Martin Tsai

The fact that Child and Shaw share writing and producing credits here almost assures it will be a self-aggrandizing puff piece.

Even if you do manage to make sense of the plot, it still doesn't make the film any more watchable.

If it only had a brain, a heart and the nerve.

After catalogs so many clichés in the dysfunctional family at its center that the film could be taught in a screenwriting class as a lesson in what not to do.

Irrational camera work and editing render Southern Baptist Sissies more fitting for the theater merchandise stand than for theatrical distribution.

Miles Away comes off like some low-budget take on "Trapped in the Closet" or a Tyler Perry movie, except it treats kitsch with all sincerity and seriousness.

The filmmakers forget the fundamentals of B-movie 101: Skin-baring spring breakers make for the most qualified carnage.

Seemingly meant for the stage, the film feels unnaturally theatrical with characters stiltedly reciting each line of dialogue even when supposedly conversing. But with Mahoney's pedestrian, shot-reverse-shot direction, these scenes play out like situational skits from an instructional video made for ESL students.

Even the most talentless and narcissistic fame seekers on reality television are not nearly as vile, reprehensible or worthless as a film that actively wishes harm on them.

The pedestrian writing and acting prove even more cringe-worthy and dreadful than the special effects.

Rather than evincing any expertise or affinity for the genre, Wolsh's effort seems glib and hollow.

Reckless cultural insensitivities aside, Stone and Hopper’s writing is simply not smart or funny. Poop and fart jokes comprise the core of their repertoire, and if you’re curious how reliant the film is on this material, Paramount is literally handing out whoopee cushions to promote the film.

Coming off like a hodgepodge of rejected spec scripts for "The Walking Dead," Anger of the Dead reveals particularly misogynistic and misanthropic filmmaking.