Kimber Myers

Scrolling through internet videos is generally regarded as a waste of time, but watching 100 minutes of cute animals on your phone is preferable to sitting through the laughably bad The Wolf and the Lion.

Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City” may reward longtime fans of the video games by returning to the series’ origins, but others will find themselves wanting to leave town, much like the movie’s characters.

The movie can only be classified as something truly terrible, escaping any other categorization that would make it resemble an actual film.

The film’s heart appears to be in the right place, but its missteps and melodrama make this a fromage unworthy of savoring.

This ambitiously titled documentary never really makes the reasons for its existence clear.

Travis Hodgkins’ script strives to inspire, but it’s trite even for a drama about the magic of Christmas. Unfortunately, A New Christmas receives little help from either the amateur acting or first-time director Daniel Tenenbaum’s hand.

This is a film that’s better off unseen despite its lovely visuals.

Wallflower is a grueling viewing experience at times, and it never truly justifies its existence and the audience going through that pain.

Jexi is such a dumb, lazy film that it might have even the most ardent cinephile reaching for their device, ready to defend their defection to the dark side when faced with this clunker of a comedy.

Director Elise Duran brings a background in reality TV to this sub-par rom-com, but there’s little of the real world here.

This teen musical comedy is set at a girls performing arts camp, but it never convinces the audience of anyone’s talent.

Despite the presence of theoretically interesting elements such as dirty cops, amnesia and money-laundering, Killerman is two hours of pure boredom.

Repetitive lyrics, nonsensical camera angles and incomprehensible edits will leave viewers feeling anything but positive.

It approaches everything from suicide to Socrates with a facile touch, dealing with serious issues with an almost startling lack of depth and intelligence.

Though Skin in the Game is earnest in its attempts to shed light on human trafficking, the good intentions are buried under a thick layer of grime from its trashy script.

There’s something special here, but it’s surrounded by drudgery.

Everyone is terrible in Extracurricular Activities, a dark comedy without any laughs and a mystery that doesn’t need to be solved.

The Hustle is profoundly stupid and it treats its audience as though they’re even less intelligent than it is.

Rattlesnakes imagines itself as a neo-noir, but that genre is more evident in its themes of revenge and ambiguous characters rather than in its nondescript style. This is a bland, unpleasant watch, all set to an equally grinding score.

Sex Trip tries to tell its audience that what’s inside is what matters, but this comedy is rotten at its core and sure to offend most people unlucky enough to watch it.

As bland as its title, Something is a horror film with few scares and a mystery without answers.

Garrison’s McNeely damns the overlong film; he’s neither a good man nor a good character, someone that we can’t care about or care to watch.

This feels like two movies for the price of one, but the audience isn’t getting a deal.

Beyond its theme of the power of God’s love, Run the Race centers on the importance of forgiveness. Viewers who can overlook its flaws will find value in its message, but those outside its target demo will be unable to see beyond its cinematic sins.

The Lears is a witlessly profane attempt at dark comedy that is beneath the talents of everyone on screen.

Berlin gives a good enough picture of its host city, delving into its complicated history and giving glimpses of its beauty. But few of the segments connect us to its inhabitants and visitors in any meaningful way.

John David Ware’s directorial debut is sloppy in its editing and camera angles, though the script from Bonné Bartron gave him little to work with. Unbridled stumbles further with clumsy product placement, making the film seem less sincere in its efforts despite its good intentions.

There’s clear affection for the ocean and its inhabitants in “Bernie the Dolphin,” but the movie’s script from Terri Emerson and Marty Poole is on the level of educational placards at a second-rate aquarium. It’s informative, but there’s little entertainment in director Kirk Harris’ film.

Its incoherent script is packed with more “Star Wars” references than Kevin Smith’s entire oeuvre, but none of the laughs.

There’s more sex than dialogue here; it’s a small win because the clunky dialogue and its flat delivery from amateur actors is nigh unwatchable, not that the sex scenes are much better.

Despite its intentions to get close to Mercury, Bohemian Rhapsody is as intimate as a sold-out stadium show, with none of the accompanying power.

It’s better than a number of indie films in its craft — particularly the thoughtfully composed cinematography from Kieran Murphy — but a flawed script ultimately keeps it from eking out a win.

The script from director Scott Smith and co-writer Kevin Guilfoile thinks the rivalry between the two collectors is enough to sustain the narrative, but it doesn’t devote much of its energies to developing the relationship between Alan and Paul.

Actress and screenwriter Jessalyn Maguire brings her own challenges with anxiety and depression to both the lead role and the script, but the good intentions don’t create a good film with this psychology-driven drama.

While The Storyteller aspires to be a feature-length Hallmark card, it only manages dollar-store sentimentality in its plot and platitudes.

