Lou Lumenick

Cliched, amateurish and feeble.

Might as well be called "Around the World in 80 Yawns."

Eric Schaeffer's rip-off -- er, homage -- to "Magnolia," is a marginally better movie than his previous self-absorbed atrocities like "My Life's in Turnaround" and "Wirey Spindell."

Wavers between extreme silliness and unbearable earnestness.

Not especially scary or funny, this lame comedy-thriller wastes a decent cast in a plodding tale.

If you stay awake, you'll certainly feel more than a little ground down after watching perhaps 15 minutes of skateboard footage padded out with nearly 90 minutes of strenuously unfunny toilet humor - all cheaply filmed on a budget that looks as if it would scarcely cover the catering bill for "Gigli."

Excruciatingly lame and laughless romantic comedy.

Pointless and mind-numbing.

A rare dud in the Shooting Gallery series.

Gets sillier and sillier as it goes along.

Two decades after his last film, the legendary Jerry Lewis performs a truly unfortunate encore playing an elderly widower in writer-director Daniel Noah’s morose and thoroughly unconvincing drama.

Should have gone straight to video. It'll be there soon enough.

A slow-moving, ridiculous police thriller that would have been shipped straight to the remainder bin at Blockbuster if it starred anyone else.

The latest, and let's hope the last, in the raft of uninspired, quickie Bush-bashing documentaries churned out by producer Robert Greenwald

Painfully sincere. But it wrings almost no laughs or tears from this seemingly idiot-proof premise.

A dispiriting rehash of dysfunctional family clichés that seems to last longer than Thanksgiving Day dinner.

Manages to be excruciatingly unfunny despite the presence of Pierce Brosnan and Emma Thompson in the lead roles.

A tediously unfunny comedy.

Looks great for a no-budget indie, but not a single moment rings true in this sluggish vanity project, which is sorely in need of Viagra.

A boring, wincingly cute and nauseatingly politically correct cartoon guaranteed to drive anyone much over age 4 screaming from the theater.

When New York, I Love You was previewed in Toronto a year ago, there were two additional segments that have since been cut. So you'll have to wait for the DVD to see just how bad Scarlett Johansson's directing debut is.

Kirschner's excruciatingly earnest coming-of-age comedy, is about as fresh as year-old matzoh and plays like the unholy spawn of "Brighton Beach Memoirs" and "Fiddler on the Roof."

Significantly more gruesome and noisy than its predecessor, and boasting more nasty-looking fluids than all the works of David Fincher combined, this version leaves few corpses unturned in its unstinting campaign to please gorehounds.

The acting is serviceable at best, the direction unfocused - and the special effects and makeup cheesy-looking. This is surely the most dreary-looking film ever shot by the great Vittorio Storaro ("Apocalypse Now").

Should you get Carter? Sure - but make it the Michael Caine classic Warner Bros. is releasing on video next week.

Fanning gives a sensitive and fairly impressive performance. But like her over-the-top movie family, Hounddog is still trailer trash of the worst kind.

Tedious and pretentious.

I wouldn't have thought it was possible to make a prison picture as utterly boring as Jailbait.

Essentially a weird series of nonsequiturs. I'd rather be watching a sequel to the much-maligned "Little Nicky" -- a Sandler film that was at least trying to do something interesting -- than this failed experiment in fusing high and low culture.

It's hard to imagine hardened New Yorkers actually paying to see this totally uncritical, gee-whiz celebration of stock car racing, its fans and its history, breathlessly narrated by Kiefer Sutherland and perfunctorily directed by Simon Wincer.

Completed four years ago, Seeking Justice is dutifully directed, with an absolute minimum of thrills, by Roger Donaldson, whose credits include the terrific "No Way Out" (1987)...That film's title is a pretty good description of where Cage's career seems to be headed.

A surprisingly unengaging and charmless fantasy from a director whose previous films ("Across the Universe," "Titus," "Frida") were, despite their other issues, never boring.

Basically, this is Smith and his real-life son, Jaden (both affecting ridiculous mid-Atlantic accents) talking the audience to death for something like 90 minutes before the closing credits.

Michael Brandt's soporific thriller is making a token stop in theaters before its January DVD debut. Miss it if you can.

Strands a good cast in a sea of stereotypes and clichés.

A repugnant little indie black comedy, poorly acted in hideous-looking digital video, guaranteed to send audiences fleeing for the nearest shower.

