James Berardinelli

At best, this is a late-night time-waster to be watched on Prime Video when all better options have been exhausted.

The entire affair is so badly bungled that there isn’t even a briefly satisfying moment of catharsis. The obvious next act for these Horsemen is to vanish—and never come back.

In truth, this feels more like a half-baked comedy sketch stretched far beyond its breaking point—until even the last traces of humor have leaked out like the gooey innards of a Stretch Armstrong toy that’s been tortured by a sadistic kid.

Like Nicolas Winding Refn with The Neon Demon, Tipping approaches it all with deadly seriousness, convinced he’s delivering a profound statement when in reality he’s just serving up an overwrought, futile mess.

Robinson's movie flip-flops back and forth between being inept and goofy.

We’re here for the nasty kills, the clever eviscerations, and the M3GAN vs. AMELIA rumble. And we get very little of any of those things.

Fountain of Youth is a perfect example of something that can play in the background but proves singularly unable to hold anyone’s attention for the entirety of its running length.

Part music video, part bizarro psychological thriller, and part David Lynch-inspired descent into existential purgatory (I kept looking for Michael J. Anderson), the film’s weirdness is sometimes extreme enough to exert an almost hypnotic attraction. But, as good as he may be on stage and in a music studio, The Weeknd (a.k.a. Abel Tesfaye) is not a good actor.

I can think of bad slasher sequels from the ‘80s that were more engaging than this one.

The Electric State has an epic look but that’s increasingly common in any movie with sci-fi elements. But, aside from the special effects, it feels unfinished, with the actors groping to inhabit barely-there characters. What does it say when Mr. Peanut has more personality than either of the main characters?

The screenplay fails to provide any reason to care about the characters or their circumstances, so we sit in a theater seat, trying not to be hypnotized by all the flashes of light in the muddled brown-and-white environment or lulled to sleep by the inane babbling that passes for dialogue.

This is a painfully bad movie that thinks it’s trying to be Jackie Chan-meets-John Wick and flies so far wide of the target that it might have been shot by a blind man.

Love Me isn’t bad in the sense that it is poorly assembled or incompetently shot. On a craft and technical level, it’s above average. But the narrative is incoherent and the philosophical meanderings lack depth and intelligence.

Although there are a few amusing instances when the film goes over-the-top with gore, those don’t save what’s ultimately a bad zombie apocalypse film with the undead replaced by robots.

Sanders, however, has taken a deep dive into the world of pretentious horror, where every killing has to be as stylized as it is gory. His characters have no humanity, his romance has no sizzle, and the whole thing turns into a slog where style overwhelms substance to such a degree that there’s too little left of the latter to matter.

Regardless of the reason, Borderlands arrives as a legitimate contender not only for worst film of 2024 but one of the worst videogame movies ever released.

Trap is a house of cards built on a bed of sand in the middle of a hurricane. It flies apart and collapses almost immediately and the various plot threads are so thoroughly ripped to shreds that there’s nothing left at the end but the wreckage of a movie and the recognition that 105 precious minutes have been stolen.

Everything about this movie feels both tired and tiring. Yes, it does a great job setting up a sense of deep unease but that quickly evaporates when it becomes apparent the movie isn’t going anywhere worthwhile or interesting, and the ending is downright silly.

Ironically for something titled The Watchers, this production lacks the basic quality of watchability.

Even for those who have an orgasmic reaction to kaiju confrontations, far too little of the film is devoted to them and the overreliance on CGI leeches away the immediacy and awe associated with the spectacle. This isn’t as bad as the 1998 Godzilla misfire but it’s perilously close.

There’s nothing imaginary about how bad a misfire this movie is even for the Blumhouse base.

I didn’t laugh once and the movie’s stylized and satirical tone defused any connection I might have felt for the characters. Perhaps if the proceedings hadn’t dragged on well past the two-hour mark, it wouldn’t have seemed like such a chore to sit through.

In The Beekeeper, as has been the case with pretty much anything Statham has done in the past half-decade, the actor is on hand to collect a paycheck in exchange for bringing a recognizable name to the proceedings.

Instead of offering engaging storytelling, it give us flashes, bangs, bad dialogue, and a mountain of fakery (a reminder that things that work in comic books don’t always translate to the silver screen). It’s sound and fury signifying nothing except to expose another chink in the once-impervious armor of the MCU.

Expend4bles feels like a movie that never should have been made for a franchise that, having lain dormant for nine years, didn’t deserve a resurrection.

Retribution seems especially disappointing, however, because of its untapped potential to be cheesily entertaining. The finished product is so bad that I can’t even recommend it for viewing on a streaming service – somewhere it should land very quickly.

Meg 2 (it lost the “The” somewhere along the way) is pretty awful stuff even in comparison to its predecessor.

This is cheap-looking, ugly filmmaking. It goes without saying that the story is nonsensical. The characters have the depth of crepe paper. But perhaps what’s most surprising is that the endless CGI hasn’t gotten a noticeable upgrade since 2017’s Transformers: The Last Knight. Modern video games look better.

