Robert Koehler

One of the most brutally awful comedies ever to emerge from a major studio.

Gruff and downright smelly, especially when star David Arquette is forced at one point to flop around in a pile of doggy doo.

Overall aroma of movie junk food.

To be sure, Kelley's Emmy-winning brand of off-kilter humor and cockeyed affection for rural folk is on display, but his attempt here to blend the citified angst of "Ally McBeal" (co-star Bridget Fonda was Kelley's first choice as that series' lead) with the countrified absurdisms of "Picket Fences," plus bits out of the Peter Benchley playbook, doesn't hold water.

A horror movie without horror, a spook pic without spookiness and a metaphysical drama without the slightest spiritual tug, Soul Survivors virtually dwindles away on the screen.

Doubly disappointing considering that it marks the first feature by Rwandan filmmakers to address the country's 1994 Hutu-on-Tutsi genocide, Kinyarwanda awkwardly and fitfully patches together a half-dozen story strands meant to provide a panoramic view of war and reconciliation.

A sign that the Sandler comedy empire is expanding and reaching new depths of pure gross-out stupidity.

A woefully under-realized story of small-time boxers enjoying perhaps their last moment in the spotlight.

In its overwhelmingly artificial depiction of the street gangs that ruled Brooklyn's mean streets in the 1950s, Deuces Wild draws from a phony deck.

Surely one of the most frantic, virulent and foul-natured Christmas season pic ever delivered by a Hollywood studio.

A comedy in the last century and a drama in the new one. At least, that's the dumbfounding impression left by writer-director Oliver Parker's utterly miscalculated film adaptation of Wilde's play.

Little more than an overworked exercise in jostling red herrings, and not particularly fresh herrings at that.

Most discomforting of all is the sight of world-class actors stuck in such threadbare material.

The resulting film is a trite piece of storytelling, with character development and plot points that feel not so much lived in as borrowed from other movies.

Will greatly peeve many hardcore fans.

A lineup of comic actors running on empty long before the dust settles.

Morrow displays keen attention to physical detail, but starring both behind and in front of the camera looks to have been a mistake here.

Perfs are either absurdly stiff or over-the-top, and effects and makeup look like they were made in someone's garage.

A dull afterthought and a sorry vehicle for the comic expression of Martin Lawrence.

This is the kind of movie that was doomed on the page, both by an inherently problematic premise and ill-conceived character motivations.

A perfect example of the sad trend in contempo Latin American filmmaking to imitate old Tarantino with only a fraction of the stylistic cojones, frantic comedy dealing with two pairs of confused guys and one pair of kidnap victims is an empty exercise that loses its juice before first reel's end.

A collection of sentimental and emotional moments in search of a movie.

A remarkably boring comedy.

Writer-editor-director Paul F. Ryan makes the mistake of focusing on an ungainly and, finally, unplayable verbal match between two high schoolers.

A lark gone utterly awry.

As hard as metal and just as dumb, Paul W.S. Anderson's Death Race couldn't be further from producer Roger Corman and director Paul Bartel's goofy, bloody 1975 original, "Death Race 2000."

Sloppy and dull in equal measures.

Little more than a slipshod, trashy, sometimes exploitative thriller.