Hollywood's Thanksgiving turkey arrives today - 27 days early - in the gobbling guise of the heavily hyped, brain-dead comedy, I Spy.

A protracted piece of schmaltz, P.S. I Love You looks like a hand-me-down from Sandra Bullock and Drew Barrymore.

Duplex, a shoddily constructed and alarmingly unfunny dark comedy that squanders the talents of Ben Stiller and Drew Barrymore, is one real-estate deal you should walk away from.

A tediously self-absorbed variation on "The Big Chill" and "The Return of the Secaucus 7."

It's hard to say what's more offensive about the out-of- tune Radio - Cuba Gooding Jr. trying to ingratiate himself by mugging up a storm as a mentally challenged man, or the mawkish narrative surrounding him like so much syrup.

Grows tiresome rather quickly.

We began this dismal movie season with one lethally bad World War II romance -- "Pearl Harbor" -- and now we're wrapping up with another howling dog.

It's basically the longest (a butt-numbing 21/2 hours), the most expensive (a reportedly obscene $150 million), most vulgar and by far the stupidest episode of "Miami Vice" ever.

Goes from being tediously terrible to downright gigglesome.

There's still no good reason to suffer through a half-baked little movie that proves indies can be every bit as boringly formulaic and artistically bankrupt as their big-budget brethren.

Arguably as effective as Ambien at inducing sleep, but possible side effects include uncontrollable laughter.

Exceedingly lame.

So feeble it fails even as train-wreck exploitation. I’d be unkind, but not entirely inaccurate, to label Coppola’s sophomoric, er, sophomore effort as a director an offer you can refuse.

A shrill farce that strains credibility even by the standards of black comedy.

As far as I’m concerned, death couldn’t arrive quickly enough for these eight stereotypically self-absorbed Los Angelenos gathered for Sunday brunch at which the hosts (Blaise Miller, Erinn Hayes) plan to announce the demise of their marriage.

The latest catastrophe from the Weinstein Co.

While there are some scattered laughs, the flimsy and nonsensical script - combined with the sledgehammer direction by Brian Robbins, make the similarly themed "Big Momma's House" look like Noel Coward.

Overlong, blandly soporific.

An excellent case for euthanizing the entire talking-animals genre.

As much as we like Alec as an actor, it's hard to imagine that any amount of editing and reshooting under his supervision could salvage his complete ineptitude as a director.

The dreary, direct-to-video quality of the script, acting and cinematography in this latest entry seemed to inspire more yawns than screams, and not a few titters.

Boring and desperately unfunny.

A lazy, noisy ADHD-addled collection of animated clichés guaranteed to give anyone older than 5 a headache, even if you don’t see it in optional 3-D.

Another ridiculous anti-American screed by the minimalist Danish director Lars von Trier, who has never set foot in this country.

Actually, Bruce, what stinks is the script — which is woefully lacking the kind of one-liners and memorable bad guys that helped make working-class hero McClane so iconic he’s still around after 25 years. Even the action sequences are pretty much by the numbers this time.

Produced with the best of intentions by a California church and directed without distinction by first-timer Brian Baugh, To Save a Life would be bland and boring even as a half-hour after-school special.

THE mesmerizingly awful The Kid & I is a historic first: a comedy about the making of a vanity production that is ITSELF a vanity production.

Quickly devolves into a nonprescription alternative to Ambien.

A mockumentary that veers unsteadily between satire and an infomercial for Dash's Roc-A-Fella records.

The lackadaisical pace of CD3 is a disappointing surprise.

Draggy and incoherent.

No "Schindler's List," to put it mildly.

Pulse bears more than a slight resemblance to a 1994 American horror called "Ghost in the Machine." They didn't screen that stinker in advance for critics, either.

Poor Keaton, a capable actor who was absent from the screen for several years, is hamstrung by the material even more than in last year's dismal "First Daughter."

William H. Macy lends a little class as a snail, but Smith nails it in the closing-credit outtakes: "Don't expect Robin Williams-caliber work."

You can see better stuff on TV any night of the week.

Someone describes his writing as "snarky, bitter, witless." The last part pretty well sums up this movie.

A moribund attempt to exhume the Jack Ryan techno-thriller franchise with a severely miscast Ben Affleck, is truly the 20-megaton bomb among this summer's blockbusters.

