Sara Stewart

A clunky movie that feels as if it’s underwritten by the Roman Catholic Church.

Burying the Ex is missing the key ingredient every good zombie movie needs: brains.

Zoey Deutch is fine in a non-demanding role as the requisite starry-eyed female student, and Danny Huston (“Wonder Woman”) gives us a softer side as Richard’s weepy best friend. But this is, at its core, a one-man show, and given the uncertain future of Depp’s career (being axed from the “Pirates of the Caribbean” franchise, for example), it might also have been titled “Johnny Says Goodbye.”

As it stands, there’s little to explain the existence of this confoundingly unfunny film. It’s as if a talented cast (Wilson, Zach Galifianakis, Amy Poehler) assembled to make a comedy and at the last minute was told to play everything straight.

The script’s by Robert Ben Garant, also behind last year’s scary-movie spoof “Hell Baby,” and this one teeters right on the edge of laughable, with its V.C. Andrews-like series of goth twists.

The innovation of Refn’s latest is mostly just in the way it manages to merge gory and boring. At least it’s created a new movie adjective for me: goring.

Turn off your frontal lobe, and you just might enjoy it.

For a story whose appeal hinges on the saving grace of getting a "purpose-driven life," this one's got remarkably little of it.

There are a lot of parallels with “Breaking Bad” here: the Southwestern setting, the dorky husband turned criminal, the blond wife and the scene in the carwash. But if you can avoid dwelling on its derivative qualities, After the Fall has its own case to make about how far the middle class has fallen — and continues to slide.

Parental Guidance kicks off with a mean-spirited joke about an overweight woman and heads downhill from there.

As might be obvious, I’m not a gamer, so perhaps all of this will be thrilling for fans who’ve played it. The rest of us, I imagine, may come out of this film invigorated with a creed of our own: Avoid movies based on video games.

So dull, the kids in my audience didn’t laugh until 45 minutes in — And that was at a coconut head-bonk, a gag so timeless it almost doesn’t count.

Portman is always consummately watchable, and she tries her best to telegraph the utter existential confusion engulfing Lucy at work and in love. But the film around her is simply not up to her level.

From time to time, it works.

No amount of actorly dedication can change the pointlessness of watching unpleasant things happening to uniformly unpleasant people.

This incoherent screenplay seems to have been written by a roomful of the gorilla-like trolls who show up in the movie at one point.

Despite a terrific cast and a sexy noir look to rival the two “Blade Runner” films, Jones (son of David Bowie) delivers a bit of a letdown.

This is nothing but nasty, misogynist torture porn.