Joe Williams

It's more like a shelved episode of "Touched by An Angel." The sappy script is a disservice to the naturally effervescent Efron, whose character is so mopey he makes Robert Pattinson seem like a song-and-dance man.

Anyone old enough to have read Jules Verne or seen the way his work was successfully adapted in the past will suffer worse than the kids in the audience who just came to laugh.

It’s preposterous schlock masquerading as art.

If instead of story and characters, your movie wish list includes projectile vomiting and erection gags, this lump of coal has your name on it.

Kingsman is like a high-speed collision between a Jaguar and a jaywalking soccer hooligan. It’s ridiculously out of balance, and when you’re stuck in the middle, it doesn’t seem so funny.

With this unfunny fourth installment, the "Ice Age" franchise has skidded so far into kiddie land that adults who tread there risk extinction.

The message that needs to be posted at the theater door is "No trespassing."

The cheap, indifferent, teen-alien thriller I Am Number Four delivers none of the spectacle of a competent sci-fi film, none of the emotion of an effective teen romance and none of the giggles of a kitsch fiasco.

If cranking out this kind of mediocre, head-scratching blarney is the only option available to Hollywood veterans like Reiner, we have some friendly advice: Open a haberdashery.

Given the creator and the cast, "Morgans" is as drearily predictable as a plague of locusts.

Sadly, The Last Song is badly out of tune with real filmmaking.

Such a sorrowful attempt to resurrect the marketing magic of "Twilight" that it ought to be titled "Career Eclipse."

Loud, incoherent and unfunny, Here Comes the Boom is the sound of American culture imploding.

This world is divided between the makers and the takers, and after just a few minutes of Red Dawn, you'll realize there's not much more you can take.

In trying to lift this lame schtick, De Niro, Douglas, Freeman and Kline are stand-up guys, but Last Vegas is a case of erectile dysfunction.

This dead-on-arrival ’toon is some of the worst p.r. for rodents since bubonic plague hit medieval Europe.

Sorry, Keanu, but you stole my time and you murdered my brain cells. By the sacred oath of WHOA, there will be blood, and this time it’s personal.

Annabelle is so lazily coat-tailing on Roman Polanski, they should have called it “Rosemary’s Barbie.”

In matters of personal taste, there is no right or wrong, so if erasing brain cells is your idea of a good time, That's My Boy could be your cup of turpentine.

It's supposed to be sweet, but Hop is a headache waiting to happen.

Like the middle-aged dads in this flaccid fiasco, Hall Pass is a decade behind the curve of what's happening.

This amateurish action flick is so lacking in personality or punch, it ought to be titled "V for Video Store Discount Bin."

Whether you're betting on action or laughs, this is a lose-lose scenario.

Here most of the punishment is inflicted on the audience, which gets nailed to a cross of boredom.

Kids are too smart to fall for it, and any grown-up who thinks that The Odd Life of Timothy Green is funny or heartwarming has a head made out of cabbage.

McCarthy and first-time director Falcone must have assumed that tossing a drunk and a dunce into a Cadillac would negate the need for a motive or even a script.

Comedies about privileged princesses and unsuitable suitors come in all colors, but Peeples is only palatable on a double bill with pink antacid.

An utter shipwreck, a would-be adventure with meager rations of magic and a listless crew.

The best thing you could say about Happy Feet Two is that it doesn't have any product placements or potty jokes. Other than that, this charmless Antarctic cartoon is what it looks like when hell freezes over.

The good news is that Ed Helms doesn’t wake up in a Tijuana brothel with an amputated leg and a donkey in the room. The bad news is that you’ll wish he had.

Cinderella is so scrubbed of personality, it’s not even worth calling a mess.

Disney’s gimmick of naming movies for its theme-park attractions crashes and burns in Tomorrowland, a here-and-now caper that will confuse children, bore adults and offend anyone who’s ever taken a science class.

A bland family-feud potboiler with no sign of the cook.

A soulless, overblown bore.

Suffering through this felonious farce could only inspire a prison riot.

Where the original play "La Ronde" was a social satire about the transmission of venereal disease, 30 Beats is a sickly stepchild.

For anyone expecting the second coming of Clouseau, Johnny English Reborn is a karmic catastrophe.

On Stranger Tides has the fishy smell of something washed ashore and sold as new. But this shipwreck isn't worth a wooden doubloon.

So stupid and hateful, it needs to have a stake driven through its heart before it can spawn a franchise.

As in the first "Sherlock Holmes" movie, there are plenty of pratfalls and bare-knuckle brawls but no sleuthing for us to share.

The spectacular collapse of Green Lantern is bound to be blamed on Reynolds, but the villainy has its origins in an injustice league of TV-trained screenwriters and tin-hearted studio suits.

Long before you’ve gotten a nickel’s worth of entertainment out of this dumb, unfunny flick, you’ll be wishing for the flashing sign that says “Game over.”

In Secret is so stifled, it makes “Les Misérables” look like “Amélie.”

It’s nearly tragic to see America’s Greatest Living Actor on the guest list for The Big Wedding, the latest limp comedy about seniors behaving badly.

Old Dogs is so oafish, when it tosses us a biscuit, it feels like we've been smacked with a newspaper.

Dare we say it? Even the acting is atrocious, with pop-eyed Pacino chewing the scenery like a geezer gumming his oatmeal.

With the overlong, limp and lazy Spy, Feig has lost his mojo.

Channing Tatum is a lot of things, but he’s not a stoic Superman like the role he plays here, which is made more laughable by prosthetic pointy ears.

Offers about as much flava as a Dr. Pepper commercial and about as much drama as a “Sesame Street” rerun.

While the cast includes Luis Guzman (as a buffoonish deputy) and Johnny Knoxville (as a local gun nut), there's no sense that these are real people in a real town, and Schwarzenegger's Sheriff Owens has the weakest backstory of all.

This movie is so tone-deaf it would only make sense in Vincent van Gogh’s missing ear.

Nobody escapes unscathed, except, of course, for Sandler, who co-wrote the infantile screenplay.

A toxic potion that will put children to sleep and kill his (M. Night Shyamalan) career.

If you’re a fan of the “Taken” movies and tend to give action-hero Neeson the benefit of the doubt, our advice here is simple: Run away!

Even by the sloppy, soulless standards of hit man movies, The Mechanic is a mess.

For the rest of his life, Spencer Susser can brag to the other ditch diggers that he persuaded two of the best young actors in Hollywood to star in one of the worst movies ever made.

Formulaic serial-killer crapola.

"Beverly Hills Chihuahua," we owe you an apology. Among talking-dog movies, Marmaduke is the runt of the litter.

Sparks would be delighted if this movie were compared to his other story about reunited lovers, but compared to “The Notebook,” The Best of Me is the coffee-stained outline of a sales pitch for sleeping pills.

The sanitized setting and sappy script are so littered with cardboard characters and crass product placements that you'll mourn for the muggers and porno theaters that De Niro cursed in "Taxi Driver."

The worst thing about this multifaceted failure is the two-time Oscar winner behind the camera. Where there ought to be a director, there’s nothing but an empty chair.

A vigilante/torture-porn potpourri, is particularly toxic because it's scented with phony importance.

When a celebrity chef like Rodriguez is just going through the motions, we can smell that the grindhouse fad is way past its expiration date. It's time to put a fork in it.

This stinker is only good for endless laughs.

Surprise — this bad dream is for real.