Johnny Oleksinski

To bulk up the thin material, the film steals from countless other, better adventure movies to create an altogether less satisfying combo plate that costs $30 to rent on Disney+.

On the whole, the pairing of these two comedy titans is forgettable and slow as an ice age. To put it in skiing parlance: Downhill is pizza-ing when it needs to french-fry.

Directed by Anthony and Joe Russo of “Avengers: Endgame” fame, the well-worn drama gets high marks for style and proficiency, but you don’t have to be Nostradamus to know exactly where it’s going every step of the way. At the movies, stories like this one are a dime bag a dozen.

The book is a fascinating, insightful, touching window into a unique community with immense struggles. On-screen, it’s exploitative.

Novak’s forever-skill as an actor is likability, and that approachable magnetism is on display here. What doesn’t work in this otherwise naturalistic movie are the punchlines he’s written for himself. Too planned and stilted, not terribly funny. The huge size of all the actors’ humor never matches the intimate way the film has been shot.

At the film’s most entertaining heights, it recalls the novels of Ray Bradbury and the Matt Damon flick “The Martian.” But its final twist is an extremely implausible, easy way out.

The will to live is missing from Netflix’s not-quite-sequel Bird Box Barcelona, and so is our will to watch.

I think what Tarantino is going for is brazenly manipulating historical events to suit his style, and turning a well-worn genre on its head. But in so doing he’s made an everything bagel of a movie: Part satire, part bear hug, part fictional bromance.

Despite real actors, CGI and brand-new material, “Mermaid” is the studio’s latest flesh-and-blood cash grab that’s more lifeless than far better two-dimensional painted drawings.

Skarsgård is dangerous as ever here, but writer-director Dan Krauss’ drama offers very little insight into the minds of these men, and we’re left with no satisfying takeaway. It’s just one upsetting scene after another.

Regina Hall is always extraordinary — even in projects that are mediocre.

While the off-kilter film is a fine showcase for the personalities of two of our best emerging comedic stars, Rachel Sennott (“Shiva Baby”) and Ayo Edebiri (“The Bear”), the humor falls short of being very funny.

Berry wears two hats effortlessly. Her direction is gritty and assured, and her leading performance hasn’t lost an ounce of that star quality — to simultaneously be so weak and so strong — that won her an Oscar for Monster’s Ball.

The action-adventure aspects of “Christmas Chronicles,” with sleigh chases and a reindeer fights, are cluttered. More appealing are the real-world storylines, such as the siblings dealing with their mom getting serious with a new beau.

The adequate Netflix film, which was supposed to have been released two years ago, is funny in spots, but it flatlines early and gets way too gross.

Of course, nobody watches a Jackie Chan movie for the sophisticated plots or deep characters. They come for the martial arts. But those, too, settle for being not much more than a kick in the park.

Dreamgirls director Bill Condon’s off-putting movie is a visual and narrative mess: polished where it should be gritty and ugly where it must be glamorous. Bland, almost always.

Ticket to Paradise would be a better time if it was as campy as its lead actress’ frozen hair.

The overlong and too-steady movie tries to say so much — about the struggles of being gay in the ‘80s, gender identity, nontraditional relationship structures — that it all comes off as white noise. Albeit white noise that has a borderline oppressive desire to make us cry.

The upper-crust British characters in The Little Stranger, the new horror film from “Room” director Lenny Abrahamson, are so rigid they make the Crawleys of “Downton Abbey” look like the Osbournes. The effect is occasionally spooky, but more often snoozy.

Should a serial killer blood-bath be so comfy and nostalgic for an audience? Not if it wants to maintain our interest. Over two hours, Cinco de Scream-o lumbers along with routine kills and few surprises even when it makes lame attempts at shocking us.

Lucky “Day Shift” has an Oscar winner in Foxx, who’s appealingly heroic, and gags about a burning sensation on characters’ privates.

Most of this film is humorless and with not so much of a score as a subwoofer.

Devil, make a better movie.

The Lost Kingdom isn’t well done, but it isn’t miserable either.

Nestled inside that warm setup is cloying dialogue, condescending voice work and confusing story tangents.

Although a quick summary would suggest that Our Little Secret is the simplest and most domestic of Lohan’s trilogy of terror, the devices that lead to its wrap-up are anything but Hallmark happy.

The races of Trading Paint, however, are as exciting as a Ford Taurus trying to parallel park.

What they’ve chopped up is a cacophony of half-baked characters and rushed ideas that leave you puzzled and unsatisfied. A better title would be “The Chore.”

A slow trudge devoid of suspense and adrenaline.

The new movie, directed by Joe Wright and written by Dinklage’s wife Erica Schmidt, ranks with the most lifeless adaptations. Even the swishy dances are a downer.

Although it is a soft PG-13, The Adam Project is stylistically geared toward 5-year-olds who aren’t going to watch a movie about time travel and frayed parent-child relationships. Today’s teens and 20-somethings are too smart for a movie so dumb.

It's not asking much that a thriller be scary or shocking. This one waffles between being predictable and absurd.

