Roger Moore

Even at this late stage of the game, Hopkins is still managing to break new ground on screen, and we’d hate for this fiasco to be his last.

All Butler, director Tony Olmos and the rest of the cast and crew were shooting for is a cultish comedy with a few laughs, undercooked politics and undigested zombie victims. There’s no arc to the story and little that you’d call funny or ambitious or politically pointed.

It’s a terrible movie with some pretty good actors, an arresting opening and a few striking images lost in what is otherwise 111 minutes of shouting-at-the-screen crap.

Carano can still, at 35, deliver in the fight scenes. But this post-apocalyptic dog of a picture shows her racing into “over the hill so I’ll just use guns” territory, something Chuck and Jean Claude and Jackie only got around to when the stunts got to be too much.

The Alternate has the effects and a plot that could work, but falls short in pretty much every other regard.

Kraven the Hunter’s the empty hole where a real movie’s beating heart should have been.

The film’s tone is all wrong, the pacing is dead and the veering between sex, sadness and sado-masochistic violence is enough to give you motion sickness. It’s a bad movie.

The doctor is plucky, but only in the dullest and most predictable ways. Self-sacrifice shows up at the most expected moment. And the ticking clock third act has been here and done that in more movies than one can count.

I thought I was settling in for something fresh, but the working class poverty is well-furnished and familial and entirely too tidy compared to “Rocky,” the underdog reaching for revenge and/or glory underwhelms and the darkest moments don’t move or touch the viewer in any meaningful way.

Seriously, if you can’t talk Sandler, who has a deal with Netflix, into dragging Wayans back from the dead for this, why bother?

A gloomy but dull vampire tale set against the backdrop of 12 step programs.

I love a good gonzo binge boozing comedy as much as the next guy, but I found almost nothing funny in this.

This is no credit to anybody involved, dull and dumb, badly directed from a really bad script the director took a co-writing credit on. Leave this corpse buried.

Whatever cultural mores “Missed Connections” is operating under, there aren’t many parts of the world where this tepid, tame adults-flirting-like-tweens rom-com will be seen as romantic or comic.

Get past the “You learn something every day” aspect of writer-director Amma Asante’s follow-up to “Belle” and “A United Kingdom,” and the picture grates and annoys and falls to pieces, and not quietly. It’s so wrong. And there’s so much of it.

Experienced movie watchers will pick up attempted hints of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” “Can’t Hardly Wait” and “Sixteen Candles” in the more graceful moments. Not that there are a lot of those.

NOBODY in this thing is the least bit interesting as a character, NONE of the situations are funny or freighted with great personal or social import.

There is one seriously suspenseful scene in the script, and it’s suspenseful because the trailers to the movie have given it away. Nothing else in it is scary, and the third act’s a career-killing embarrassment.

That’s the sole challenge and only entertainment value in this nicely-animated drivel, figuring out the voices.

McDonough co-scripted this contrived star vehicle, a thriller that lets you see all the wheels arbitrarily set in motion and hear every gear that grinds along the way.

Night Swim never amounts to much more than a dip in lukewarm water.

The Toybox itself, like the movie about it, is never scary, just kind of grim and rusty and dogged. It obeys no “horror” or “ghost” rules and makes less sense the more you think about it.

Demigod is awful, so bad that I grow weary of mocking it. Approach at your own peril.

It’s meant to be a comedy, with a lot of gunplay and arterial spray. It’s not funny.

Great White might be the dullest shark attack thriller ever.

The sentimental stuff is limp and unaffecting.

The scenario is pro forma, the dialogue trite and the fights often staged at walk-through speed. Some of the performances are achingly amateurish.

The Oath isn’t anywhere near compelling, convincing or even interesting enough to make that sale. The movie’s lifeless and generic, and does nothing to shake the sense that the theology behind it is probably balderdash.

This colossal folly, the fiasco of the summer of 2010 - gives us all a ringside seat at the sight of Mr. "I See Dead People's" career gurgling down the drain.

A drama about an aged actor lost in his old roles, with two caregivers indulging his “harmless” dementia and acting out his old scripts with him, it lacks anything in the way of wit and much that would make it dramatic.

