Mike Scott

As his character’s cognitive abilities decline, Neeson’s repeated on-a-dime transition from killing machine to stuttering, doddering pawpaw — and then back again — feels eye-rollingly, almost offensively contrived.

The United States vs. Billie Holiday presents Holiday as a victim and little more. Ignored is the fact that the self-destructive Holiday bears at least some culpability for the slow-motion tragedy that was her life — and for her all-too-early death at 44 years old. Daniels, who seems to have made the classic mistake of falling in love with his subject, apparently doesn’t have time for such nuance.

It's not that Climax is a poorly made movie. It's that it's an abjectly mean movie. Some would try to excuse it as arthouse cinema. In reality, it's frighthouse cinema. And that's not meant as a compliment. The ultimate message, at least in this case: Just say no -- to Noé.

Gritty to the point of sleazy, the noir-tinged Bayou Caviar shows flashes of visual flair, and Gooding -- who wrote the screenplay in addition to directing and starring -- demonstrates he’s still got the sort of screen presence and million-dollar smile that made him a star some 27 years ago. Beyond that, however, Bayou Caviar is a thoroughly nasty and messily plotted affair, a straight-to-VOD crime drama that slips and slides around in its own ooze for at least 20 minutes too long.

While it has its moments of passable action -- ends up feeling every bit as toothless as its dinosaurs are toothy.

The new Superfly is, simply, a terrible movie. It is slick, and it boasts action, hot tunes and style to spare. But beyond the polish that a deep-pocketed studio backer can buy -- in this case, Sony's Columbia Pictures shingle -- this is a shamefully hollow movie that fails on multiple levels.

To be fair, though, even if all three actors had brought their A game, the half-baked story behind When We First Met is so formulaic and so uninspired that it would still be a forgettable film.

By the time All I See Is You works its way toward what should be an emotionally charged conclusion, most reasonable audiences will have likely already checked out. All they'll see is their wristwatches, as they count down to when the whole misjudged exercise is over.

Sometimes it's stupid-funny, but mostly it's just plain stupid. And sloppy.

There's little refreshing or charming about it.

"Fast and Furious" movies are supposed to be unchallenging, but Fate of the Furious is full-on brain-dead.

While it shows fleeting moments of promise, there's precious little great about The Great Wall. Instead, it should be called "The Ridiculous Wall."

Maybe it would work better if the script -- which is credited to four screenwriters; never a great sign -- was actually funny.

The problem is that there's nothing of substance to hold together those occasionally fun moments of often-grotesque absurdity.

While infants and imbeciles might get caught up in whirlwind action, most viewers should brace themselves for a less-than-wondrous return to Wonderland.

Where's a wooden stake when you need one?

What we end up with is a meandering mishmash of tasteless jokes and a tendency for extended non sequitur riffs.

This is an alternate-history rock 'n' roll saga. It is not Elvis, but Elvis-ish.

It's also deeply flawed, an emotionally exhausting film with a payoff that is limited at best, and a bit self-indulgent to boot. So while Haggis has proven himself a first-rate filmmaker and storyteller, by his standards, Third Person is little more than a second-rate effort.

Unfortunately, Think Like a Man Too never takes the time to elevate any of those characters to beyond mere cardboard cutouts.

Even when it's at its best, Walk of Shame is rarely more than merely amusing. On the other hand, when it's at its worst, it's nothing short of insulting, thanks to its willingness to engage in the kind of gross stereotyping that treads uncomfortably close to racist territory.

This is supposed to be a movie about obsession. Instead it's just cupcake meets beefcake, with a big glass of milk on the side. And that's one Valentine's Day dinner you can easily pass up.

What they're missing here is a story good enough to warrant visiting the same uncomfortably dark place and characters worth caring about. Instead, what we get is a film that boasts tons of atmosphere and flashes of Refn's visual style -- as well as an admirably unhinged performance from Kristen Scott Thomas -- but little else.

It so shamelessly borrows from so many other movies, and then does absolutely nothing to add to them -- nothing to raise the bar, nothing to make it more interesting, and really nothing to make it the least bit appealing.

Lazy and stupid and unwilling to put forth the effort needed to distinguish itself even from a mediocre Internet video, it all amounts to a forgettable, slapdash bit of comedic nothingness.