In this new, totally unnecessary version of Dr. Seuss’ holiday favorite, the mean one (voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch) isn’t all that scary or cruel.

"Rhapsody” has a shallow script, oversize performances and looks like it was shot in a sauna.

The film begins at ugh and ends at dang. You don’t yell at the screen so much as yawn at it. An intriguing plot then turns into a telltale heart that doesn’t pulse.

I can’t speak to Bethan Roberts’ 2012 novel the film is based on, but the story’s climactic reveal is one of the most predictable in ages. It gets the award for Biggest Duh!

Julian Fellowes would have been far better off writing another relaxed Christmas special to satisfy fans.

That’s the worst thing about these new Scream films — they couldn’t spook a kitten. They’re much more concerned with so-so jokes and overly geeky observations about the horror genre. Yes, Scream always commented on other scary movies, but never so obnoxiously and repetitively as now.

For a film that takes place largely in a basket, Harper manages an epic mood. Nonetheless, you can’t help but feel swindled by Hollywood’s hot air.

Nothing’s wrong with a few buckets of blood, but Perkins’ movie waters them down with its repetitious plot and weak attempts at humor. “The Monkey” strains to be a comedy as much as a horror film and effectively works as neither.

As blissfully simple as James Cameron’s original “Terminator” framework was, “Dark Fate” has a tendency to toss in unnecessary confusions.

You simply cannot believe you’re staring at megastars — so sapped of individuality and charisma they are. My barista could have been cast as the lead of this action-thriller, and the film would be absolutely no different.

The scenes are either too heavy (the climax is the downer of the year), too sedate or too gross.

Do these stylistic and narrative departures constitute a smart shake-up of the old mummy formula, as Cronin’s movie promises to do? Eh, not really. The director mostly reshapes what a mummy actually is to suit his lackluster whims.

In The Life of Chuck, the pieces come together much too obviously. And the takeaways — that a person is the product of experience, and don’t judge a book by its cover — are well-tread to the point of total flatness.

What was once a sophisticated, edgy, witty, sexy drama series has become “The Love Boat” Season 10. Though these wax figures’ love is even less exciting and neeeeew than that old show.

The story is far less gripping than the consistency of the hunky lead actor’s facial hair. For most of the two hours or so, the beard is perfect. Frozen in time.

“First Steps” marks a slight improvement from the preceding trilogy of terror. But Marvel still can’t nail what should be one of its premiere attractions.

Aspires to be a scary suburban satire like “Get Out” or “Hot Fuzz.” But watching adults murder or attempt to murder toddlers, teens and even a newborn baby just isn’t funny. At times, it’s downright sickening.

Providing a hint of redemption is Edgar-Jones, a naturally vulnerable actress who can turn the shallowest of material into something deep. We like Kya and are with her every step of the way, even though at over two hours there about 50 steps too many.

Really, though, it is just another tiresome and impenetrably brooding Gerard Butler movie in which no event seems to matter any more than the next one — and grimaces are mistaken for drama.

The preachy “Showman” argues that Barnum should be celebrated for bringing “freaks” like the bearded lady and others out of the shadows and into his shows, but those characters are sketchily drawn.

Such a comedy cannot depend solely on its supporting cast, especially when they’re tasked with lifting up subpar material.

The inferior second part, short but not nearly short enough, proves just how ill-prepared its creators were for the original’s success.

Dumb Money, with a predictable script by Lauren Schuker Blum, Rebecca Angelo and Ben Mezrich, rambles on and on with an unwaveringly lethargic tone and zero buildup of energy or anticipation. All the while, the audience has little investment in this dud about investing.

With “M3GAN 2.0,” the filmmakers have employed a bold strategy: Take a $180-million formula, shred it and forget it.

It’s a royal chore.

It’s Olsen’s emotional frailty that helps pump up a bad movie into a mediocre one.

The cacophonous ending sets up a sequel, but I hope it never sees the light of day. Actually, considering it’s about vampires, maybe I do!

Hocus Pocus 2 is also awful to the core, but charmless and too low stakes to keep our interest.

I’ll give credit to Krasinski for endeavoring to deliver a new, if derivative, story. He’s not made a loathsome movie, really, but forgettable mush.

This film should be reliably filling as pizza for dinner. But the deliveryman is an hour late and has dropped the box.

Blockers is the latest example of the millennium’s most dispiriting film trend: Stupid drunk people making stupid drunk decisions for two stupid hours.

Instead of smarts, we get farts. The movie is packed with gross body and sex humor, reductive characters (the gay assistant, the boss who should be fired) and delusions of insight. And Henson’s likable performance is so overblown, it could be sponsored by Red Bull.

In “Pinocchio,” when Geppetto wished upon a star, a hunk of wood became a real boy. Eighty-three years later, Disney’s latest animated film, called “Wish,” which is sort of about the origin of that same magical ball of gas, couldn’t be more wooden, manufactured or lifeless.

Preying on a hurting city might be forgiven if the movie was any good. But Willis, who was once a formidable action star, is performing “Die Hard With an Ambien” as he exhibits zero emotion and mutters under his breath like an accountant who’s upset with his boss.

Worse, it’s as funny as a political science class.