, is unfortunately less scary than, say, the prospect of your significant other accidentally discovering your search engine history.

All of [Cages's] natural charisma is unable to compensate for the plodding narrative and thin characterizations.

Gary Dauberman’s haphazard screenplay merely piles on the cheap scares, with director Leonetti cranking the volume up to 11 to accentuate the frequent jolts. It all adds up to a compendium of horror movie clichés.

Even more egregious than the film's concept is its execution, as it somehow manages to make scenes of drug addiction, hustling and even brotherly incest quite tedious.

Ultimately this is utterly forgettable stuff, not even managing to fulfill its mandate of mindless summer fun.

This is the sort of film for which the term "tearjerker" was invented, but this one jerks them so violently you may need medical attention afterwards.

Unfortunately, despite his obvious passion for the genre, Luke doesn't yet have the cinematic chops (or clearly, the budget) to effectively put his vision onscreen.

Managing to make the films of Michael Moore and Morgan Spurlock look like dry, scholarly treatises by comparison, Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed more than lives up to its subtitle.

The proceedings quickly degenerate into deafening video game-style fiery mayhem featuring endless explosions and depictions of human combatants melted into anguished looking skeletons.

Despite its serious subject matter, Mob Town assumes an oddly comic tone for much of its running time, coming across almost like a spoof at times. Unfortunately, nothing in it is particularly funny, and the deadly pacing makes the movie seem much longer than it is.

Considering its lurid story arc and troubled characters, the film almost feels tamped down as Hunter strives to create an atmosphere of mystery and slow-burning tension. What he delivers instead is tedium, where even the climactic reveal proves both underwhelming and predictable.

Whatever social commentary is intended in this cautionary tale, it is lost in the overall thematic murkiness, and the film is reduced to being a series of increasingly silly, ultra-violent episodes.

It’s all pretty tedious, with Miller failing to infuse the proceedings with the stylistic flair necessary to compensate for the cliché-ridden plotline, whose twists can be seen a mile away.

So unrelentingly violent that all but teen boys might as well stay home.

Co-scripted by a slumming Bret Easton Ellis, The Curse of Downers Grove is all over the place in tone, never managing to decide what kind of film it wants to be.

The film has its sporadic pleasures, mostly provided by Bella, who effectively conveys Destiny’s enjoyment of her over-the-top murderous and sexy antics, and Michael Madsen, as Lisa’s supportive stepdad.

The only thing missing from God Bless the Broken Road is compelling or believable drama.

Despite its noteworthy cast who presumably had some time to fill between better gigs, this is the sort of instantly disposable B-movie effort that Quentin Tarantino would have chucked in the wastebasket after a first draft.

Not only is this film's form clichéd, so is its content.

Unfortunately, A Convenient Truth doesn’t manage to sustain its comic premise over the course of even its admittedly brief feature-length running time. The thin joke would seem more appropriate fodder for a brief sketch towards the end of a Saturday Night Live episode when time needs to be filled.

Instead of being drawn in by Daniel’s spiral, we observe it from a distance. The result is that Longing, presumably intended as a cathartic meditation on grief, simply feels absurd.

Straining mightily for a mythic quality and reaching a predictably melancholic, violent conclusion, Road to Paloma mainly comes across as a vanity project star vehicle.

The Rapture won’t come soon enough for the unfortunate souls forced to suffer through Left Behind.

Alien Outpost doesn't even manage to do justice to its thematic conceits, failing to weave in its current day parallels in sufficiently thoughtful fashion.

This misbegotten horror film deserved to go direct to video. Or cable. Or oblivion.

A low-rent monster movie that could well have been released by American International in the early 1970s, Primeval boasts a level of cheesiness that should well merit it a regular rotation on late-night cable.

Exposed mainly serves to expose the often torturous process of moviemaking and distribution.

Ponderously paced and mostly flat in its dramatic effect, this wooden period piece is slow going indeed.

The good news is that it will be a good 15 years before we're forced to encounter the character again in Spring. Maybe by then he'll be less of a downer.

As with most found footage films, there’s a lot of tediousness, with the early proceedings resembling the sort of home movies from which anyone not directly involved would normally flee.

Not bad enough to be a guilty pleasure, but plenty bad nonetheless.

Perry doesn't even try to successfully integrate the story's comedic and dramatic elements, merely toggling back and forth between them as if in need of mood stabilizers.

Thomason delivers a strong performance as the stalwart hero, and Furlong... makes for a highly convincing jerk. But their efforts aren’t enough to prevent the end of the world, at least as depicted here, from seeming awfully dull.

Despite its talented, overqualified cast, Lazy Susan simply feels like a mistake.

The compendium of clichés might have been more palatable if the lead characters were more sympathetic, but it's hard to connect to Arielle's relentless need for attention and the utter stupidity that ultimately has tragic repercussions.

Despite the world-changing ramifications inherent to the plot, the results are more tedious than thrilling.

Lead actor Johnny Simmons fits his role perfectly, his baby face giving him the suitable appearance of an overgrown adolescent. But the smutty, tired material with which he has to work is surprisingly devoid of laughs.

This second feature based on a best-selling book by Jim Stovall is mainly repetitive in its themes and suffers from a melodramatic plotline and hamfisted execution.

This lame comedy about a big doofus who enters the fight game manages to take every cliche in the book and render them even more cliched.

If the target audience for this film were any younger, they'd be embryos.

An Affair to Die For is an erotic thriller with pretensions to the sort of clever whodunnit theatrics of Agatha Christie. But "Murder on the Orient Express" seems like child's play compared to this film's screenplay by Elliot San that is too clever by half.

The sole redeeming factor is the presence of Olivia Wilde (Fox's "House"), who manages to keep the proceedings watchable for at least a portion of the running time.

The Parts You Lose somehow manages to be both unmoving and tension-free, wasting the talents of several notable actors in the process.

Ultimately, the film doesn't succeed in its thematic aspirations, proving yet again that great literature doesn't usually transfer successfully to the screen.

Boasting the canny use of suitably atmospheric, futuristic-looking locations, Narcopolis is far more impressive visually than narratively, with its tangled film noir plot making Raymond Chandler seem straightforward by comparison.

Unfortunately, Schwarzenegger doesn’t show up until more than an hour into this relentlessly unfunny comedy and by then viewers may have tuned out long before.

Ploddingly paced (it runs nearly 20 minutes longer than the 1977 film, to detrimental effect), poorly scripted and featuring largely amateurish performances and cheesy special effects, this Rabid strives to emulate the striking body horror of the original but mainly comes across like a half-baked imitation.

Burning Blue squanders its admirable intentions with its amateurish filmmaking and ham-fisted dialogue.

Brightest Star is too dim to sustain interest even with its very brief running time.

You have to credit the filmmakers for at least acknowledging their level of dreck during the final credits, when Lovitz rhetorically asks, "This was a complete waste of time, wasn't it?"

You know a movie’s in trouble when it’s most dramatic element is the breaking of a piñata.

Ultimately best suited for the confines of late-night cable.