Last Curtain Call may lament the emptiness of its protagonist’s hedonistic and selfish lifestyle, but the film itself offers few pleasures with its poor pacing and cliched script.

Action star and martial artist White is full of his usual charm and wit, but he and his sparks of humor feel out of place in this otherwise dour film.

Unfortunately, Hell Mountain lacks basic cohesiveness in its storytelling, taking strange, unnecessary detours and not fully developing its details.

This latest entry in horror’s tradition of sorority-set slashers appears to have been made on a college student’s budget, shot by a horny frat dude and edited by a drunken pledge.

Trying to straddle the space between “Primer,” “Dark City” and “Memento,” 7 Splinters in Time ends up a frustrating trip to no man’s land. Despite an ambitious premise and style, the neo-noir sci-fi indie is a fractured narrative that can’t achieve what its lofty ideas intend.

This is writer-director Matt Sivertson’s first film, and he and his cast and crew are able to offer only a maudlin drama that inspires eye rolls rather than tears.

Peppered with dream sequences and flashes of its protagonist’s thoughts, Beach House is a murky mess. It feels more like a draft for a college creative writing class rather than a finished work.

Written by and starring a bleached-blond Blake Jenner, Billy Boy is ambitious in its structure, style and editing, but the final product is disjointed and irritating.

The well-intentioned script from first-time writer-director Saila Kariat tries for emotional honesty but feels like a soap opera, and the cast doesn’t help it advance past dour melodrama.

This dreadful indie comedy rarely replicates life, instead offering dialogue that someone thought was funny said by awful characters in the midst of inorganic situations.

Unfortunately, while its intentions are as pure as the heart of its heroine, the biography offers little depth or insight into Yadvi. She is presented more as a flawless saint than a human princess in this drama mired in poor narrative structure and few details.

Its C-movie horror should only be experienced while under the influence when your judgment isn't at its best.

Other than a single, solid jump scare, this supernatural snooze barely qualifies to bear the genre's name.

But Deliver Us From Evil has no tonal cohesion, and the amateur editing from Coates only exacerbates the issue.

7 Guardians of the Tomb should be a B-movie blast, but it never seems aware of its own silliness.

There are a few early laughs, but the film from first-time director Brody Gusar is a tonal mess with feelings of disgust as its sole constant.

Ostensibly aimed at an adult audience that craves equal parts romance and raunch, Fifty Shades Freed appears to have been written by a teenager – and not just because of its groan- and giggle-inducing dialogue, lack of emotional investment and thinly drawn characters. There’s no knowledge of any element of how the world functions, particularly in its approach to relationships.

Horton shows clear affection for the genre, but only the most indiscriminate horror fan could love this lumbering five-headed monster.

It wants to be a commentary on the depravity of Hollywood and what people find entertaining, but instead it mostly just mirrors the media's habit of using sexual trauma as a plot device and surviving such horrors as a character trait.

Writer, director, producer and star Stephen Kogon is clearly trying his hardest to create an entertaining film fueled by a passion for tap dance, but what’s on screen demonstrates an utter lack of filmmaking knowledge.

It is a master class in how not to make a film, beginning with lessons in writing an unfunny script, leaving foundation makeup visible on actors’ faces and sound editing that overemphasizes a bland score.

There isn’t a lot of insight or depth regarding the bestselling author’s life and experience beyond his career achievements.

This family film feels episodic and entirely aimless. Set pieces that could have been fun feel rushed, and it’s unclear whether the problem originates with moments that weren’t animated or if connecting scenes and shots were cut in post-production.

Even a cast with this many award wins and nominations can't salvage a script that will have viewers audibly sighing, rather than laughing.

The script blunts its own emotional impact with coincidences, odd choices and an ending that feels too neat, even for an inspirational film of this nature.

As unpleasant and inert as its protagonist, "Amanda & Jack Go Glamping" is a romantic comedy that lacks both love and laughs — and likable characters.

On a single day, the protagonist of The Truth About Lies is fired from his job, his apartment burns down and his girlfriend dumps him. He has it easy compared to anyone who actually watches this thoroughly unpleasant, unfunny comedy.

While its predecessor at least pleased his fans, writer-director-star Perry’s latest offers few laughs and embarrassing post-production work.

There’s little fun to be had for the audience other than in some nicely executed special effects.

The audience will likely spend most of the film squirming and grimacing in recognition at Aaron’s awfulness — especially when the film rewards him with an ending that is far kinder than the character deserves.

The movie attempts to comment on reality-show culture, but it offers little insight beyond its ill-conceived premise. With suicide at its center, The Show is both tone-deaf and a tonal mess.

This slick and stylish exterior belies a rotting core underneath. Ryde thinks little of its characters or its audience; it's an exercise in misanthropy with a nasty streak of misogyny running through it.

