John P. McCarthy

Even given narrative license, South African-born screenwriter Ann Peacock has trouble cobbling together a truly compelling plot that deals with Kenyan history, including tribalism, in a detailed way.

While in many respects Spoken Word is adequately specific, it's still not very deep.

With a premise better suited to comedy than drama, The Freebie is more somber and less stimulating than expected.

Serves as both a sequel and a prequel, and the team Oren Peli has assembled deserves credit for beefing up and rounding out his original narrative without letting it mutate into something unrecognizable.

Not quite the yuk-fest one was hoping for or as perversely alienating as "Observe and Report," Due Date shares the schizophrenic quality, though not the numbing length, of another Seth Rogen movie, "Funny People."

Mercy can be described as a moody picture that traffics in variations of only one mood or sentiment: self-pity.

The price for an invite to Stu's (Ed Helms) Thai nuptials is fewer laughs and an air of menace and mystery that won't endear Part II to escapist-hungry audiences.

There are a sufficient number of jolts thanks to quick edits and sound effects, plus the script's efficient structure.

It's easy to get depressed by much of the behavior depicted in Phillip the Fossil, yet the talents behind the picture are a cause for optimism. The last thing they appear to be is hypocritical.

As flat as the Carolina coastal region in which it’s set, Dear John features two gorgeous young actors playing denuded characters in search of more narrative garb.

Trapped inside the German film Vincent Wants to Sea there's an affecting father-son drama, an amusing road movie, a quirky romantic comedy and a non-patronizing take on mental illness. What we actually get - a homogenized movie-of-the-week set against the Alps and punctuated by anodyne English-language pop songs - brought out the cynic in me.

This ho-hum offshoot of Megan McDonald's book series earns negative "thrill points" as it chronicles the mirthless backyard shenanigans of a suburban Pippi Longstocking.

There's nothing more irritating than a piece that strains to be kooky and eccentric, yet one reason The Living Wake ultimately gets to you is that O'Connell is not trying too hard.

The compellingly awful thriller, In My Sleep--in which Melrose Place meets imitation Hitchcock--is so unselfconsciously derivative that you have to admire it…or, if you don’t admire the movie itself, than admire the jejune chutzpah of writer-director-producer Allen Wolf.

The barely coherent Footprints seems bent on erasing any nostalgia one might have for Hollywood's heyday.

An ultra-thin spliff, Cop Out never sparks, although knowing that in advance won’t deter moviegoers who believe pairing Morgan & Willis with Smith equals hilarity.

Kalamity is a real klunker.

All you need to know about this low-budget farce is that Amy Sedaris costars (yippee!) and New York pol Anthony Weiner would feel right at home with the sexting subplot (eeeuw!).

What's most memorable about this plodding thriller are the copious amounts of foundation and lip gloss.

Starved of humor and energy, the interminable Big Mommas: Life Father, Like Son could force Lawrence and co-star Brandon T. Jackson undercover for real.

After this bomb, Katherine Heigl and Ashton Kutcher may qualify as two of the most attractive and prematurely washed-up screen actors Hollywood has ever produced.