Jack Mathews

Larry offers enough scatological humor to fertilize the wheat fields in the star's home state of Nebraska.

A record number of movie cliches are strung together for the otherwise forgettable boot-camp drama Annapolis.

Possibly the worst idea for a movie this century.

September Dawn, written by an evangelical Christian, may be the worst historical drama ever made.

More than a bad movie, it's an anti-movie.

This is a "What were they thinking?"-size disaster, with the wrong actors in the wrong roles in a project that had no reason to be remade in the USA.

A ponderously slow experience.

Typical of road comedies, it's a pastiche of sketches.

The result, at best, is a sweet failure.

Eric Steel's documentary has more than a whiff of exploitation about it.

Fonda's performance is a perfect storm of histrionics, and she leaves nothing and no one standing.

Frankly, after watching writer-director Timur Bekmambetov's grim fantasy - the first leg of a trilogy adapted from the sci-fi novels of Sergei Lukyanenko - I'm still a little confused.

The worst performance in a film that diminishes even the talented Stockard Channing is given by Allen. He's never written a more unpleasant, vapid or irredeemable character for himself, and he makes it worse by overplaying.

Wells' vision of the distant future is cartoonishly simplistic without the subtext of British class consciousness that informed the novel.

The second half of Antoine de Caunes' Monsieur N., about the post-exile life and death of Napoleon, plays less like a movie than a suggestion for one. This is a great disappointment because the first half is very cinematic and very compelling.

The result is a performance that is neither funny nor empathetic, and the romance that develops between the dentist and the junkie patient is not strong enough to support the mystery.

Having these characters interact is both the joke and raison d'etre of "League." Its story is beyond banal.

Drifts from goofy situation comedy to pop culture parody to a last-act load of sentiment that would sink a trash barge.

Surely, Vinterberg was high on some inert gas when he embarked on it.

It doesn't strike a single note of authentic emotion.

If there is a casting agent in hell, ­Martin Lawrence and Tyler Perry will soon put on their fat suits as Big Momma and Madea Simmons and show up as a tag team in a big-screen ­Wrestlemania.

Neither can I imagine many sane adults wanting to put themselves through this movie.

May be free of gay stereotypes, but it's absolutely riddled with romantic cliches. It's hard to see the progress in that.

Frenzied, gothic nonsense.

If "The Sixth Sense" was a bad movie redeemed by its surprise ending, Marc Forster's Stay is a seemingly good movie leading to a devastating letdown.

Jovovich, Besson's 24-year-old ex-wife, hasn't a clue how to project shadings, interior emotions, character or personality. Everything's in a full screech.

The film is lovely to look at, but makes not a lick of sense.

Chevy Chase looks tired, Pam Grier looks embarrassed, and pop star Iggy Pop gives a performance that -- if you can believe it -- is even sillier than his name.