Director Uwe Boll and the actors provide scant reason to care in this crude '70s throwback.

The joke is on arthouse audiences who show up for Funny Games, which is basically torture porn every bit as manipulative and reprehensible as "Hostel," even if it's tricked out with intellectual pretension.

Amply demonstrates how even a movie with wall-to-wall action can be a crashing bore.

A sloppy vanity project, this rambling and toothless Hollywood black comedy stars veteran filmmaker Henry Jaglom's girlfriend, Tanna Frederick.

This poorly acted, directed and written (but slick-looking) vanity project was produced by Andrew Lauren (Ralph's son also ineptly plays G's major-domo) and shot at least four years ago.

This mostly laugh-and scare-free turkey offers an utterly bored -- and boring -- Eddie Murphy taking a back seat to special effects, elaborate sets and a wispy story slapped together by David Berenbaum (the overrated "Elf").

Charmless and underdeveloped knockoff of "The Santa Clause."

It's so incoherent that at first you wonder if the reels are being shown out of order.

Relentlessly grim.

The acting, script and direction - not to mention the syrupy score - conspire to make this a perfect storm of a hoot that will find its most appreciative audience among renters who have had a few glasses of wine beforehand.

An exceedingly silly historical fantasy.

It largely consists of Franco musing about depictions of homosexual activity on film. As well as gay cast members speculating whether Franco will take off his clothes and perform in explicit footage. He doesn’t.

A loud, coarse and witless family comedy.

In execution, this clever idea is far less funny than the original, "Killers From Space," which was directed by W. Lee Wilder, the vastly less talented brother of the great Billy.

The script, attributed to Mark Schwahn, Marc Hyman and Jon Zack, is as confused as it is confusing, and the aimless direction by Brian Robbins doesn't help. It was apparently edited with a roulette wheel.

A strained, ultra-predictable and headache-inducing mockumentary.

It’s often hard to figure out who’s winning, much less care about it. One thing is certain: Nobody is going to be demanding a rematch.

A long, tedious and often unintentionally hilarious adaptation of Stephenie Meyer’s sci-fi follow-up.

One of the year's worst movies.

It's sad to see Quaid in sloppily directed (by Martin Guigui) dreck like Beneath the Darkness less than a decade after the performance of his career as a closeted married man in "Far From Heaven.''

Barely watchable, despite the presence of such pros as Michael McKean and Jane Lynch.

The first “Independence Day’’ was a lot of fun, with a great lines and cutting-edge special effects. It was much imitated, so the sequel plays like a faded, eighth-generation copy with a cast that’s shooting blanks when it comes to humor.

A boring and violent French crime thriller, is the sort of routine potboiler that generally goes straight to video in this country, if it's seen at all.

Another mean-spirited black comedy from Todd Solondz, tries even harder than the director's two earlier films to shock and outrage -- but the overall effect of his sophomoric excess is tiresome and dull, like watching someone else's 2-year-old act out for the 50th time.

Antonio Banderas is unintentionally hilarious as Father Matt Gutierrez, a sort of Jesuit James Bond.

The only pro involved in this amateurish labor of love is veteran character actor Arthur Nascarella, cast as Jack's florist father.

Dull and creaky soap opera.

Desperately unfunny.

A jaw-droppingly terrible animated musical that mismatches George Lucas’ inane story about a pair of fairy princesses to an oddball selection of the “Star Wars’’ creator’s favorite pop tunes.

Would the Mayans have predicted the end of the world in 2012 if they'd known it would inspire not only "The Tree of Life'' and "Melancholia'' but an endless supply of more dreary depictions of end-times like this one?

A dull, by-the-numbers psych-ward horror thriller that's sadly a lot closer in quality to "Sucker Punch" than "Shutter Island."

Might have made a tolerable five-minute "mockumentary," but it's apparently meant seriously.

The sloppily shot, crudely edited Head of State fails as satire, for starters, because of its utter disconnect from any kind of reality.

Unintended laughs far, far outnumber intended thrills.

A decade later, these tabloid hall-of-famers are finally back to share the screen in By the Sea — glumly emoting in a pretentiously arty, humorless vanity production that drags along for two hours that feel like at least four.

Seems to go on for several days and nights, though in fact it lasts just 105 minutes. I checked my watch. A lot.

Directed without wit or energy.

