Whether you view it as intellectually dishonest or just plain sloppy, Deception is a movie that more than lives up to its title.

Brings absolutely nothing new to the autopsy table that wasn't previously covered.

To make a bad movie worse, even Ballistic's fight scenes, which ought to be the film's strong suit, are poorly edited, slice 'n' diced into incomprehensible blurs.

Across the Universe will have ardent defenders, but in the long run, it will do nothing to infuse life into the current mini-revival of movie musicals and is as soft-headed as the wishful refrain “All You Need Is Love.” Maybe that works in real life but not in the movies, sister.

A succession of shrill overacting jobs.

Neither so awful as to be enjoyable nor eerily artful enough to be anything other than a snoozy also-ran in the perpetually poor plotting machine that is the demon-child cinematic subgenre.

Everything about Agent Cody Banks 2 reeks of hurry-up and make this movie before its kid star Frankie Munoz loses his pubescent looks (it’s already borderline).

Hamm is also the only interview subject who touches on what I found to be the film’s most egregious flaw: Considering most people barely make a living wage and food insecurity is on the rise, it seems rather tone-deaf to make a film about a hotel that charges $4,000 to $20,000 per night.

Daltry Calhoun's saving grace comes in the form of a snappy compilation soundtrack that spans from Johnny Cash to Serge Gainsbourg, a feat of all-inclusiveness that renders the film a moot point at best.

Its narrative conceit will entertain for a while, but eventually you will long to disappear with the rest of the Mexicans.

A sketchy, half-baked, stylistically inconsistent movie that scarcely even pretends to care whether it makes sense or not.

Of all the missteps made and absurdities offered, the most glaring is the casting of what appears to be a steroidal Eurotrash pimp as no less than Dracula.

A top-notch cast was gathered and then wasted in this atmospheric but prosaic hoodoo spooker.

Lane turns in a fine performance, the kids are great and although Cyndi Lauper isn't given much to do, she does it well. But overall, afterwards I was glad to get out.

The cynic in me notes that the whole, dismal enterprise is just a cheap steal from Roger Corman's 1955 film "Day the World Ended." At least that single set-bound cheapie had a three-eyed mutant to enliven the otherwise stagy proceedings.

Enough already.

Despite an ambitious script from Wadlow and Beau Bauman, it's extremely difficult to care, seeing as how these tropes have already been recycled enough to make Greenpeace proud.

Ultimately, this is a movie that’s more about the Ottoman Lieutenant’s Woman than The Ottoman Lieutenant himself – another example of the film’s epic misdirection.

Would have been smart to fold before it let its hand go this far.

Everybody figured producer Joel Silver and Willis couldn't lose and guess what? They all rolled craps.

Endless errors aside, The House Next Door: Meet the Blacks 2 might bring forth a laugh or two and that’s about it. The moment the material sits long enough to settle, it becomes a horror-comedy casualty with little-to-nothing making it worth the 90 minute mayhem.

Evidently made with deep pockets but muddled intentions, The Identical is a folly largely unworthy of its hidden idol.

Taken as a whole, The Ugly Truth is much like its orgasms: phony and unsatisfying.

Destroy All Neighbors has all the verve of a blood clot.

An effective sound design enhances several of the film's sudden frights, and Sutherland, who appears in almost every scene, is a predictably solid presence.

A shot-for-shot remake would have had more school spirit than this.

The Dennis Miller Show… with nekkid vampire-vixens. That's it in a coffin-nail.

Michael Lehmann's "Heathers" followed the same sort of story line to much better effect in 1989, and Clueless leaves you itching to race over to the video store in search of just that.

It sounds like great fodder for sensationalism and special effects, but Fire in the Sky is disappointedly earthbound.

If you can work your way past Vantage Point's goofy casting that places a bland, blank-eyed Hurt in the White House, then I suppose you can manage to forgive this "Rashomon" rip-off's other glaring idiosyncrasies, of which there are many.

Unbearable.

Petrie (Richie Rich) has crafted a snuffling dog of a comedy that's far too reliant on less-than-amazing CGI effects.

Assassin’s Creed is a dour, lifeless film that leaves those familiar with the material perplexed, and those ignorant of it downright clueless.

Sad, sorry remake.

Charmless, unfrightening, and even devoid of the requisite gratuitous nudity, Anaconda just plain bites.

