Scott Brown

Generic hip-hop soundtrack? Check. Aerial stock footage of milieu? Check. Hardy-har homophobia and misogyny? Check. Emasculated sub-Gump white dude played by Jay Mohr? Double check.

Too mild to be dirty, yet too dirty to be charming, and altogether too generic to be much of anything.

Running is a fevered smashup, as if Hollywood dug up Sam Peckinpah's corpse and forced it to adapt "Grand Theft Auto: Vice City" for the screen.

The main problem? Raid lacks a center. It's an exhausted sprawl with multiple story foci, none of them terribly compelling.

Some movies make love look schematic. The Trouble With Men + Women makes those films look stunningly insightful.

''Kid'' seeks to ''empower'' its target audience of recent Pokémon grads with an adult antihero desperation that feels preemptive and inappropriate.

Burns pads around Gotham, yammering yesterday's op-eds about Disneyfication and ''classic New York holdouts.'' He somehow manages to sound fogyish AND immature.

A mud-simple horror trudge set in a swamp colony of Abercrombie models.

A pretty lousy movie, which would be offensive were it not safely neutered by its own stupidity.

The big climax isn't climactic, just hysterical and incoherent. Murphy, with her bug-eyed, love-me mugging, is simply too slight and gawky to play the Everygirl.

Director Sean Ellis has a lovely eye, but he's set the film in his blind spot. Not only can't he distinguish between art and porn, savoring and wallowing, universal truths and exhausted clichés -- he doesn't even seem interested in these distinctions.

Here's a sobering thought: If every war gets the comedy it deserves, could Delta Farce, a strenuously unfunny "Three Amigos" knockoff, be our M*A*S*H?

Ultraviolet, warns someone, ''Don't overthink it.'' Sage advice for anyone masochistic enough to watch this pile of poorly pixelated vampire poo.

So perfect in its awfulness, it makes one seriously consider a theory of unintelligent design.

Far be it from me to dismiss a man's effort (Uwe Boll) in a sentence, but the film on your teeth after a three-day drunk possesses more cinematic value.

Whatever you're imagining -- self-serving self-awareness; unedited hipster mopes; yammering dear-diary script -- The Hottest State, Ethan Hawke's bathetic tale of a good-looking young actor's first heartbreak, is far worse.

An animated movie designed with very young children in mind. And very young children should be very angry about that. Where is it written that 4-year-olds don't deserve a good story, decent characters, and a modicum of coherence?