A comedy without a single funny joke, Mafia Mamma will likely go down as one of the year’s worst theatrical releases.

The problem with Bones and All isn’t that it’s disgusting or shocking or transgressive; it’s that it’s a tedious slog.

Although there are a number of problems with the production, the most glaring is the screenplay. The flaws of the final act are so flagrant that nothing short of a rewrite would have solved them.

Unfortunately, stiff acting, an increasingly hard-to-swallow storyline, and an atrociously bad ending torpedo Eli Horowitz’s Gone in the Night, making it unworthy of even a streamed view. When the movie started, I wanted to like it. 90 minutes later, I just wanted it to end.

Few authors have been as badly victimized by Hollywood as King; this is just another title to add to the list.

In terms of storytelling, excitement, and overall entertainment value, Blacklight is a black hole.

There’s nothing worthwhile here; the landscape of wretched banality offers only wasted time and a sense of despair.

The Matrix Resurrections is a waste of time and money. For fans of the series, it’s a betrayal that deserves to be ignored and forgotten as soon as possible.

I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. There. That just about sums it up.

Undemanding movie-goers on the lookout for a movie featuring pretty people in a vapid rom-com that might find this movie to their liking. For everyone else, this is decidedly not “all that.”

The Ice Road may be the worst direct-to-Netflix movie to feature a major star. It may also offer the worst entry into Liam Neeson’s catalog of strong, resilient action heroes.

Perhaps the biggest (and most noticeable) fall-off from the first film is the lack of chemistry between Reynolds and Jackson. The two never connect. Rarely have I seen the volcanic Jackson look so disinterested; this is the closest he’s ever come to phoning it in.

Although Spiral pretends to mine the trope of one good cop investigating department corruption, that’s really just an excuse to present long, lovingly-filmed instances of sadism and torture.

Belly-flopping into the superhero movie pool, Thunder Force illustrates what happens when filmmakers take a moderately interesting premise and surround it with witless writing, cringe-inducing acting, stagnant action, humor-deprived comedy, and feckless drama.

Most of their jokes miss the mark and the movie gets lost in action/thriller territory that’s anything but thrilling.

The screenplay is so incredibly dumb that it’s never possible to suspend one’s disbelief sufficiently for the movie’s high points to offer more than a fleeting moment’s satisfaction.

Chock-full of unfunny humor, bland characters with nonsensical motivations, and tedious subplots, the entire endeavor might have been shelved if not for the participation of De Niro, Uma Thurman, Cheech Marin, Jane Seymour, and Christopher Walken. A cast like that doesn’t get swept under the rug or sent direct-to-video.

Even at the attractive price of “free,” it’s not worth it because watching it requires 97 minutes and that’s not time well spent.

There’s a tiny problem, though: Clementine is neither erotic nor a thriller.

The biggest shock of this new movie re-imagination is that it makes the original seem fresh and smart by comparison. Perhaps that makes this whole endeavor nothing more than TV producer Aaron Spelling’s posthumous fantasy.

With its grim tone and sickening content, this gruesome gore-fest might have limited appeal for "Death Wish" lovers who wished Charles Bronson hadn’t been such a wimp.

I can’t say that Annabelle Comes Home, the third feature focused on the creepy girl doll, is the worst (because it has plenty of competition) but it’s easily among the dumbest.

Although Child’s Play is only 90 minutes long, it’s one of those movies where you check your watch so often you think it has stopped.

Men in Black International is more than just an afterthought; it’s an unfortunate afterthought. Popular interest has long since evaporated and providing a new paint coat (courtesy of stars Chris Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson) can’t change that foundational fact.

When the end credits roll, it’s hard to decide whether the most appropriate feeling should be disgust, despair, or despondency. This is one of 2019’s worst films.

The only thing of interest is the zany, over-the-top and against-type performance by Dennis Quaid, who shows what happens when “ruggedly handsome” gets an infusion of a diabolical Dirty Harry.

The movie is a pointless retread with nothing to recommend it beyond McShane’s commanding presence.

“Hollow cash grab” is one way to describe The Grinch. Equally appropriate would be “soulless abomination.”

If I wanted to be kind, I’d call Luca Guadagnino’s Suspiria remake “visually striking” and “stylish.” If I wanted to be brutally honest, I’d call it “tedious”, “pretentious”, and even “painful” (although not in a good way).

A fully disengaged brain is probably the key to enjoying Final Score. Employing even basic logic engenders a recognition of how truly stupid this screenplay is, especially when it comes to the resolution.

At times dull and plodding and at other times cartoonishly silly, Kin rarely works and, when it does, it’s often for the wrong reasons.

Occupation accomplishes the previously unthinkable: an alien invasion film that makes "Independence Day" look smart.

Despite a committed performance from lead actress Mackenzie Davis and a promising opening, the film quickly corkscrews into a death spiral of trite dialogue meant to obfuscate the lack of a coherent or meaningful narrative.

A frustrating crime thriller that incorporates too many plot threads into the overall narrative at the expense of character identification, suspense, and emotional heft.