The whole affair has a whiff of “Going through the motions” to it, as the self-butchery and slaughter visited upon “guilty” victims is handled without suspsense or pathos. One pitiless, perfunctory murder follows the next with a sort of shrug.

Stripped of story (mostly) and drama (almost entirely), what we’re left with is a lot of coital coupling and thrupling. Take away the “chapter” headings and this is straight-to-video titilation, and not all that titilating at that.

Not exciting, not funny, not quite sexy and pretty violent, considering the tone they seemed to be going for, Checkmate can’t even manage a draw.

Hopelessly out of date, and even more out of date for the fact that the folks making it don’t realize that in the first place.

Director Zack Snyder choreographs this like a video game, emphasizing the body count over character.

Absurdly plotted, ineptly scripted and haplessly acted, Creature is a new variation on the "Creature from the Black Lagoon" theme.

Succubus, a supernatural thriller re-titled “The Demoness” for video distribution, is a show reel of nudity and horror sex, of looped, disembodied voices reading lines from a “doesn’t really understand English” translation of a screenplay that was already bad at plot, suspense, action, character and dialogue.

Whatever was going on on the set, incoherence duels incompetence in the finished product.

Borderlands is terrible on every level, a real Dog of August, in movie-lover shorthand.

Worst movie ever filmed in Louisville!

Simple as it is, Ash & Dust lurches between incoherent and shout-at-the-screen mess and there’s barely a minute that’s worth sitting through the other 83 minutes of it for.

Wrestling, the wrestling underworld and the sorts of folks obsessed with it was a promising setting. The premise feels familiar enough to have worked, in some form. Not this one, though. Kids, I want my 93 minutes back.

War of the Worlds is bad, almost laugh-out-loud bad, and that “almost” is the killer here.

You don’t need a wine buzz to “appreciate” The Napa Boys, a vulgar, lowbrow and clumsily unfunny send of up “Sideways” and lots of pop culture of similar vintage. But it probably helps.

It’s never “good,” but the awfulness is amusing, here and there. But only here and there.

The special effects are so amateurish as to look like continuity errors.

Refuge is a frankly stupid and formulaic “whodunit” wrapped in torture, retribution and guilt from all the dirty secrets men keep.

The picture waddles here and there, spills lots of blood, reaches its climax, and then goes on and on past it. Too much of a good thing? Don’t be ridiculous.

Old Strangers, a thriller awkwardly resembling a “creature feature,” and even more awkwardly labeled a “thriller,” falls somewhere on the student film/relatives-wrote-me-checks-so’s-I-could-make-a-movie spectrum of ineptitude.

As funny as a mass shooting at the North Pole, and relying on just such a finale to sell it, Fatman is one of the epic miscalculations of any cinematic holiday season.

That’s the trick to making a cult film. It can’t just be bad, it has to be memorably so, and The Room is.

Throwing “They say she practices witchcraft” into it in the late stages is just desperation, a cheat, a plot twist for a movie with little or no plot.

The crimes associated with these mothballed machines are bland and perfunctory, the direction dull and the script inept in the extreme.

If you deign to watch this waste of a good shipboard location, remember this, me mateys. As bad as VampyrZ on a Boat is, there’s a Western epilogue that’s even worse.

This movie is terrible right out of the gate, and execrable by the time Willis makes his belated bow — 23 minutes in.

Even Channing Tatum seems a little embarrassed by all this by the time the third act rolls around.

Director, co-writer and self-distributor Jason “J.” Horton (“Craving,” assorted other C-movies) set out to make an “Evil Dead” without Sam Raimi’s flair for humor and “gotchas,” without his gift for story and ear for zingers and without Bruce Campbell as everybody’s favorite horror anti-hero.

Director and co-writer Tory Jones opens his picture with a painfully inept podcast interview, setting an amateurish tone that the picture never shakes.

Terrible script and flaccid direction by Ben Medina. Terrible movie. Will it be the worst of 2019? We’ll see, and we’ll remember.

This badly-acted, incompetently written, clumsily directed and ineptly-edited fiasco is so awful that spelling the cast and crew’s names correctly in a review is an act of unblinking cruelty.

