It boggles the mind that Saddam Hussein and assorted cohorts have finally won their rightful place in the global noose while various and sundry villains associated with this third entry in the Santa Claus franchise of flaccidly feel-good, winter nostrums will no doubt be allowed to walk the Earth with nary a qualm nor backward glance.

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

By film's end I was fantasizing that Peter Stormare would drop by with his "Fargo" wood-chipper in tow, but it was not to be. Appalling.

The kind of winking, disingenuous youth comedy that tries to play it both ways, dangling the twins as fetish objects and then yanking them back on the leash because, you know, this is a family film.

Wiper doesn't exploit the possibilities of his setting, so the only conflict is the fighting, the only suspense comes from waiting for the next character to pop out from behind a tree and do something possibly interesting.

Lawnmower Man 2: Beyond Cyberspace is a bad movie, wrongheaded in its concept and empty in its execution.

Avoid it like the plagues.

Jawdroppingly bad, this adaptation of Michael Crichton's 1980 novel about a talking ape named Amy and a fabled lost city deep in the jungles of central Africa is as sophisticated in execution as a Jungle Jim movie.

SM5 tanked opening weekend, which may toll the knell for this property.

To be fair, at least Old captures the sense of time passing past too fast: Rarely have I felt more like my life was slipping away in the cinema.

I really think the entire payoff to the Chipmunks' gambit comes in those inevitable moments when Dave bellows in exasperation, "Alvin." Maybe if we all bellow in unison it will be forceful enough to put an end to this painful film franchise.

This is a strange, unfunny, and unmoving boxing riff that simultaneously apes the hoary templates of Thirties and Forties fisticuffs films, nails cliches, and telegraphs its eventual outcome at every opportunity. A remarkably uninspired movie overall, Grudge Match is pure pablum melodrama all the way down to the final count.

It's relentlessly bad in a way that just makes those theatre seats plain uncomfortable.

Not one of these new-fangled Christian movies that camouflages its proselytizing with decent storytelling and filmmaking technique. Time Changer is clunky, repetitive, and ham-handed.

It's just the most inept filmmaking you can catch in theatres right now, or probably all year long.

One of the Peking Opera-trained superstar's most mediocre films, rivaling last year’s God-awful "The Tuxedo" for sheer messy filmmaking and brazen acts of tedium... Abysmal.

Guaranteed to inspire many more belly laughs than it does actual shivers. Boo, scary? I think not.

As the straight-man virgin, Cregger is almost entirely devoid of personality; as his hyperkinetic sidekick, Moore may have the most unlikable personality in movie history.

This film is unquestionably the most unromantic and downright despairing romcom since "Made of Honor" or, possibly, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"

A listless family comedy and bland morality primer.

Exploitation fans will be disappointed to see that Roy Frumkes, who wrote the incredible cult favorite Street Trash and directed the excellent documentary Document of the Dead, and Alan Ormsby, who collaborated with Bob Clark on his forgotten classics Deathdream, Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things, and Deranged, were partly responsible for The Substitute's abysmal screenplay.

The Devil Inside offers proof, if any were needed, that demons run rampant in Hollywood, possessing otherwise intelligent and creative people to make absolutely shitty "gotcha!" mockumonstrosities like this one.

It's so unreal it hurts.

It's cheap and it's lowdown, and to those responsible for this exercise in devolution: Honestly, I'm not sure I want to know someone like you.

Stay Alive has none of the vicarious thrills of, say, "Konami: Silent Hill 2." It's barely even Pong unplugged.

Hey, guys, when you repurpose a disco hit to poke fun at gay men, not only do you look like assholes, you look like assholes who rip their jokes off of YouTube.

This utterly mediocre forget-me-now could've been crafted by any faceless serial director at all. The shame of it is that the man behind the camera is Wes Craven when, by all rights, it should have been Alan Smithee.

What’s most dispiriting about this garbage burger is its nonsensical characterization of Blart himself.

