It is a loud yet lifeless movie, with threadbare tropes and useless 3-D. You're better off picking up a controller and directing your own story.

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

Fool’s Gold is the latest romantic comedy from Tennant, who is very possibly the worst director working in Hollywood today. "Fools Rush In." "Ever After." "Sweet Home Alabama." Hitch: I ask you, has anyone done more in the last 10 years to make love seem totally unappetizing?

This Red Riding Hood loses sight of the forest for the trees on its way to Grandma's house.

Bruce Willis shows up, in full Bruce “yippee-ki-yay, mofo” Willis mode, to little effect, and while Hudson’s sassy camp follower is a hoot, there are just too many narratively bizarre subplots falling out all over the place.

Not even this sprightly cast can buck the privileged sense of entitlement that bedevils this movie. Don’t count on the impish humor that Simon Pegg has unleashed so successfully in other movies to save the day.

No doubt this film will please the pre-teen set, but they'd be so much better off staying home and renting "Mean Girls."

The marketing weasels over at Disney deserve to have their beady little eyes gouged out with flaming icicles for the fast one they've pulled on audiences with Snow Dogs.

Regrettably, The Postman is just one more reminder of what a nonfactor sincerity often is in terms of artistic merit.

Shabby, nondescript hack job.

It's a curiously dull Americanization of one of the finest examples of subtle, moody J-horror out there.

Already hobbled by an overwrought story that turns positively Hallmark-Movie-preposterous in its third act, journeyman director Michael Hoffman (Soapdish, The Last Station) can’t conceive of a single memorable set-piece or rouse his actors into action. By the time Marsden’s character has very polite sex with the love of his life with his pants still on, I was done.

The tonal disconnect between the subtext and the delivery leaves this Animal Farm wobbling like the first time Napoleon tries to walk on two legs.

Batman & Robin fails to engage the spirit of Batman, Robin, or decent marketing in general, and instead ends up as a limp, excruciatingly shallow knockoff that leaves viewers cringing at the unavoidable one-liners that make up the better part of the script.

A lot of gunk: dance-offs, sing-alongs, awkward exes, and a dirty-talking White blasting through, I'm afraid, the last bits of her novelty. That again?

Like "Reservoir Dogs" by way of Ned Flanders, Mercy Streets is as earnest as Vacation Bible School and somewhat more cinematic.

It's a bad movie that only a parent could love.

The only question audiences are likely to be asking their higher power in the wake of viewing the film is, "What the fuck?"

Hitman: Agent 47 is a film that bears nothing but a passing resemblance to the game that spawned it, but that shouldn’t surprise anyone, as it’s all just a cash grab, anyway. No choice but to wash, rinse, repeat: cha-ching.

There's little to recommend this movie, which is part and parcel with Marshall's schlock-dominated body of work.

The sequel is not as bad as the original, but it doesn't have to be much to accomplish that small feat and it isn't.

Australian actor Courtney does the honors as the younger McClane, skillfully matching Willis in action sequences, one-liners, and more extended repartee.

Meandering, sub-aquatic mess: It's so bad it's good, but only if you slide in on a freebie.

Unfortunately, for a number of reasons, the movie does not work, though it's difficult to sort out the “what is” from the “what was” and “what might have been.”

Even the dependable Rickman can't find his footing here. As he lamely hams it up, you can see him trying to rally himself and then deciding it's not worth the effort.

Perhaps these are dark times, both onscreen and off, but even if they are not, London Has Fallen is an hour-and-a-half of viciously Us vs. Them, Trump-style bad filmmaking on all known levels.

Moore succeeds, even though the film as a whole does not fare as well.

A hackneyed police story, rife with clichés, implausibilities, and weak performances.

Overall, Just Married doesn't really take -- it has a shelf life about as short as the disastrous honeymoon -- but in the moment, it's cute, if corny. It'll do.

Highlander 3 has an edge over its prequels in that it's so shoddily directed that it's probably a great deal of fun to watch after a couple of six-packs. Actually, that's probably the only time it might be fun to watch, and I'm not going to be the guy to put that theory to the test for you.

Here's hoping someone breaks down and buys Brocka some more toys, if only to distract him from embarking on another flesh-and-blood production.