The chief problem with such gimmick films -- including Maniac -- is that storytelling so often takes a back seat to the gimmick du jour, resulting movie that can be interesting from a technical perspective but not nearly as compelling as one would want.

Unimaginative and painfully generic.

There's really nothing definitive about Emperor. Or memorable, for that matter.

No, Funeral Kings isn't quite dead on arrival -- but it's not too far from needing life support.

The fight sequences are briskly choreographed at least, gruesome though they are -- and, to be honest, that goes a long way in a film such as this. In fact they may be the only reason to see it, other than the chance to see Van Damme in full Col. Kurtz mode, all face-painted and droopy-eyed and bat-poop crazy.

But artistically interesting only takes a film so far. What it needs are laughs- - or at least a compelling narrative. It's got neither -- with the result being a film that arrives as dead as a certain parrot from a certain skit. One of the funny ones.

This is the kind of film that feels like a dream - but not in the good way. Rather, it resembles a dream in that it is made up of disjointed, loosely connected bits of surrealist craziness - ideas that might have seemed interesting in the twilight hours but that don't come close to standing up to the light of day.

It features predictable humor and an underdeveloped story.

In other words, For a Good Time is not a good time. For that, you'll have to dust off your Nintendo and reacquaint yourself with "The Legend of Zelda" -- and hope that one of these days somebody can give "Bridesmaids" some real competition.

Nobody has an excuse for being surprised by how low Sandler and company stoop in That's My Boy.

In the half-baked American Reunion, though, they might have accomplished what no previous chapter has: They might have just killed it.

I guess I can't call the movie sexist as it was largely produced, directed and written by women. So I'll settle for calling it dull, corny and amateurish instead.

But Jack and Jill? Oh, Al.

A message movie that struggles mightily to make an impact but never comes close to capturing the gritty realism on which any blues singer builds his career.

Beautifully shot, but terribly dull.

Rather than a moving story of sisterly love, we get little more than a grandly appointed disappointment.

Clever story? Pass. Originality? Nah. A smidgen of real humor to keep parents entertained along with the kiddies? Smurf you.

In the end, Carpenter offers a reasonably nice payoff to this whole misfire.

Right off the bat, things start falling apart for Wiesen's film. While Highmore is more than capable of playing smart and tender, he has yet to figure out how to believably portray so much as a shred of the danger or rebelliousness required for this role.

It is fluffy, yes, but it also is ugly and annoying and something you neither want nor need.

Red Riding Hood needs a better agent.

A textbook example of ye olde two-joke movie.

It feels more like a poor man's "Poltergeist, " minus the static-filled TV.

The school freak, played by Mary-Kate Olsen, misses a chance to really have some fun as this story's wicked witch.

A movie that wears its heart on its sleeve.

Dumont's fans might find this latest exercise enjoyable, but his style of filmmaking is an acquired taste. I doubt those without that taste are going to acquire it here.

The really annoying thing about Jack Black's Gulliver's Travels is not so much that it's a bad movie -- it is bad, but only run-of-the-mill bad, not epic-misfire bad -- but that the movie sullies a piece of literature that has endured for nearly 300 years for the sake of a cheap kiddie flick that'll be forgotten in a month.

Grant and Parker's talents are wasted on a boring, made-for-TV story punctuated by a contrived, throwaway third act.

Most of the time, however, Post Grad just coasts along, flat as a mortar board, and as forgettable as a ... oh, I forgot already.

Even if The Bounty Hunter is more plot-driven than your standard romantic comedy, it's never quite as funny as it should be.

Early on in The Slammin' Salmon, a customer sends back a plate of undercooked fish. I can't imagine a better metaphor for a movie that is named after a fish and that is as half-baked as this one is.

Little more than a glorified situation comedy. The problem is, it's all situation and no comedy.

Almodovar lets his movie become boring, and insufferably so.

You can't just cast an appealing actress in the lead role -- in this case Queen Latifah ("Valentine's Day, " "The Secret Life of Bees") -- and expect her to do all the heavy lifting.

Anthony Hopkins still does elegant menace better than anyone.

For movie-goers who like a little cleverness with their comedy, however, one word: N-opa.