The caper in Carter & June is clumsy and straightforward, lacking sophistication and intelligence. Sadly, that’s an apt description of the film as a whole, which is difficult to sit through and leaves no lasting impression beyond the desire to warn people to stay away.

This is not only the least funny movie in which McCarthy has appeared but the tamest and most toothless.

The movie is rarely funny with much of the comedy being too broad, too predictable, or both.

The way in which I Feel Pretty presents its message is one of the film’s biggest problems. If there’s something less subtle than a sledgehammer, it applies here.

A godawful teen-magnet utterly devoid of entertainment value beyond the lure of its popular, photogenic cast and the dubious attraction of playing the “guess who gets it next” game. The little bit of cleverness that ends the film comes far too late to save this movie.

If I knew definitively what the plural was for the term deus ex machina, I’d apply it here. Rarely can I remember a movie filled with so many miraculous rescues and associated contrivances.

Wonder Wheel seems more like a cobbled-together afterthought than the romantic melodrama it seeks to be.

Wow. Just wow. Every year, movie theaters bring us their share of surprises – both good and bad. Suburbicon goes immediately to the front of the line of contenders for the most disappointing film of 2017.

Apparently, someone turned up the heat because The Snowman is a sloppy mess.

I’m not predisposed to like movies focused on hollow characters floating in their own bubble of self-absorption, whether they’re men (Entourage) or women (Sex and the City), and as soon as I realized that’s what Home Again was offering, I knew I was in for a long 97 minutes. Unfortunately, I was right.

Nearly every role is miscast, which is rather amazing. Christoph Waltz and Judi Dench (as an abbess) are perhaps the exceptions.

The comedy is embarrassingly unfunny, the attempts at drama are badly acted and sometimes cringe-worthy, and the copious amounts of blood during the fight sequences fall short of being amusing while sabotaging any hope of taking them seriously.

The Layover is an appalling movie.

It is possible to make a movie in which nearly the entire running length is a car chase. An example of how to do this is "Duel." An example of how not to do it is Kidnap.

For better or worse (emphasis on the latter), it was unlike anything else on the multiplex landscape. In 2017, it’s becoming difficult for Bay to distinguish his brand of brain-dead spectacle from the brain-dead spectacle of many other sequels, prequels, and remakes.

Narratively incoherent and full of cheese and camp, this movie makes it clear that the mummy should have remained dead and buried.

The waterlogged end product is an example of lazy writing and direction with the vague hope that perhaps the involvement of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson will attract viewers.

More galling and tedious than funny.

This is a bad film - at times it’s nigh unwatchable - but that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Unimaginative horror movies are a dime a dozen, but overlong, boring, unimaginative horror movies? Those are rare. However, in Split, that’s what writer/director M. Night Shyamalan has provided the early 2017 movie-going populace.

Pretentious and manipulative, the movie bludgeons viewers with its new age philosophizing and its desire to be considered meaningful.

Unfortunately, as with too many films being made with the international market in mind, Jack Reacher: Never Go Back is a jumble of overhyped action scenes, trite dialogue, painfully bad “character development”, and awful writing.

Horror fans will be so bored by the first 90 minutes that they will have either walked out or fallen into a coma by the time the blood starts flowing.

With its canned, predictable action sequences and mirthless attempts at humor, it displays an ineptitude that is frankly shocking considering the talent involved.

The movie is frequently incomprehensible and, on those occasions when it makes sense, the viewer may wish it didn’t.

The follow-up proves not only to be creatively bankrupt but a disappointment on all levels and thereby tarnishes the perception of its predecessor.

Demolition founders and its overt symbolism feels forced instead of organic. The production is uncomfortable and artificial, lacking internal logic and tonal consistency.

This is a sit com. An ‘80s-style sit-com. A bad ‘80s-style sit-com.

This movie is so atrocious I kept waiting for Nick Cage to show up.

A horrifically bad romantic comedy that serves as a celebration of entitlement, consumerism, and shallow behavior.

This new horror/romance mashup provides just enough flavor of Jane Austen’s classic to tease without satisfying.

The only thing about Victor Frankenstein worthy of praise is the set design. Visually, the movie is impressive but pretty pictures are better left to postcards.

From narrative to character development to staging, every frame of Mistress America drips with artifice. It's a playground for unpleasant, self-absorbed characters - an excursion into the lifestyles of people most of us would prefer to bypass. If there's an antonym for self-awareness, it applies to nearly everyone populating this misfire.

The "characters" vary from slightly annoying to unbearable - this is a film in which a viewer can be forgiven for rooting for the old video game icons to annihilate humanity. God help us if the best savior we can muster is Sandler.

There's enough material in Self/less to fuel a mini-series. Instead of letting the story breathe, the film rushes along at breakneck speed, using contrivances and "shortcuts" in failed attempts at character development.

"Magic Mike" was self-contained, made with no expectation of a second chapter - and they prove unable to surmount it. Too many elements that made the first film an enjoyable experience are missing.