Robert Koehler

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

Misbegotten, unimaginative buddy pic.

Sadly symbolizes the decline of the Western. The 36th bigscreen version of the exploits of the James-Younger Gang is one of the least convincing.

A lark gone utterly awry.

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

Pic is hermetically sealed in a synthetic wrapping that's so total -- Sony's top-flight high-def cameras, visibly low-budget CG work, exceptionally hackneyed and imitative action and dialogue --that it arrives a nearly lifeless film.

Remote, non-involving and finally incomprehensible.

Young teen girls will flock to pic in droves, dragging their boyfriends or other girlfriends.

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

More boring than stomach-churning, the film nevertheless contains scattered scenes and sequences so far beyond the tolerance of the squeamish that it can't be overstated.

Lacks the comic style or abandon to make its cynical turn on male-female relationships anything more than a short-lived stunt.

Has the stench less of rotting flesh than the whiff of a thoughtless quickie.

Though Muniz and Bynes make a somewhat likable team, their funniest skills are dampened by the material's insistent stupidity.

Pity the children for whom this is their intro to the world of Grimm, for while pic stays to basic outline of the original story in opening and closing sections, the large middle is stuffed with badly staged slapstick and painful stabs at hip dialogue in an arch attempt to cater to modern kids.

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

Even dumb farce has to be built on logic, but that crumbles in the face of a set of tired routines playing off of stock types.

Fires nothing but blanks.

The question isn't where is the love but where are the laughs?

Director David Zucker, a master of whacked-out visual comedy during his “Airplane!” era, drops the ball here.

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

Will greatly peeve many hardcore fans.

Amateurish, undramatic and bereft of any sense of pacing.

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

The proper mix is never found. Ill-conceived and expensive project that winds up looking like a bunch of talented thesps slumming it.

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.

Midnight moviegoers aren't so desperate that they will opt for such trailer trash.

A poorer film than the paltry original even as it strikes a self-consciously clever pose.

A shoddy vehicle for Jamie Foxx to ride into the summer season on.

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.

Overall aroma of movie junk food.

Patently absurd in both the details and larger aspects, the ultraserious pic is undermined by poor casting.

Perhaps thinking he had a farce to play with, Flender encourages tons of mugging; by overplaying what should be underplayed, helmer and cast deliver a fatal stab to the intended comedy-horror.

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.

An especially insipid example of the Hollywood message movie.

Combines the most rudimentary of Catholic-inspired good vs. evil plots with visual effects that would barely pass muster in episodic TV.

Makes little impression and is sure to leave few memories for a teen.

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

There's nothing in genredom quite so unhinged as the badly made psycho-thriller, and long before it's over, The Glass House collapses from wretched design and execution.

Few recent movies have conceived their central female character more contemptuously -- a fanatic for a lifestyle that appears to have come from the bestselling "The Rules."

Glitter deserves yet another title: "A Star Is Dull." As phony a vehicle as one could possibly concoct for a wannabe movie star, pic carries Mariah Carey into a swamp of gloppy melodrama.

Sheer chaos on wheels, a hysterically edited jumble that defies belief at nearly every juncture.

Every stab at comedy in this mirthless slog is botched.

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

A pathetically conceived drama that wastes the serious theme of how emotionally and sexually inadequate men abuse others.

The combo of cheesy effects and martial arts choreographer Cory Yuen's unimaginative staging results in something that's martial artless.