Featuring eyeball-rolling performances by Vivica A. Fox, Patti LaBelle, Clifton Davis and the singularly named Leon, Cover would be a candidate for the year's most unintentionally funny movie so far - if it weren't also the most homophobic.

Scary Movie 4 concludes by satirizing Cruise's couch-jumping orgy on "Oprah." Funny, but nowhere near as hilarious as the real thing.

A great-looking but stupefyingly incoherent supernatural thriller adapted from a popular video game that ransacks the entire catalog of horror film tropes for more than two mind-numbing hours.

The Caller qualifies as something of a Holocaust movie, with flashbacks to World War II France. Guess who the two boys we see grow up to be?

Lumpy, preachy and soporific.

It's not a bad premise for a movie, but writer-director Omar Naim, a 26-year-old Lebanese native making his feature debut, proves equally inept at handling plotting, actors and pacing.

Excruciatingly bad.

The leaden pacing, somnambulant performances and incessant symbolism in nearly every shot will soon have you thinking that The Three Marias is three too many.

Shapeless, sloppy, badly paced mess.

Spectacularly awful.

I was kind of rough on "Apocalypto," which in retrospect seems like a minor classic compared to 10,000 BC.

Catwoman is pretty well summed up by Hedare: “This is a disaster. It’s a total bloody disaster.”

Quite a slog, with most of the acting strictly amateurish save the veteran Ed Lauter as a fish and game inspector.

All the tedium of an endless trans-Atlantic flight gets packed into the 105 minutes of Non-Stop.

Rarely has a documentary been so pleased with itself - with so little justification.

Loud and unfunny, this cheesy-looking farce is mostly an excuse for a series of plugs.

An instant candidate for worst movie of the year.

An assembly-line high-school comedy that flunks miserably in all three subjects.

A deadly dull, by-the-numbers rendition of the Nativity story.

You know you’re in for a long haul when Kate Winslet’s clipboard-wielding Jeanine, leader of the Erudite faction, comes off less like a Hillary Clinton than a weary Applebee’s supervisor at the end of a 14-hour shift in this plodding sequel to “Divergent.”

Pierre is at best competent as the star, director and writer of this good-natured compendium of ghetto movie clichés, which doesn't have an awful lot to offer in the way of laughs, pacing or originality.

An ugly, unfunny, headache-inducing fairy-tale spoof.

A vulgar, grating alleged "family" comedy.

May not set back Danish-American relations, but it's amusing to imagine how this schlock would have turned out under Denmark's most famous director, the American-hating Lars von Trier.

With Roth at the helm of a script attributed to Price, there is minimal suspense, audience involvement or coherent social commentary.

It doesn’t add up to much of anything exciting, even with an appearance by Isabella Rossellini (of Lynch’s “Blue Velvet’’) as the mother of one of the doubles.

Just to give you a taste of the movie's sophisticated idea of wit, it also makes fun of gay men.

An overwrought and patently offensive anti- abortion drama from the director of the accomplished "House of Sand and Fog."

Some handsome location shooting in New Orleans doesn’t make up for the Oscar winners’ relentless hamming and a plot that twists way beyond credibility.

A leaden retelling of the legend of Australia's Jesse James that has understandably been sitting on the shelf for a couple of years.

A schmaltz-laden soap opera from Saskatchewan.

Painfully stupid.

An alarmingly unfunny French comedy where the two main characters are constantly yakking on a cell phone at an airport.

So over the top that it often plays like a parody.

A pathetic stoner comedy.

Ineptly directed by Simon West, the scare-free When a Stranger Calls is the worst of the seminal horror movies from the late '70s and early '80s that have been getting the remake treatment lately.

The talented cast doesn't stand much of a chance in this rambling, pointless narrative.

Thirty years after "Annie Hall," the beloved actress is scraping below the bottom of the barrel with this desperately unfunny farce, in which she mugs and pratfalls in the worst performance of her entire career.

A maudlin and unintentionally hilarious romantic weepie.

It's a shame, because the actors are so much better than the threadbare material.

Overlong and not well-acted.

The Oscar-winning director of "Rain Man" - whose last film, the abysmal documentary "PoliWood" never went much further than the Tribeca Film Festival - demonstrates he can make a shakycam found-footage horror movie every bit as fake-looking, clumsy and unscary as your average college student working on a $200 budget.

