Jonathan Foreman

It features well-below-par writing, acting, direction, special effects and music, while oozing a nauseating New Age sentimentality that undermines any tension in the underlying story.

A surprisingly nasty fable about a particularly silly, very English brand of animal-rights extremism.

Resembles a period version of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" - played dead straight.

A crass, mechanical attempt at a thriller that should have gone straight to video.

This oddly scrambled new version eventually falls apart so badly you feel embarrassed for the people who made it.

An almost chuckle-free mess, so amateurish and lame that the cast often has that embarrassed look you see on dogs given ridiculous haircuts.

Self-righteous, economically illiterate and sometimes flatly dishonest.

A deep disappointment to fans of sci-fi and the once great John Carpenter.

In the end, it is inadequate, juiceless storytelling that deprives Titan A.E. of any dramatic force.

More tedious than affecting.

A miracle of badness, a kind of art- house "Showgirls" -- which actually exceeds "Showgirls" in its self-indulgence, shallowness and sheer stupidity.

Embarrassingly bad - the kind of slapdash exercise that gives even Hollywood formula a bad name, while doing little justice to the sport.

As lifeless and unfunny as a corpse on a slab.

The screenplay is packed with so many hilariously bad lines (it's hard to believe that writer-director Helgeland won an Oscar for co-writing "L.A. Confidential") that the movie would be perfect material for a resurrected version of the TV spoof "Mystery Science Theater."

A laughably bad B-thriller.

This crude, deeply dishonest documentary does no such thing. David Russell's fictional "Three Kings" does a much better job.

The problem with Gigli is that it is an inept attempt to do Elmore Leonard by Martin Brest, a filmmaker whose coarse sensibility makes him catastrophically unqualified to the task.

Relentlessly stupid.

Stinks even by the standards of late summer movie garbage.

Darkness Falls was formerly known as "Tooth Fairy," but could just as well have been titled "Dumb Then Dumber" for the way its plot makes decreasing sense even by the low standards of B horror flicks.

It's all so insincere, you can almost imagine the filmmakers rubbing their hands together at the prospect of ripping off the public.

It's a film noir spoof, replete with hard-boiled narration, lounge-music soundtrack and dramatic black-and-white photography.

Occasionally amusing, extremely gross, but mostly tedious.

Sucker bait for the sort of credulous cinast who'll buy anything ugly and boring that looks like it's avant-garde...rancid stew of cheap shocks, sleaze and phony artiness.

Unfortunately, Scorpion King has none of the qualities -- epic sweep, relative originality and heartfelt bloodthirstiness -- that made "Conan" so trashily entertaining.

Isn't really a movie: It's a grab bag of mobster clichés lifted without finesse from "A Bronx Tale," "GoodFellas" and at least a score of lesser Mafia flicks.

If the movie were funny, the implicit sermonizing would be more tolerable, but apart from four or five good one-liners, The Next Best Thing is a thudding failure as a comedy.

The characters are tired stereotypes, the sentimentality nauseating and the situation comedy way below the standards of the very worst WB or UPN shows.

An embarrassing misfire...feels like a long, slow TV pilot about L.A. twentysomethings, only it lacks the polish and wit of your average sitcom.

There's no limit to Coyote Ugly's crass shamelessness.

An example of Hollywood schlock from the team of Joel Schumacher (director) and Jerry Bruckheimer (producer) that lacks the faintest trace of imagination or genuine feeling.

A lobotomized attempt to make a no-budget John Waters movie, Men Cry Bullets is a painful reminder of just how bad indie cinema can be - especially when it plays with gender roles. It's desperately unfunny and dreadfully acted, written and directed.

A big, incoherent bore, interesting only as an example of assembly-line movie-making gone awry.

There is something offensively lazy about the thinness of the Jaglom's movie-industry characters, the simplistic problems they face, and the clumps of clumsy, apparently improvised dialogue they have to deliver.

The result is inept, tedious kitsch that even at its best feels like John Waters minus the joie de vivre.

Mostly ludicrous, but occasionally effective.

During an endless, maudlin last act, it becomes more and more difficult not to laugh -- or barf -- as the protagonists tearfully come to terms with their issues.

You have to sit through 90 minutes that feel like three hours.

A smarmy, smirky but ultimately boring film.

Anyone interested in this remarkably prolific author would be better off visiting a library or bookshop.

An example of lazy, dumb and couldn't-care-less hack movie making.

The "Jurassic Park" movie franchise does not evolve. Quite the opposite: It degenerates at great speed.

Lacks even a trace of imagination. Its by-the-numbers plot is depressingly familiar, and each line of dialogue is so predictable that the script... could have been generated by a computer.

It's hard to imagine how Shyer and script writer John Sweet could have brought this tale to the screen in a cruder, cornier or less interesting way.

Atrociously written.

A criminally slow, all-but-laughless blaxploitation comedy.

It's a film that reeks of stupidity and cynicism, one that makes you feel soiled just to have sat through it.

If this cheesy, cheap-looking update of "A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur's Court" had been co-produced by the Ku Klux Klan itself, it could hardly be more repellently stereotypical.

The whole movie is so ineptly written and directed that its 90 minutes seem to take twice as long.

Looks and feels like a bad imitation of "Trainspotting" without any of that film's wit or charm.

Everything about National Security is so lazy and uninspired, it's hard to believe that director Dennis Dugan also made "Happy Gilmore," arguably Adam Sandler's funniest movie.

A pathetically inane and unimaginative cross between "XXX" and "Vertical Limit," it could only harm the careers of everyone involved in its making - including top British stage actors Rufus Sewell and Rupert Graves.

Not only is Adored amateurish and mawkish even by the standards of American "gaysploitation" cinema, it's weirdly shy about showing nudity and sex.

Even the lovemaking scenes between two of Hollywood's most attractive stars -- often shot from above, like Cinemax soft porn -- are so unerotic, they make your skin crawl.

The film's staggering incompetence can be measured by the way it makes some of the most fascinating and heart-rending episodes in American history tedious.

An inept, tedious spoof of '70s kung fu pictures, it contains almost enough chuckles for a three-minute sketch, and no more.

Laughs are few and far between, and the film feels brutally long.

Calling it pretentious doesn't do justice to the toxic faux-bohemianism and unearned self-regard that bubble and ooze out of every aspect of Chelsea Walls.

Part of the problem is that the Finbar character is both underdeveloped and unattractive - you don't get a sense of why anyone would miss him, let alone go searching for him in the snow. [17 Mar 2000]

Summer Catch is the sludge at the bottom of the barrel.

Amazingly amateurish, the film lands wide of satirical targets that should be impossible to miss.

A strong, early candidate for the worst movie of the year.

More prettily photographed pretentious rubbish from the ridiculous Peter Greenaway.

Shapeless, tedious, hopelessly bad sequel.

Every possible film student visual cliché (plus quite a few from the world of music video) gets a thorough workout.

It reeks of contempt for the audience. This is not just a "B-movie" -- it's a B-movie that fails to entertain on any level.