A colorful mess, all style and substances and little else.

There are some moments of blessed levity to the otherwise mordant melodramatics...That's not enough to sustain interest in the Taylors and their toxic emotional foibles, however.

The Resort is an unfortunate mess of a first film that at one point in time would have maybe found a second life on a video store shelf next to the likes of Turistas and The Ruins, but is destined to be swallowed up by the endless abyss of VOD.

Avildsen is a master at pulling populist heartstrings, Johnny Clegg provides the African music which is so essential to the movie's plot and the panoramic shots of the veldt are frequently breathtaking. But these things alone do not a good movie make.

When Dangerous Beauty grows up, it wants to be a Merchant/Ivory film. Too bad puberty is still such a long way off.

There is running, hiding, fighting, shooting, bleeding, biting, slicing, dicing, and damnably little entertainment value in any of it.

G.I. Joe was not screened for critics, but that’s not because of its mindless action and nonsensical plot. It’s because G.I. Joe is the kind of movie that bludgeons the viewer into submission with its loud and constant barrage of sound and fury.

You have the makings of a half-baked thriller that looks pretty good (that second-unit stuff in Mexico City is tight) and performances that aren’t half-bad, but at the end of the day it’s some neo-noir nonsense that makes those post-Tarantino movies from the mid-Nineties look like "Chinatown." No mames.

San Andreas, by its very nature, begs, borrows, and outright steals from other, occasionally better, disaster epics.

There’s a hollowness to its beauty, as much as there is with its messaging.

Story is entirely insignificant in The Clone Wars.

Calling The Unborn a dull, plodding, exposition-crammed slog through a twilight of barely maintained tedium is like calling "Valkyrie" a yawn. It's too easy.

If ever America needed Hollywood to crank out a comedic antidote to the toxic political madness that has engulfed our nation, now is the time. Unfortunately, this loopy, muddled, and ultimately insulting Campaign isn't it. It feels more like an extended Saturday Night Live-meets-FunnyOrDie.com castoff than an actual comedic commentary on American politics.

With all the violence in the world lately, it seems perverse to insert so much male aggression into what is supposed to be a fun holiday movie. When Roger (Cena) roars onto the scene in his very large truck, it’s testosterone overload.

What goes most wrong is the casting. Every facet of Faris' performance feels off.

It's too bad Shafer spent his budget making a fiction feature instead of just shooting a documentary about the scene. So much of the film is melodramatic kitsch, but there's still a movie in here.

It's a helluva comic book, to be sure, but it's a godawful mess of a movie.

The whole thing reeks of sequelitis, with an emphasis on the rude and crude.

Aggressively unfunny and unromantic, Valentine’s Day’s chief concern appears to have been the corralling of its cast of a thousand stars; it seems far less attention was paid to what to do with that cast once assembled.

Don’t Breathe 2 is a horrific and delusional sequel to its predecessor, a tight thriller that had grounded, down on their luck characters, and a film that knew when to pull out the big guns so the audience would root for its unlikeable lead.

This movie simply reeks.

The story, based on the novel by motivational speaker Jim Stovall, throws every emotional stimulus into the pot, and the result is a deep desire for those Hollywood execs to remember that Christian doesn't have to equal brain-dead.

At times it's almost like "Lord of the Flies," with the camera serving as the flypaper dipped in the honey of the promised land of celebrity.

This space invaders stuff is, like, so 1981.

Effects-driven chills rarely work as well these days as good old-fashioned audience imagination (a fact firmly driven home by the breakaway success of The Blair Witch Project). Unfortunately, De Bont has wedged so much bang-pow drivel in his film that it ends up being about as tantalizing as a desiccated Gummi Bear.

Mr. Holland's Opus is the kind of movie that only a person who really doesn't like movies could love. It's a movie whose grandiose swagger is meant as compensation for its message about the resignation of the human spirit to smaller gratifications and vistas.

As for Legion, well, if you've seen one plague of flies and death and angels at war with each other, you've seen 'em all.

It begins in a muddle and ends in confusion.

Shamlessly dumb movie.

Maybe it’s time for Woo to finally make that musical he keeps talking about.

New in Town might have better played on the less demanding stage of, say, a Lifetime made-for-TV movie.