Neither a concert film nor a documentary but a ghoulish “event” offered just in time for Halloween, This is It is sadly -- and reprehensively, if you ask me -- the movie equivalent to the National Enquirer’s infamous post-mortem shot of Elvis Presley.

“Short Circuit” meets “RoboCop” — with asides to “WALL-E,” “E.T.,” “The Road Warrior” and many other better movies — in Chappie, an interminable, violent, incoherent and wearying R-rated sci-fi action comedy.

The best thing about Some Body -- an amateurish, quasi-improvised acting exercise shot on ugly digital video -- is that it's all over in 80 minutes.

Apprently novice filmmaker Angela Ismailos' definition of a Great Director is one who's willing to sit or walk with her while she lobs innocuous questions and gives herself lots of awed close-up reaction shots.

With awkward acting, plotting and direction, this is no "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," "Jungle Fever" or "One Potato, Two Potato."

It's not surprising to learn that the story -- which the press notes assert is loosely based on fact -- has been kicking around Hollywood for 15 years. It's that bad.

The Hateful Eight is basically an expensive vanity project allowing Tarantino to expound on his bizarre theories about race relations.

The latter is played by Parker Posey, who looks baffled throughout. As well she should.

So bad it's awful.

The Spanish Inquisition was better summed up in an eight-minute musical number by Mel Brooks than in the entirety of Goya's Ghosts, an across-the-board disaster from one of my favorite directors, Milos Forman.

Soporific, shamelessly derivative and barely coherent by American standards.

There's 80 minutes of mawkish, overacted melodrama - laced with gratuitous violence and profanity - before we get to anything more than the briefest snippet of a dance number.

A triumph of misguided moviemaking, starting with a grotesquely miscast Mira Sorvino, who arguably gives the worst performance ever by an Oscar winner.

Child of God is, like the source novel, loosely inspired by the notorious real-life cannibal murderer Ed Gein. So was Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho.’’ Nobody left that classic bored — but they sure will be by Franco’s film.

Sexual and toilet humor plumb new depths in Keenen Ivory Wayans' Little Man, which will stink up theaters like several gross of dirty diapers.

In the fourth and by far the worst screen version of "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers," Nicole Kidman's character struggles to stay awake - as will the audience.

The cowardly producers have banished the grit and darkness of Parker’s original.

Never rises much above yawn-worthy.

A hapless family film that's too scary for little kids and too boring for everyone else.

Though it tries — with a much too heavy hand — the new Evil Dead is far less humorous than its predecessor.

Lethargic direction, bland visuals, credulity-straining plotting and tin-eared dialogue turn even pros like Rebecca Hall, Paul Bettany and Morgan Freeman into sleepwalking bores.

Dreamworks Animation's clunky and wildly unimaginative Monsters vs. Aliens really doesn't have a clue what to do with the [3-D] technique.

I'd call Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days harmless if it weren't for some totally unnecessary gay-panic jokes that could actually encourage bullying.

Well, it smells, all right, but authentic isn't the word I'd use for this maudlin male weepie, a compendium of the worst clichés of sports and journalism movies.

Hyperactive.

It's nicely photographed but slow-moving, dull and utterly predictable.

Purposely amateurish.

A cringeworthy, unfunny example of a culture-clash romantic comedy.

Painfully unfunny spoof.

A baffling mixed platter of gritty realism and magic realism with a hard-to-swallow premise.

Endlessly lame.

Liev Schreiber's film version of "Everything Is Illuminated" achieves the impossible — it's even more annoying than Jonathan Safran Foer's gratingly precocious novel.

Those endless end credits reveal that McKittrick previously worked at Steak & Ale, Roadhouse Grill and Friday's. He may well need to return to his line of work after a debut as dismal as this one.

Deadly dull.

You'd be better off renting Demi Moore's "Striptease."

One of my critical brethren opined that this sort of dumbing-down and low comedy may be the only way to sell the public a movie about the Iraq war. If that's true, God help us.

The only thing remotely scary about Monsters is that Magnolia is releasing this boring scare-, suspense- and gore-free horror movie (which reportedly cost less than $100,000) on Halloween weekend.

A charmless, unscary, fatuous and largely incoherent fairy tale.

The choppily edited and thoroughly wooden Serena utterly fails to catch fire, even when everything literally goes up in flames. So despite its big stars, it’s getting only a token theatrical release.

Things rapidly go downhill in this pinch-penny production.