The director gives the audience a story that takes off in as many directions as the prison corridors, leaving us lost and dazed. But unlike the characters, the viewers never feel a moment of fear.

9/11 trades on the emotional weight of its namesake day, manipulating audiences into feelings that have nothing to do with the mess that is actually on screen.

Second-tier airline safety videos are more entertaining than this fourth-rate comedy. Flight attendants on Southwest’s less-traveled routes are far funnier than the cast here. Watching a lonely suitcase circle a baggage claim conveyor belt is more diverting.

While there are some cool creature effects and committed, physical performances by the actors playing the monsters, the movie’s worst sin isn’t the found-footage rules it ignores. Instead it breaks the cardinal rule of the larger horror genre, running 95 minutes without a single scare or moment of dread.

Liza, Liza, Skies Are Grey lacks a sense of what is essential to its story. It dwells on insignificant moments and inserts transition shots without logic, but skips over scenes or dialogue that could support Liza and Brett’s characters, their relationship and the choices they make.

Somehow worse than its ridiculous title, Awaken the Shadowman is sillier than it is scary.

Blind stumbles with unlikable characters and a lack of depth, leaving audiences simply wishing for its ending, happy or not.

Though 47 Meters Down perfunctorily succeeds in its aims to terrify the audience, it’s not as much fun as it could be due to it’s beyond brainless script, its casual sexism and its idiot characters.

Unfortunately, the worst fault in this horror movie isn’t the amateur performances, beginner-level editing or the special effects; it’s the dreadfully dumb script.

This mess never knows whether it’s a mob movie or a raunchy comedy.

The lifeless script and bland performances damn the film and the unlucky viewers who find it.

It creeps along without providing either scares or an unsettling mood.

Utterly dull thriller Drone tries to raise ethical and moral questions about modern warfare, but the audience can only dwell on the illogical plot and unsympathetic characters — if they can engage at all.

The flaws of Nola Circus aren’t limited to its outrageous and offensive approach. It’s that it never succeeds in bringing viewers onto its wavelength, which is probably a good thing for humanity’s sake.

“Spark” should earn points for originality, but it never invests in establishing its world or its characters in a way that engages viewers.

Aggressive and aggressively unfunny, Hollywood-set comedy Walk of Fame hates its characters and its audience — and the feeling is mutual.

This is a saccharine science fiction romance that doesn’t actually concern itself with science fiction or romance; instead, it’s the equivalent of astronaut ice cream, lacking in substance and crumbling to bits at the slightest pressure.

Director Gustavo Ron and co-writer Francisco Zegers fill the movie to bursting with plot, turning what might have been a delightfully airy cream puff of a film into a soggy disaster.

Animated comic book panels hint at an attempt at style, but bad camerawork captures bad performances of bad dialogue.

The Bye Bye Man just skirts so-bad-it’s-good territory, unintentionally making the audience laugh more than they gasp.

Pretty but oh-so-dumb, Sugar Mountain is the cinematic equivalent of a himbo.

Contract to Kill looks remarkably cheap for a film whose characters wear Rolexes and take private planes. The money also wasn’t spent on the script from writer-director Keoni Waxman, which confuses a stream of expletives for wit.

Director Akan Satayev’s hacker thriller looks gorgeous, featuring locations around the world shot with crisp cinematography by Pasha Patriki. However, the script from Sanzhar Sultan is poorly structured and silly, revealing the emptiness beneath the shiny facade.

Despite a strong effort from Naomi Watts, Shut In is more effective as a 90-minute commercial for the L.L. Bean aesthetic than as a pseudo-psychological thriller.

This isn’t meant to be a polished, restrained indie drama, but its flaws don’t solely reside in writer-director Alberto’s avant-garde approach. Instead, its biggest misstep is the two central characters who are so unlikable as to be unwatchable.

The script from Billy Morrissette — featuring disappearing narration, awful characters and no humor — is largely to blame, but director Anthony Edwards makes uninspired choices throughout, such as inserting random animated characters and allowing Gina Gershon to do a cartoonish French accent in a supporting role.

Mother’s Day is the cinematic equivalent of spilling boiling hot coffee on your mother when you bring her burnt toast for breakfast in bed.

Save for a few inspired moments (usually at the expense of the city of Fresno), Jamie Babbit’s screwball comedy is cringe-inducing and unfunny. Everyone in front of the camera here deserves better, particular Judy Greer in a rare starring role.

It’s the first feature film for director Aleksander Bach, and he shares the blame with the pair of screenwriters. His creation is a muddled mess that is briefly lifted by some fun set pieces, but never is more impressive than a 108-minute Audi commercial.

All around, the performances are fine, but they can’t move past the script from first-time director Jessie McCormack. She’s created a group of people that you’d avoid at a party, and being stuck with them for an hour and a half makes you feel like you’re being punished for doing something really awful.