Kevin Crust

Billed as a romantic comedy but really a farce, The Perfect Kiss is the perfect example of a movie that is so bad it’s … no, not good, just terrible.

Faith comes naturally, but complexity does not for Ty Manns’ script, which plays like a first draft, one written from a manual and riddled with two-dimensional characters and on-the-nose dialogue.

Related to the 1953 Vincent Price film in name, embalming technique and Warner Bros. pedigree only, the new House of Wax is a dreary, predictable tale.

A bust. As murky as its release print, it is a stale, incoherent spy caper.

Despite the presence of funny guys such as Zahn, Garlin, Justin Long and Jonah Hill, along with veteran character actors Ernest Borgnine, Joe Don Baker and Robert Patrick, the movie fails to be even passably funny.

The result is a film that's main crime is inducing stupefying boredom with little payoff in the end.

A jumble of genres including mob melodrama, bodyguard romance and interracial love story, none of which is handled in a remotely satisfying manner by director Ron Underwood. The film's tone shifts with all the grace of a car with a balky transmission.

An unsuccessful concoction of sincerity, camp and crassness that is more interested in its parade of D-level celebrities than developing its characters.

Plunges into an abyss of gruesome imagery so repulsive it precludes further watching.

The film is strictly straight-to-video action movie stuff, albeit with dialogue in iambic pentameter.

Its biggest failing -- and the ultimate one for a lightweight entertainment such as this -- is that it's a deadly bore from start to finish.

It's more like "That Girl" on speed than anything else.

Unless you're a connoisseur of movies that are so bad they're good, Hide and Seek is one game you're not going to want to play.

Lifeless and laughless.

In some ways, The Man plays like a sequel to some terrible movie that was mercifully destroyed before it was ever released.

Carl T. Evans' tedious drama Walking on the Sky serves primarily as an acting exercise for its cast and a showcase for its primary location, a scenic Manhattan rooftop.

Originally titled "Fast Track" when it was scheduled to open last January, neither the wait nor the new title makes it worthwhile. The only fast track here is the one to home video.

A stupendously torpid thriller without a single redeeming quality.

In the parlance of "The Player," Katrina Holden Bronson's Daltry Calhoun would be pitched as "Because of Winn-Dixie" meets "Napoleon Dynamite," and that is definitely not a good thing.

The movie is a pastiche of tortured slapstick, groan-inducing dialogue and a lethal dose of treacle, apparently awaiting one of Williams' trademark sprees of riffing and vamping to save the day. That moment never comes, however.

It's astonishing how dull a movie that packs so much visual overstimulation into its frames can be.

It will surely yield nominations for worst picture.

Unfortunately, the film lacks the suspense and drama to carry the psychological burden placed on it by its makers. Plot strands are dropped like so much lint, and it ends so abruptly that you wonder whether the filmmakers ran out of money, ideas or both.

The bedraggled movie limps along to its phony hogwash of an ending, adding the ignominy of sentimentality to its previous sin of being so derivative.

Andreas is way too low-energy to hold the screen as the film's lead, but he was wise to surround himself with a talented cast. Unfortunately, the wooden dialogue and overall shallowness of the writing keep the film from being even an amiable diversion.

A comedy so inane and tedious that it buries its premise and its various worthy points under too many arch and improbable shenanigans and endless dialogue, much of it seriously under-inspired.

Devoid of verbal wit, instead relying on a relentless stream of Looney Tunes-inspired violence.