The often difficult-to-follow plot is sort of "Traffic" for nitwits.

A perfect storm of wooden acting, hackneyed direction, inane scripting and laughably cartoonish special effects produces a shapeless mess more wearyingly stupid than arch-villian Dr. Doom is evil.

Save your money and wait for the new 3-D version of the 1939 classic that Warner Bros. has promised for later this year.

If I weren't already being paid to watch this movie, I'd feel entitled to compensation for having to sit through this many product plugs.

This masturbatory exercise is the least revealing "documentary" since Jerry Seinfeld's "Comedian."

After a slightly promising start, this great-looking but ultimately deeply confusing and unscary sci-fi/horror opus turns into a quite boring rehash of M. Night Shyamalan's post-"Signs" films.

Exploitation curiosity.

A totally ridiculous and incoherent sci-fi adventure.

Cisneros is an appealing actor, but he and Falling Awake get buried under a welter of clichés.

A real head-scratcher that somehow won the grand jury prize at this year's Sundance Film Festival.

This is a terminally whimsical vanity project that would probably have been a chore to sit through even in its original intended format, a 20-minute stage monologue.

Plays like an unwieldy mishmash of "Big Momma's House," "An Unmarried Woman" and "The Burning Bed," with lots of gospel music thrown in.

Desperately unfunny and unexciting.

The movie spins further and further into coincidence and incoherence.

A collection of product plugs masquerading as a movie en route to home video.

There are bachelor and bachelorette parties, as well as much misbehavior, in this glossy and unconvincing little flick, receiving a vanity booking on the way to video.

Co-star Christina Applegate, who's much more at home in this down and dirty milieu, wipes the floor (in one scene, literally, in a ludicrous cat fight) with the erstwhile Oscar winner.

A low-rent, slow-witted horror flick notable chiefly for its hilariously unsuccessful attempt to pass off Luxembourg City as New York City.

Arguably the most insipid movie released so far this century.

More "the mild one" than "The Wild One."

A painfully sincere indie drama that isn't content to evoke only the misery of 9/11 -- it has to reference TWA Flight 800 for extra grief.

Hollywood’s ongoing campaign to remake every horror movie of the 1970s and ’80s has finally caught up with the Stephen King-Brian De Palma classic “Carrie,’’ and the results are distressingly anemic, pig blood and all.

A skin-crawlingly unfunny riff on Woody Allen's "Bananas."

There isn't a remotely believable moment in the script here, and Kramer's leaden direction only helps strand a capable cast headed by Heather Graham in an hour and a half of virtual laugh-free tedium.

Epic waste of celluloid.

A creepy, depressing and leering "comedy" that's a virtual collection of "What were they thinking?" moments.

Only Bryan Cranston, as Teller’s downsized dad, emerges with his dignity fully intact from Get a Job, whose scattershot direction is credited to Dylan Kidd (“Roger Dodger”).

Even if it weren't three years too late to parody Moore (ineptly played by Kevin Farley), Moore's ridiculous tribute to Cuban health care in "Sicko" is far funnier than anything in this desperately laughless farce from David Zucker ("Scary Movie 3").

De Niro mostly looks miserable and very tired (a document glimpsed on-screen hilariously claims his character was born in 1970) and prattles on endlessly about forgetting the past.

The geniuses behind the new film just don’t understand the difference between genuine subversiveness and pointless vulgarity.

Don't even think of visiting this French fiasco.

Will Ferrell's terminally stupid, sloppy, campy and cheesy -- and thoroughly unexciting and unfunny -- experiment in "family entertainment."

A painfully earnest and totally unfunny magic-realist fable set on the Lower East Side that works in no way whatsoever.

The only truly lethal weapons in the criminally unfunny action comedy Let’s Be Cops are the lame script, putrid direction and pair of sitcom stars mugging nonstop in frantic pursuit of laughs that have fled over the state line.

This time out, Broomfield comes up with maybe enough halfway decent material for a 10-minute segment on a second-rate tabloid TV show.

More than lives up to its name with ultra-campy performances, high-glucose direction, laughable dialogue, cheesy effects and a back-lot simulation of a Manhattan street that wouldn't pass muster on an after-school special.

If you thought Matthew Broderick looked uncomfortable playing “himself” in “Trainwreck,” wait till you get a load of the actor portraying a married man who wonders if he’s gay in Neil LaBute’s mean-spirited comedy Dirty Weekend.