I did not care for The Mean One mess. I do not like bastardized Seuss, I confess.

Without any “action” or compelling performances or any interesting thing at all — near kitchen accidents don’t count — what remains is a coma-inducing-dull “low budget B-horror movie without any discernible stars.”

It’s not so bad it’s good, not bad-funny or bad-sad even. It’s just bad.

Terrible movie, dull and heartless and drably-acted by actors whose agents have no souls, the proof being they “booked” the poor players for this unthrilling thriller about hunting humans, “the most dangerous game.”

It’s dreadful by most any measure — violent, tin-eared, clumsily-staged and uncertainly-acted. And it’s head-slappingly stupid as a police procedural.

It’s rubbish, start to finish. And bless their hearts, I see they’ve got a sequel in the works.

Scene after excruciating scene unfolds, unravels or just plain bleeds out, right before our ever-sleepier eyes.

When it all does go wrong — slowly, tediously and incredulously — little of what we’ve seen before is allowed to make a lick of sense.

As the mayhem, six shooters and bad-acting go off all around him, Dorff stands above it all, reminding us that this might have been taken seriously instead of all this vamped bad makeup, acting and screenwriting ineptitude and goofing around by players who figure they’re better than this.

Very bad and interminably long, Storage Locker brings together a perfect storm of terrible script, inept acting and cheese-puff (as opposed to the more expensive “cheese ball”) effects.

The situations are so arch and artificial as to make commenting on the acting (not empathetic) pointless.

They’re just churning this junk out on a budget that guarantees it’ll sell, quality be damned.

Never have I ever wanted to reach through a screen and give a screenwriter a good, hard “What the hell is the MATTER with you?” shaking. Until The Dinner Party.

This thriller goes from bad to worse without the good manners of providing any one element that could be latched on to as more hilariously bad than the next. I couldn’t even find the elements of a bad movie drinking game out of this.

It’s a deathly unfunny comedy, and staggeringly incompetent to boot.

We should all reserve “instantly awful” for C-movie garbage like Pistolera, an underworld vengeance thriller that is almost unwatchable, godawful pretty much from the first frame to the last.

You can sometimes get away with a just-getting-by budget on your C-movie actioner by getting quick and getting witty. Get Fast doesn’t get over.

Sometimes the over-the-top violence can be a saving grace in such genre films. Sometimes the villain makes them worth watching. Occasionally, the suspense atones for a world of shortcomings. Not here.

There’s little to nothing redeemable in it, a film where half the scenes have no reason to exist and the other half go on past any point they may have.

The Dirty Kind is a movie with no pace, no narrative drive, sleepwalking performances and zero urgency. That’s why if you jump to the end of the review you’ll see zero stars, a rating so rare I have to track down internet art to illustrate it whenever I have to trot it out.

There’s nothing remotely witty about this, no real room for pathos or outrage either.

Few movies are as instantly-awful as Expo, a thriller your average viewer will be too discerning to not switch off mere moments past the credits. In a world of A, B and C-thrillers, here’s a D-or-worse one — ineptly scripted, badly acted, violent and stupid in the laziest ways.

No social, psychological or satiric point is made. No laughs are scored. And nobody involved will be slapping this on their “sizzle reel” or resume…save for the writer-director, who may be beloved but who may never ever get to make another movie after this “all-star” debacle.

It’s certainly the worst movie ever filmed in Scotland.

This picture never overcomes a general heartlessness that permeates even the abrupt romance that supposedly launches and drives it.

Same “s—-y” lines, same tone-deaf line readings. Same silly, archetype characters played by actors in over their heads. Same ridiculous variations on the Tom Clancy/movie-fed myth of the “surgical strike.”

Deadly Justice is a C or D movie thriller so badly scripted, amateurishly-acted and stridently-scored that you wonder where the money to make it, or make it all better, went?

Tone-deaf, ineptly scripted and directed, lifeless and tedious, it’s only 82 minutes long. I want those 82 back.

Mandylor isn’t bad, pretty much every thing and everybody else is. But at least it’s short.

Obscure, clumsily-pretentious, under-scripted and flatly acted, there’s nothing to recommend here.