Compadres feels less like an actual movie and more like a half-dozen movies thrown together, and absolutely nothing sticks.

If someone had spent half as much time thinking about the characters in Airborne as thinking about what filters to apply to the camera, then there might have been a semi-decent teen action movie here.

The investigation is dull, the jokes dispiritingly flat-footed, with Ponch’s sex addiction and squirminess over male intimacy supplying most of the setups for CHIPS’ puerile humor.

You’d think the sordid history of the Winchester house would have inspired a more evocative or even entertaining haunted house story but the Spierigs rely far too much on the sort of shock-cut du jour that has become the lazy and boring norm for so many PG-13 “horror” films of the past 15 years.

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.

Steel's target audience of 12-year-old boys would be better off staying home and busying themselves at traditional, character-enriching activities: sniping at family pets with BB guns, playing Nintendo, and masturbating.

In all fairness, the sheer, overwhelming mediocrity of everything about Pandorum – Travis Milloy's hackneyed, ultra-derivative script, Alvart's plodding pacing and dull direction, even the eventual crimson tide of gore that duly arrives just in time to keep audience members over the age of 13 from dozing off – may well constitute a new breed of horror: In space, no one can hear you snore.

I’m not saying there isn’t comic gold to be mined in the topic of cunnilingus and the senior set, but The Big Wedding couldn’t hit pay dirt even if it face-palmed the film first.

The first film was near-mythic in its tone and treatment of its characters, while this remake barely serves as a primer in how not to generate suspense.

This biting parody of flyover-state beauty contests feels like a bad made-for-TV movie of the week.

The storylines are as confusing (or as simple?) to the uninitiated as they were before, but that doesn't stop them from making sense to the kids.

The story is both simplistic and telegraphed, which is handy because some startlingly inept filmmaking makes the action almost impossible to follow. There are multiple sequences that make no sense to the eye or brain, and basic design and costume decisions that make it nearly impossible to tell characters apart from each other. The only true horror here is that there’s another couple of hours of this still to come.

If you really want the kids to see a colorfully cryptic meta fairy tale, be subversive and go rent 'em some Alejandro Jodorowsky. No child deserves Happily N'Ever After.

The Christian faith-based film genre takes a dramatic leap forward with 90 Minutes in Heaven, a well-appointed work based on Don Piper’s bestseller, that, for a change, doesn’t look and sound as though it was written, performed, and recorded in some church basement.

The real shocker is how hellishly yawn-inducing this utterly pointless and forgettable Haunting turns out to be. It's enough to make you scream.

Unfortunately, this kind of sledgehammer comedy has worn thin over the many years since Mack Sennett first hit on it.

Makes for fruitful soul-fishing but lousy drama.

Forgotten or subject to overkill as they are here, veterans still get the shaft.

It's all a bit of overkill.

Things do not end well, least of all for the audience.

When the Bough Breaks could have offered some cheap thrills, but it ends up a neutered, paint-by-numbers snoozefest, not even worthy for cable syndication.

Adults may respond with a laugh every once in a while, but they’re unlikely to find Fifty Shades of Black a nonstop titter fest.

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

What's interesting about typical Hollywood Christmas movies is that regardless of how crass, vulgar, or mean-spirited they may be, by the last scene they will inevitably try to wrap viewers in a blanket of warm seasonal cheer.

White is cast in this film as a “guardian angel” and adds another level of painful homosexual confusion and stereotyping to the film. Ultimately, all the chafing caused by Gentlemen Broncos is likely to leave you saddlesore.

Rather than rising above the fray, Madea is very much the fray itself.

Even though it’s fair to say that Pixels is on steadier ground than most of Sandler’s recent comedies, the film is nevertheless flat-footed and grows tedious after the first hour.

Head Over Heels whitewashes the originality and, well, weirdness Waters showed in his first film, although it's impossibe to imagine anything starring young poster-pups Potter and Prinze Jr. could be particularly edgy.

Kids will revolt, parents will snooze, and I will be downright giddy if I never encounter another Pokémon movie as long as I live. Ack!

Great movies can make you believe in a life beyond the frame; Zen Noir can't even convince you that what you're seeing onscreen is actually happening.

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.

The Perfect Man is like Teen People come to life. It's perfectly PG, and it's probably not the worst thing a young lady could see, depending on your criteria. Cinematically, it's like watching your lawn grow.