Macdonald is unaccountably bland here, which is unexpected since his lo-level, monotone snottiness is usually at least good for a grin or two. With Dirty Work though, he's fashioned an 80-minute harangue out of 10 minutes of material, an SNL sketch gone horribly awry, and one that drags on long after its daily ration of humor has been exhausted.

Hopefully, someone will grab the torch and, if not run with it, at the very least track down and set fire to the highly combustible prints of this inexcusably inept yawn-a-thon - it's not so much bad as it is unfathomable.

Surrogates' morality is less Asimov than asinine, although it's bizarrely reassuring, in a nihilistic sort of way, to believe that in the future, when the world is ready to play The Sims for real (so to speak), our avatars are all going to look like generic porn stars with shitty airbrush jobs.

Barely worthy of a legitimate theatrical release.

A dreadfully misguided movie.

Religious dramas have a track record of prioritizing wholesome values at the cost of production values, and while Left Behind is mostly too preoccupied with being a hoary thriller to preach to the converted, it’s a thoroughly laughable attempt to marry bombast with sermonizing.

Mainly offers fodder for tweens who fantasize about glamorous Los Angeles lifestyles where everyone is skinny, rich, and on Prozac. It's a film where gays and minorities not only fit into stereotypes, but embrace them.

Longtime World of Warcraft players should and likely will storm the cineplex gates, burn the castle down, and salt the earth (and screenwriters) from whence this abomination sprung. Me, I’m going to chill out and download 1982’s top-notch "The Sword and the Sorcerer."

Miami Connection is the sort of film that rarely sees the light of day anymore – a really bad, totally inept mess that reeks of more ambition than talent.

This is pop pornography, sex and violence without meaning. If you can't figure out the way Striking Distance is going in the first few minutes, it just means you've already fallen asleep.

This is a vastly inferior toy-to-film IP expansion, with duller songs, dumber jokes, and forgettable voice work.

The plot in Mr. Nanny is flimsy, mostly tenuous excuses for making Hogan kiss a doll or sing a lullaby or dress in purple leotards and pink tutu while whomping on the bad guys. But so many things in the story make so little sense that you have to ask yourself why the people involved in the project weren't asking themselves more questions from the get-go.

The comic equivalent of a lump of coal.

With all the wrong Stealing Harvard has done, it at least bestows one gift upon its audience: the gift of forgettableness.

Come to think of it, it's a lot like the departed shade of a better, longer movie, hovering in tatters before us, vanishing when we blink. When you look into this abyss, it yawns back at you.

Now I realize my confessed appreciation for Kids will thoroughly bugger my credibility in describing Gummo with phrases like “appalling,” “gratuitously cruel,” and “exploitative,” but the unmitigated repulsiveness of this film pretty much rules out all subtler options.

There's no getting around how dreadful Twelve is – how tone deaf it is to its young protagonists and how vapid its ersatz production design seems.

Perhaps one of the most unbearable viewing experiences of the year, complete with a formulaic script, lousy acting, and muddled direction.

Wimmer has now twice disproved his ability to rehash old scripts through his terrible updatings of Total Recall and Point Break. Now he exhibits zero visual skill as writer/director of Children of the Corn, an unwatchable reboot of Stephen King's 1977 short story about a blood cult of rural Nebraskan kids who slaughter all adults to the monstrous He Who Walks Behind the Rows.

Simply put, Battlefield Earth is the worst film I've seen in over 10 years, and believe me, that's saying a lot.

When teamed with her former husband, the director James Cameron, Hurd produced some of the most memorable action films of the Eighties, including The Terminator and Aliens. Her first collaborative effort with new husband De Palma, however, has produced one of the worst efforts from a major talent in a long while.

Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Road Chip has sporadic laughs for the under-10 set and absolutely nothing for the poor parents sitting next to them.

There are bad movies, and there’s Boat Trip, a puerile comedy so appalling and unfunny, it’s like contracting the Norwalk virus at sea.

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.

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

It boggles the mind that The Legend of Chun-Li is as vapid and dull as it is.

Packs all the spine-tingling punch of a soggy bag of mulch.

