Mike Scott

Pros and cons aside, Sinister has the benefit of arriving in the thick of Halloween season, right when movie-goers are most hungry for a few scares. And they'll get them from Derrickson's film, too.

Unfortunately, Franklin isn't quite as successful at capturing the depth of the traditions for which Anaya's source material is so well known.

John Wick makes a few feeble attempts at witty repartee, but, in the end, Leitch and Stahelski's film feels like an unintentional parody of itself.

It's more than a little ironic, then, that the one thing missing from director Craig Robinson's often-amusing, frequently episodic film is just that: a resonant emotional core.

Two Days, One Night offers a look into the lives of the everyday workers of the world -- the ones for whom a thousand-euro bonus (about $1,100 U.S.) can solve a heck of a lot of problems.

None of that is to say that Thor: The Dark World is a bad movie, necessarily. I would never speak ill of a man with a giant, magical hammer. At the same time, hammer or no hammer, it doesn't quite nail it, either.

Unfortunately, like the Poison song says -- and, in many ways, like the decade itself -- it ain't nothin' but a good time.

Functioning as more parable than sermon, it offers at least a hint of a blueprint for other faith filmmakers who want their message to reach beyond the front pew.

It's pretty obvious that Almodovar at least was having fun making I'm So Excited. Ditto for his actors, who admirably go all-in for these roles. I'm glad they're having a good time. After all, somebody has to find a reason get excited about I'm So Excited.

Few people will be surprised by how it all unfolds or by how it all ends. This is a movie about lightweight entertainment and heavyweight fighters, not a movie about surprises.

For most of its two-hour running time, Almost Christmas is merely almost funny.

In a word: Bibbidi-bobbidi-blah.

If nothing else, the dramatic comedy The Last Word provides one thing: It gives Shirley MacLaine a great role in which to sink her teeth. That turns out to be a gift not only to the Hollywood veteran but to audiences as well.

This is a movie that confuses teary with sweet. Mopey with sad. Discomfort with humor. And, worst of all, it confuses weird with odd.

For one to succeed, it should have a certain "emotional intelligence" of its own. It should have a soul. It should bring something new to the conversation. And while Eva dips a toe into those waters, it never really invites its audiences to dive in head-first.

Unwieldy and awkward. If you want to like this story, you'd better expect to have to work for it.

Not only did Hughes shoot a handful of prominent scene-setting exteriors in the Big Apple itself, but he does an exceptional job of camouflaging his New Orleans scenes.

Frustratingly, whenever it begins to get going and pulses begin pounding, Harper brings things to a screeching halt by introducing flashback sequences to tell us the backstory of Jones’ invented character.

Thank goodness for Rainey. Even when the story feels false, he never does, operating with an open-faced sense of easy honesty that is missing from much of the rest of the film.

Along the way, Bleed for This rarely, if ever, surprises. Younger -- working from a script he wrote -- never feints, never dodges, never does anything unexpected. Consequently, his film never delivers anything resembling a knockout blow.

On the one hand, there's a thrill in such experimentalism. On the other, it doesn't always deliver a fully satisfying moviegoing experience.

If not for the "Fast and Furious" franchise, Need for Speed probably wouldn't exist outside of the video game series that inspired it.

With no real beginning and no real ending, the unsatisfying "Mockingjay Part 1" is essentially all middle -- one big, stretched out, watered-down second act. The result is a handsome film, but also a talky one that takes a while to hit its storytelling stride and that, once there, repeatedly stalls to fill time.

The result is a film that is engrossing for stretches, that will raise your hackles -- and maybe the hair on the back of your neck -- especially if you believe in the vital role journalism plays in a free society. At the same time, though, it also feels a bit like a by-the-numbers affair.

I wouldn't expect many people to remember Cold in July come September, when the movie-award season gets underway. But as a guilty-pleasure May release? You could do far worse.