Holy hell, having to sit through nearly three hours of M:I making like Ethan Hunt is the Messiah is not just exhausting: It’s a total misread of what makes these movies so fun. What a bummer.

Most unforgivable, however, is the film's coda in which real Georgian victims pose for the camera with pictures of their loved ones lost in the five days of war. Using real people to impart the emotions that the entire film was unable to evince is simply cheap exploitation.

Less subversive and infinitely less intelligent than 1999’s Wahlberg-starrer "Three Kings," this movie does blow lots of s--- up real good and punish contemptible public figures otherwise left unaccountable for massacring African villagers.

After years of wandering in the wilderness of artistic obscurity – like Vincent van Gogh – misunderstood comic genius Adam Sandler has finally found his audience: 3-year-olds. It makes perfect sense, really.

In short, it's nothing you haven't seen countless times before and, while it's not offensively bad, it also adds zero to the same old routine. Meh.

As the film's central focal point, Simpson (who also co-wrote the script) is an awful zero – you could hardly imagine a more uncharismatic lead – and his embarrassing swings at big emotion in the climax prove the final blow to a film already hobbled by mawkishness.

The vulgarity is so over-the-top and the decent jokes too few and far between.

Dull and meandering documentary.

Stupendously dull and infuriatingly obtuse.

These are boys and girls on their very best behavior, which doesn't sound like any prom you or I remember.

This is one movie best left unattached.

Cooper acquits himself as the main character, but between the pratfall/character-building montages and the endless platitudes imparted by the wise, old mentor, Measure of a Man does him few favors, and the film becomes a tedious haul through to the redemptive third act.

There are kernels here of a thoughtful and provocative picture, but they never pop – or POP!, for that matter.

One might expect that with such low goals the film might have at least hit its target more often than it does. Schneider's mugging is relentless and his constant need to suddenly transpose himself into another character undermines the story's continuity and progression.

This kind of angel stuff is classic Hollywood fare, especially at Christmastime. Thus, it's all the more wonder that director Nora Ephron has missed and mishandled so many of her cues.

It’s important to note that Breathe was produced by the Cavendishes’ son Jonathan, who co-owns a production company with Serkis. I suppose not everyone sees their parents for the flawed humans that they are, but in this case, things would be a lot more interesting if they did.

Loud, abrasive, and featuring performances seemingly calibrated to be heard over the cacophonous roar of Travolta's mad, bad overacting.

Only the underplaying Selleck gets out of this with any dignity, while O’Hara is totally wasted as Jen’s one-note tippling mom.

Anodyne and asinine in equal measures, The Violent Heart is just brainless.

A twist ending in search of its movie.

A moribund Harrison Ford vehicle, stodgily dull, and seemingly endless in its monotony.

Mostly, New Year's Eve is appalling stuff, a poorly constructed, sentimental sham. Auld lang suck.

What else can I say about a movie in which even a brilliant artist like H.R. Giger repeats himself… except that besides a few random moments, Species just doesn't make the grade and also manages to waste a fine cast along the way.

It's not really a matter of Nancy's retro look and grounding in the fundamentals of sleuthing that separates the women from the girls but, rather, this film's lack of gaiety and surprise that makes it dud for old and new generations of the books' fans.

There is no denying that being parentless during the Great Depression called for a lot of resilience, but 12 Mighty Orphans’ underdog story unfortunately plays out to farce levels of entertainment.

Atlas won't be the only one to shrug off this tiresome load.

Quite possibly, this could have been a hit back in 1975 or so, and almost certainly for Blake Edwards, but here and now it's just a puzzling aberration.

Less a Nic Cage movie than a movie with an extended cameo by Nic Cage in a “finely crafted” paper hat (!), this Greek/Cypriot co-production mixes mediocre martial artistry with a sci-fi spin and ends up a puzzlement to both genres.

"Here Comes the Bomb" would've been a more fitting title, but props to Henry Winkler for rising to the occasion and turning in a sweet, idealistic performance in a film that otherwise feels like a tawdry commercial for the UFC and MMA.

Love Happens? It depends on your definition of “love.” And “happens.” There isn’t much of either in this predictable, putzy drama.

The Protégé suffers from its predictability and lack of nuance. Despite a somewhat promising if well-worn plot, the characters and performances can’t seem to catch up.

The movie sucks. It has an idiot story.