The movie has two modes - very loud and extremely loud - and all of the actors are encouraged to mug their hearts out. That even includes Cusack's real-life sister Joan, normally one of the most reliable performers in the business.

Sandler's latest ode to projectile vomiting, passing gas, gay jokes and physical insults to the groin is basically a feeble cross between "The Revenge of the Nerds" and "The Bad News Bears."

Beyond-lame satire.

One bad movie -- in the original sense of the word.

Stinko movies often unwittingly critique themselves -- and the brain-dead romantic comedy Down to You (which Miramax understandably didn't screen in advance for critics) is no exception.

A low-end scam by Lions Gate Films -- whose recent "The Wash" was a masterpiece by comparison.

An impressive supporting cast can't save this painfully unfunny, ham-fisted mockumentary poking fun at reality TV shows.

Zookeeper barely avoids a zero-star rating because of James.

The title It's About You is something Kurt Markus claims Mellencamp told him when he commissioned the film. With the elder Markus' self-important, egotistical narration rarely shutting up, it was a fairly prophetic remark.

Vanity, thy name is Kevin Spacey.

His late father directed "Rambo: First Blood,'' but Panos Cosmatos' debut feature couldn't be more different - this would-be cult classic is the movie equivalent of gazing at a lava lamp for nearly two hours.

Misconceived, bloated and incredibly ugly fantasy epic.

A movie so pathetically lame that hopefully even Spears most ardent young fans will give this stinker a big thumbs down.

The worst Hollywood musical so far this century, it’s another misstep for Sony Pictures, which also sponsored the abortive ‘‘The Interview.’’

An unholy mess.

This would be a stultifyingly incestuous affair even if all the jokes about fertilization weren't so tiresomely lame and predictable.

Brain-dead variant of "Risky Business."

It's pretty sad if you're a comic and Al Pacino is the funniest thing in your movie.

Virtually unwatchable and laugh-free.

Brain-dead film.

Brain-dead political satire/tear-jerker.

If a more incoherent and self-indulgent movie has been released so far this century, I'm not aware of it.

This painfully unfunny mockumentary about obsessive collectors of frozen-food entrees takes potshots at anti-abortionists, Christian rockers, aversion therapy for gays and the disabled -- and misses almost every time.

If M. Night Shyamalan sold his soul to the devil for the success of "The Sixth Sense," I think His Satanic Majesty has finally collected in full with The Last Airbender.

A relentlessly dull film that's shot on eyeball-gougingly ugly digital video.

Overblown, interminable and unfunny.

Aeon Flux is by far the year's worst movie, a most dubious achievement.

Skin-crawlingly awful.

It's the worst of both worlds as Disney cash cow Miley Cyrus makes the most dubious "dramatic" debut of any singer since Britney Spears.

Lethargically paced, badly edited and shot in hideous digital video.

It's a totally inept and unfunny parody of the TV show "Cops."

If you mashed-up the worst parts of the infamous "Howard the Duck,'' "Gigli,'' "Ishtar'' and every other awful movie I've seen since I started reviewing professionally in 1981, it wouldn't begin to approach the sheer soul-sucking badness of the cringe-inducing Movie 43.

Jude Law gives arguably the worst performance of his career as Wolfe in Genius, the ham-fisted directing debut of noted British theater figure Michael Grandage, bombastically adapted by John Logan (“Gladiator’’) from a biography by A. Scott Berg.

Laughless, pointless and downright creepy, Say Uncle is a would-be black comedy.

Franco’s distancing routine helps sink True Story, an already turgid and tone-deaf adaptation of a self-serving memoir by a disgraced New York Times reporter (played by two-time Oscar nominee Jonah Hill) who bonds with a murderer he’s trying to exploit.

There is only one joke here, milked endlessly.

Truthfully, it's all incredibly boring. Noé tosses in some dime-store existentialism ("Time destroys everything"), but this is a movie with not a whole lot on its mind except rank exploitation.

A witless, stale and half-hearted rehash of cliches borrowed from the likes of "The Wedding Planner," "The Wedding Singer" and "Four Weddings and a Funeral," this pathetic, alleged comedy certainly wasn't improved by clueless direction by Clare Kilner.

Low-end schlock that will likely land with a dull thud in the video remainder bin before the frost is on the pumpkin.