It won't stick to your ribs in the way, say, a shank will -- but it probably won't leave you looking for a way to escape the theater, either.

What we end up with is a film that contains many fine moments -- the young Bolden's discovery of rhythm, an imagined discussion on musical improvisation between Bolden and clarinetist George Baquet, a look at racial politics of the day -- but those moments don't quite coalesce into a consistently satisfying whole.

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again is not a Meryl Streep movie. She's featured prominently on the movie's posters. She's all over the trailer. But no matter what the studio wants you to believe, the above-the-title star of 2008's original "Mamma Mia!," and the most celebrated actress of her generation, gets all of about five minutes of screen time in the sequel.

What the Duplasses end up with is a film that is amusing at times, a touch repetitive at others, but one that never quite shakes the feeling that it is something of an unfinished thought. And perhaps something they've also grown beyond.

It's hard to escape the feeling that Hopkins left a lot on the table -- and that there's a better Jesse Owens film to be told.

While The Last Five Years isn't a bad movie, neither does it fall into the "must-see" category.

Never coalesces into anything memorable, much less meaningful.

The Best of Me is full-on Nicholas Sparks, through and through, checking all the boxes in the by-now well-established formula. It's just not the best of Nicholas Sparks.

"The Lost Village" is pure Saturday-morning stuff. And that's both a good thing and a bad thing.

Lacks any real sense of vitality. And no matter how worthwhile a film's message is, it's difficult for audiences to care if the path to the payoff so often feels like a slog.

There are things about it that will catch the eye, that will pique your interest. Just don't make the mistake of expecting a big payoff.

One only wishes that Ewing and Grady had chosen to dig deeper as they explored it.

While the result is an often fast-moving and very Damon-y Jason Bourne, it doesn't at all feel as original or as well crafted as the series once did.

The problem is, Draft Day doesn't really capture that sense of urgency until late in the film.

An effort to spin high art out of a guilty-pleasure cult classic, this new Suspiria is -- like the original -- off-the-charts bonkers. But it’s also off-the-charts unpleasant, a cold, hard-to-embrace slog made up of mostly of stomach-turning moments of body horror interrupted by long stretches of stylish but mind-numbing pretension.

Rather than focusing on the most fascinating part of the story -- that would be the establishment and subsequent dissolution of free state after which the film is named -- his film devolves into a series of belabored points, high-minded pontifications and audience manipulation.

Even with that pedigree, Ponsoldt's film doesn't snap and sizzle as much as it just lays there, leaving moviegoers who haven't been converted to the Wallace cult to long for the end of this particular "Tour."

What Monsters University fails to do, though, is to scare up any real emotion.

It's that end -- the film's final sobering five minutes -- in which Blue Jasmine is at its most effective. Credit is due there to Blanchett's table-setting performance in it and in the hour and half preceding it. It's also due to the courage Allen displays as a storyteller in ending this particular story in the way it has to end.

Visually and tonally, Miss Sloane -- like Chastain's one-note performance, in which she does little but bark and glower -- is slick but soulless, a film that takes itself far too seriously and misjudges how smart it really is.

Unfortunately, director Jake Szymanski's bad-boy farce from there quickly becomes a textbook example of the law of diminishing returns.

There are lulls to be had here, but there is a smattering of laughs, too -- and some pretty good ones, at that. If, that is, you'll give yourself permission to laugh at Wayans and company's lowest-common-denominator antics.

It's an oddly inert film that suffers from its lack of focus on the stories that stand as Tolkien's chief literary contributions.

This unintentionally fractured ends up one big mess. It's a pretty mess, mind you -- which is fitting in a way, given the sordid affair that birthed it -- but a mess all the same.

More seriously -- and substantively -- "A Late Quartet" was a quiet but thoughtful meditation on the power, and the necessary pain, of human connections. By comparison, Quartet is a flimsy bit of cinematic puffery that takes every obvious path on its way to its even more obvious "seize-the-day" message.