Get out your handkerchiefs. No, scratch that -- get out a pair of windshield wipers and staple them to your brow. Perhaps they'll obscure the screen.

Delgo is a dud.

Even the youngest members of the audience appeared to be more interested in their dwindling soda supply than anything up on the screen. Yabba dabba doom.

Nearly as much fun as a case of scabies, Beverly Hills Ninja transports the viewer into a mystical realm where pratfall is king and mediocrity is its own reward.

You'd have to be a real a..hole to hate this movie, loaded as it is with adorable animals. Sadly the task falls to me.

Most Americans will be unfamiliar with the late British writer Kyril Bonfiglioli’s Mortdecai novels, on which this Johnny Depp comedy is based; still, no reference point is required to come to the conclusion this is a rotten movie all around.

This is the feature-length equivalent of an R-rated gag reel from a mainstream Muppets feature. While it might be fun  – and maybe even cathartic  –  for the puppeteers to cut loose with some sophomoric humor, the film never finds that next gear to locate these jokes in contrast to something, anything.

Neither all that scary nor all that hilarious, Vampire in Brooklyn falls directly between the two, into the valley of mediocrity.

Have we such short memories that we have already forgotten last year's feeble "Johnson Family Vacation?"

This movie is what might happen if "Grey’s Anatomy" crossed frequencies with "What Lies Beneath," but that actually sounds like it might be good, and this is not.

The problem lies with the unimaginative story premise and the quip/reverse quip dialogue that just may be better-suited to half-hour television shows than this nearly 2½-hour movie feature.

A forgettable and lackluster fish-out-of-water rom-com.

Functions mainly as a big-screen showcase for America's No. 1 teen tease, with the story and other characters serving mainly as accessories.

As middling comedies go, this is neither as smart as it ought to be nor as dumb as you'd expect.

Utterly devoid of merit, fantastic or otherwise, a more exasperating descent into the feline world is difficult to imagine.

Her mortal story seems one of sadness rather than inspiration.

Yet another clunky thriller predicated on having Liam Neeson afford it some form of legitimacy, this Mark Williams-directed film is part political intrigue, part actioner, part family drama – all destined for the bargain bin.

Considerably less of a thrillgasm than playing "Frogger" blindfolded.

With his doughy face and oversized features, Travolta seems like a giant puppet these days. The lanky stud from "Urban Cowboy" or even the cool killer from "Pulp Fiction" are hazy memories amidst his over-the-top performance from the school of freak-out acting.

This latest entry is simply dumb, dull, and pointless.

This is an unpleasant film, but Argento, whose bloodline positively seethes with unpleasantness, is, in her own right, a master cinematic stylist of the first order.

Nobody of Chan's legendary stature should ever have to play second banana to George Lopez, and certainly not in a film that was already made five years ago with Vin Diesel (see: The Pacifier).

It’s all too bland, the smooth-crotched erotic thriller equivalent of banging a G.I. Joe and a Barbie together.

It’s like being haunted by outsized chimney sweeps that never bathe. And for the most part, it’s about that scary.

Failed feminist statement or not, Coyote Ugly is a likable, if confused film.

It's not particularly fun, or funny, for starters.

Long distance information? Get me Hollywood, USA: I’ve got a rusty ice pick to bury in the gullet of whoever greenlighted this pointless exercise in masturbatory tedium.

Watching this all-too-predictable romantic comedy/drama, my overwhelming thought was this: Given all the great filmmakers and film projects that can't find funding, how did this effort secure its reported $35 million for production?

The interfacing of the two-dimensional and three-dimensional characters is so shabbily accomplished that it makes you start noticing all the other technical glitches in the work.

Such a monumentally bad remake of such an exceptionally chilling genre favorite.

The real crime here is that Let's Go to Prison made a daring escape from direct-to-video stir into the relative freedom of your neighborhood multiplex. Consider this one disarmed and extremely pointless.

Very nearly as entertaining as watching a potato bake.

Unspeakably awful.

A dark comedy caught in a white-light washout, it's neither mean enough to be funny, nor funny enough to mean much.

What's disappointing, especially considering Swati's background in dance, is how static the film feels, and how lumpen the story becomes.