So we get no zippy, Tony Stark-flavored one-liners. No comic-relief characters. No nonsense. But that means we also get no up, up and away, either.

New Orleans makes for a distinctive backdrop, but that's really all just window dressing, and it goes only so far in covering the fact that The Runner -- from its moody, electric-guitar-driven score to its faintly 1990s, Grisham-flavored sensibilities -- runs out of narrative inspiration before it crosses the finish line.

Its smattering of enjoyable moments aside, this is one of those horror films that will beg to be remade -- just smarter -- once this initial outing fades into the memories of moviegoers.

There's no sense of pacing here, as would be the case in a single feature-length narrative in which a wise filmmaker would vary the intensity level. Instead, what we get is a ceaseless visual and emotional assault. That makes for an exhausting movie-going experience. This is by no means a feel-good film. This is a feel-bad film -- and at times a feel-icky film.

The result is a film with a scattered feel. That's particularly true in the film's rushed third act, as it skips around all herky-jerky, cramming in resolutions to the various conflicts but never quite giving any of them adequate time to gel.

Thoroughly, and disappointingly, pedestrian.

For a movie like this to last, you've got to have a certain amount of pathos to serve as connective tissue between those jokes. That's where Sisters is most lacking.

Beautiful Creatures is still an unabashed imitator, hewing closely to the "Twilight" blueprint. Some might go so far as to call it a blatant ripoff, as the differences between the two are cosmetic at best.

Never elevated beyond much more than mere presidential puffery.

At some point, Lee as a storyteller must step in to move things along, to dig the rudder deep into the narrative waters and steer this ship. The destination is almost irrelevant - just steer it somewhere.

Part 2 really is a continuation of "Part 1," both from a story standpoint and from an artistic standpoint.

There's no "place" in this place, no clear destination -- and no real payoff in a film that stands a cinematic curiosity but little more.

Celeste and Jesse Forever isn't a movie many people will outright hate, but if this is the most original romantic comedy that Hollywood can muster, forever can't come soon enough.

Boudousque is young yet, and so he has room to grow as an actor, but he's got nothing but upside to him at this point. It'll be fun to watch his career grow from here.

You won't feel like a hostage watching it. But don't be surprised if you feel a little as if you're doing homework.

That's not to say Muppets Most Wanted is all stuffing and nonsense. The franchise hasn't declined that much just yet. There are entertaining moments to be had here, for sure.

The Croods does a lot of things well -- even if it does none of them extraordinarily. The end result is a solidly middle-of-the-road bit of animation -- but the kind that is easily forgotten as soon as something more evolved, and original, comes along.

A well-intended but scattered dramatic comedy.

It all adds up to a film that is at times interesting, and at times funny in spite of itself. But more than all that, it exudes a sense of heart-rending, chest-penetrating sadness.

Stone's characteristic on-his-sleeve political views aren't the problem with the often-sleepy Snowden. Rather, it's that his film – the lag-prone script for which the filmmaker co-wrote with Kieran Fitzgerald – really doesn't tell us much that we don't already know. That'll certainly be the case for anyone who saw director Laura Poitras' Oscar-winning 2014 documentary "Citizenfour," a remarkable bit of filmmaking.

While Washington and Wahlberg help make sure the flawed 2 Guns isn't too bad, it's hard not to think that it could have been better.

Love is Strange doesn't really have any sort of sense of urgency about it. To the contrary, it feels rather mundane, as their problems -- while both unfortunate and unfair -- feel relatively small when put in perspective.

The problem is, the closer our heroes come to their goal, the weaker the story becomes. What we're left with is a film that gets off to a ripping good start, but which -- given how little time is actually spent in the fanciful world after which the whose shebang is named -- ends up feeling like a cinematic bait-and-switch.

This would be a difficult film even for the charismatic Papa Smith to carry. That he spends nearly the entire movie in a chair doesn't help matters.

Unfortunately, Brice appears more interested in ramping up the outrageousness and keeping his audiences guessing than in crafting a meaningful story. And so while his film is nothing if not unpredictable, that comes at the cost of the sort of emotional impact for which his film seems to be aiming.

As with its gooey, smoochy predecessors, The Lucky One is, beneath it all, a fairy-tale romance, just one with modern trappings.

Those who connected with "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" last year or the lesser "Quartet" earlier this year likely will find things to appreciate about Williams' film, given its similar senior citizen angle and general sense of niceness and decency.

Has potential to be fun and meaningful, but it's not exactly a novel idea. In fact, it feels like a literary-minded "Lars and the Real Girl," the 2007 dramatic comedy that starred Ryan Gosling as a man who falls in love with a sex doll, and which coasted along on its charm and smarts.

One only wishes they were able to deliver these performances in a movie that felt more like a true celebration of Mandela's life -- and less like homework.

The core of The Mummy is built around a mostly fun, fast-moving vibe, while its malformed midsection seeks to undermine anything good it has accomplished.

It's not only shameless, it detracts from what this movie could have been, and still is when the self-promoting Harvey shuts up.

Even when he isn't at the top of his game -- and in Wonder Wheel, he certainly isn't -- Allen's films still tend to have something intriguing to offer.

Steadman is a fascinating talent with a fascinating process and a fascinating perspective on the world. Maybe somebody will make a definitive documentary about him one day. Unfortunately, For No Good Reason isn't it.

As a collective thing, though, those moments add up to a messy, all-over-the-map movie that toys with big, existential thoughts, but it doesn't have a coherent enough story with which to drive them home.

That's perhaps the best word to describe Baggage Claim: contrived. And predictable, as it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which tall, dark and handsome fellow she'll end up with.

Don't get me wrong: Gyllenhaal is a great actor, one who exhibits a rare blend of strength and pathos. But not even he can elevate that kind of lazy writing.

Built on an interesting idea -- but which, unlike Strug, can't quite stick the landing.

Howard's film, particularly early on, ends up being too fast, too dense and too smart for its own good. Keeping moviegoers guessing is one thing. Keeping them confused is quite another.

There must also be a spark, a sense of life, a compelling reason for being. If a film doesn't have those -- which The Invisible Woman doesn't -- well, it might as well be invisible.

The violence in Homefront is violence purely for entertainment's sake.

The result is a well-executed but stubbornly formulaic crime thriller that telegraphs most of its major surprises long before they ever happen. It's not a bad movie, mind you. It's just one that will strike viewers as exceedingly familiar, and as generic as that say-nothing title.

With a scattered, meandering script, a stable of throwaway characters and an almost laughably drawn-out ending, it's all amounts to standard movie-of-the-week fare dressed up in Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.

In this new “Grinch,” it’s hard to escape the feeling we’re being offered a serving of the same old roast beast -- and a decidedly fatty serving at that.

Alas, in Cronenberg's hands, it just comes across as cold and lifeless and exhausting.

With lesser performances, its rangy story could have easily gotten lost in its own histrionics. As it is, though, they elevate Cooper's script, helping to make Hostiles better than it might otherwise have been.

Sleepwalk With Me is a decent film -- even if its not one that lingers.

The end result is still not a very good film, but it is one that boasts some enjoyable moments -- but only if you find yourself with two hours to kill.

The impressive young cast -- is mostly wasted. Teller and company, despite their proven talents, are given little of depth to do and forced to spout dialog that ranges from clunky to ridiculous.

For all of its faults, Irrational Man is a passable diversion at worst. While that's certainly not what Allen was aiming for, when you're talking about Woody Minor, it's enough. Barely, but enough.

There's hardly a shred of cleverness to be found amid all the predictabilities.

Amid it all, Snead does a nice job of laying out the history of video games. If nothing else, there's a lot of information here. But there's also a lot of information on the Wikipedia entry for "video games." All in all, I'd rather be playing "Madden 15."

It's the kind of cinematic cotton candy that youngsters will gobble up. Even more importantly, it's relatively quick, painless stuff when compared to so many other pint-sized entertainments out there.

What Leonie is missing, however -- in its script, in its performances, really in everything about it -- is any hint of sparkle, any sort of compelling hook on which to hang its hat.

There's not much meat to the story. So while the picture on the menu suggests filet mignon, we really get mostly fish-and-chips stuff.

Just don't think too hard -- or at all, really -- or else you run the risk of realizing that Fast & Furious 6 is running on little more than fumes, with just a shot or two of nitrous.

Once it gets past its lull-prone first half, Neighbors 2 tries to inject a little heart into the proceedings -- which was the secret weapon of the original -- but even those end up feeling stale and phoned-in.

You can color me unimpressed.

That's not to say The Last Laugh is a flat-out terrible movie, necessarily. It's just a tame, unimaginative one -- a low-budget cinematic shrug that has nothing new to offer.

Any character study must also bring us, and its main character, on a journey. And that's where Gloria Bell, for all of its assets -- and for all of the critical acclaim being heaped upon it -- ultimately stumbles.

Like the rest of the film, it's has its laughs and it has its emotion, just not enough of either.

To be fair, in its best moments, The Best Man Holiday is more enjoyable than even a well-wrapped steam iron, functioning as it does as passable light entertainment -- but only just.

Along the way, Krokidas' story becomes a touch schizophrenic, at times a coming-of-age story, a love story, a crime drama and a literary drama. It's hard to say which it functions as best, as none are given too much time to germinate before Krokidas moves on to the next.

The result is exactly what you would expect from a concept whose odometer has been running for so long: uneven laughs, sparked largely by spurts of shock comedy but marred by a general sense of familiarity.

It's done with affection, so it's hard to begrudge Hill for indulging in a postcard cliché or two. After all, it - like Hill's movie as a whole - certainly beats a bullet to the head.

It's just plain less -- less than what sci-fi fans are probably hoping for, and less than what it could have been.

The problem is, the second half of the film -- when it's time for it to get down to business -- isn't nearly as compelling as the first. As a result, the impact of Cahill's story is muted as the payoff just doesn't feel rewarding.

While director Rupert Wyatt's film has a handful of things going for it -- alien invaders, bursts of action, sociopolitical subtext, a stern-faced John Goodman -- it is missing one key element: a soul.

While Pitch Perfect 2 feels like it leaves much on the table, that'll be plenty good enough to give its fans something to sing about -- until the inevitable "Pitch Perfect 3."

And let's be honest: Hawking and Wilde's romance is lovely in its own way. But his scientific work? That's important. That's staggering. That's life-changing, not just for him, but for all of us. And The Theory of Everything? Despite that title, and despite those performances, it just doesn't feel like any of those things.

Is it funny enough to make for a wholly satisfying feature-length film? No, not really. Like so many films of Ferrell's, Get Hard feels rushed and uneven.

Unfortunately, the longer this Annie goes on, the more steam it loses.

It is nothing if not a nice film. But it's little more than that.

It is powerful, it is affecting and it -- that is, Hiddleston's eerily accurate performance, from start to finish -- is easily the best thing about director Marc Abraham's Shreveport-shot biopic of the country music legend.

Despite the occasional outbreak of tension, it all ends up becoming repetitive as Eye in the Sky gets bogged down in the morality of it all, spinning its wheels for long stretches.

It's all fairly standard rom-com stuff.

To put it in Austen terms: They will not have the pleasure of understanding what Steers is trying to do here.

Regardless of how well-argued it is, when watching a film feels this much like homework, that's not likely to happen.

For better and for worse, it's neither better nor worse than the original "Ride Along." That's because it's essentially the same movie.

Most real horror fans, however, will likely be left wondering where the heat is.

When a film's clichés are so obvious that its cast points them out for you, you've got to wonder how hard it's really trying.

Admittedly, I'm in the minority here, with many other critics swooning over First Reformed and the big questions it raises. Regardless, the biggest question I had after watching it was simple: What the hell did I just witness?

There's a lot of eye candy in what ends up being a slick, breathless and at-times enjoyable sci-fi update. Unfortunately, it's what Wiseman forgets to do that makes the biggest difference in his film -- and which keeps it from becoming much more than a glossy missed opportunity.

For 91 minutes of its briskly paced 94-minute running time, the film works as a tightly wound bit of pins-and-needles storytelling. Then, Anderson lets it all unravel in a three-minute stretch of cheap writing that not only betrays the characters he worked so hard to develop, but that also thumbs its nose at any audience members with a brain.

Because while it can boast of some truly extraordinary special effects -- stomach-churning, face-hacking, arm-slicing visual effects, the kind that are sure to titillate the gleefully twisted -- this Evil Dead is far more gruesome than awesome.

There's a germ of a good story there, and Intruders isn't without the occasional tense moment. But unfortunately Hollowface is as undeveloped as the other characters in Intruders, which is the film's biggest flaw of all.

Here's a film that tries to strike a "Beverly Hills Cop" balance between crime drama and screwball comedy -- but that balance, it should be noted, isn't an easy one to strike.

You'd think that a movie about such a dynamic moment and such a vibrant ad campaign would be more dynamic and vibrant.

What we end up with is an arm's-length film that feels more haunted than haunting -- and one that audiences will want to forget rather than remember.

As well-shot and well-acted as it is, one can't help feeling there's a good movie in there somewhere. Unfortunately, it's buried beneath such an avalanche of extraneousness and artistic posing.

The resulting film, despite its occasional outbursts of action and tension, is less an action film than a psychological thriller, although even there it fumbles the ball.

Once the opening credits end, it turns out The Nut Job"= is far more "Romper Room" than "Step Brothers."

Any improvements over the original RoboCop are mere window dressing, more a superficial function of technical advances in filmmaking than of any sort of storytelling prowess or fresh narrative ideas.

Lillard's film ends up being more unsatisfying than anything else. His "Fat Kid" might rule the world, but it doesn't quite rule the screen.

If there’s a knock on the first Coming to America, it’s that its two-hour running time often felt a touch padded. But that’s better than the entirely forgettable Coming 2 America, which is pretty much all padding.

This is a tragedy, not a comedy.

An uneven R-rated Christmas comedy that's more enjoyable than, say, your Nana's fruitcake, but which at the same time doesn't feel quite like the dose of memorable holiday cheer it could have been.

Niccol and Meyer -- who co-produces this, her first post-"Twilight" film -- choose to trade away any shred of the ripe social subtext that has made other body-snatcher films so rich. In its place: the kind of supernatural, star-crossed romance that generates so much swooning from Team "Twilight."

If you currently own a G.I. Joe toy or if you've dressed like a ninja at least twice since Halloween, you're going to find a lot to "hooah" about in "G.I. Joe: Retaliation."

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

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.

But Jack and Jill? Oh, Al.

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.

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

Beautifully shot, but terribly dull.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

Every narrative twist is telegraphed, every dramatic choice is expected, every character is one-dimensional, and every scene of heightened emotion is built around tin-ear dialogue.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

A movie that wears its heart on its sleeve.

Red Riding Hood needs a better agent.

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.

A textbook example of ye olde two-joke movie.

The characters aren't fully formed enough to care about, the humor is baseball-bat dull, and the story - such as it is - is never treated as anything more than a half-hearted means to get the audiences from one spectacular snuffing to the next.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

Unimaginative and painfully generic.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

It features predictable humor and an underdeveloped story.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

There's little refreshing or charming about it.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Where's a wooden stake when you need one?