A sorry excuse for a movie, and director Davis (CB4, Guncrazy) and star Sandler should be very embarrassed.

Not only is the franchise growing hoary, by now it's become downright laughable, leaving Lethal Weapon 4 feeling more like a bad Fox sitcom than anything else.

Hall Pass has half the right idea: Scratch out "Hall," and just … pass.

Far and away, one of the most tedious, uninspired offerings thus far (and, worst of all, the door is left open for yet another pointless sequel).

Do yourself and your kids a favor, parents, and head to "Spy Kids" instead.

It’s both too much and not enough, an unsatisfying blood-and-guts B-movie with all the goonish, grindhouse fun eviscerated out of it.

A well-meaning but ineptly made message movie.

I'd be hard-pressed to name another recent film so deeply noxious, soul-sick, and unfunny.

The amazing thing in Ropelewski's film is just how much of this lowest-common-denominator pabulum has been recycled from the foul spillage of the previous two films. Once again, needlessly, we're treated to lengthy scenes of the family singing and clowning about with treacly plasticity, fantasizing, dreaming, whining, mewling... it's all too much, grating on your nerves and leaving you desperately in need of a healthy dose of cinematic sanity. Or, at the very least, genuine humor.

Jovovich, who's shown sensitivity in her dramatic work, looks spectacularly bored as she power-kicks her way through one bloody pile-up after another. That boredom, like the mystery virus at the center of the film, is contagious.

It's dead in the water.

A knockoff in everything from style to story, it also suffers from 3-D effects that are dim and underwhelming, a maddeningly obtuse storyline, and performances that could have used some serious Herbert West-style reanimation.

Valentine succeeds only in boring you to death.

Boasting that your film features "two of the six writers of Scary Movie," as this film's marketing campaign does, is like bragging that you came in second in the annual Bulwer-Lytton Bad Fiction Contest.

A gruesome whodunit that's missing more than a few brain cells.

The top-line talent, particularly Thornton and Rourke, do manage to hold our attention with idiosyncratic performances, but most of the others are a jumble of fair-haired, disaffected boys.

Excruciating in the extreme, this is the nadir of urban comedies thus far: a trashy, crass, and painfully unfunny airline disaster of a film.

The confusion it mistakes for true soul-searching is about as realistic a look at the politics of youthful attraction as one of those "Did somebody say McDonald's?" commercials is a look at mainstream American family values. Did somebody say McCheese?

Somewhere along the road to becoming teens idols, these actors got confused between being the bomb -- and getting it.

Certain to be distasteful to children and adults alike, Eight Crazy Nights is a total misfire.

Unforgivably tedious tale.

But bad, this film's so bad! To flub the fans' most beloved butcher boy.

I'm not gonna sugarcoat this: Movies don't have to be this bad.

Whether their goal is to nourish the faithful or lure the heathens is not always clear. The only thing that's clear is that The Last Sin Eater serves neither of these higher purposes.

Interminably unfunny, this holiday offering about how the three Firpo brothers learn the true meaning of Christmas from the inhabitants of the quaint small town whose bank they've robbed is something of a crime itself.

A piece of garbage and the best argument for reading books since the first pop-up appeared.

If Never Die Alone had even a smidgeon of comic relief (or even, say, a bunch of zombies) to offset some of its relentlessly downbeat brutality, it might have been at best tolerable. But it doesn't, and it's not.

Part unfunny sitcom, part post-"Gigli" career resurrection strategy, and all bad.

Seriously, audiences do not need another constant reminder that their lives are slipping away. Just watching Mercy will have them reconsidering their priorities.

All the advance signs looked discouraging, but I still kept thinking: How bad could a comedy starring Eddie Murphy and Jeff Goldblum really be? Well, let's put it this way … you won't ever hear me asking that particular question again.

Operation Dumbo Drop is a disastrous miscalculation that leaves the viewer with only one burning thought: “What the hell were they thinking?”

The only entities hoodwinked by this animated sequel are paying customers.

Shamelessly dull.

Very nearly as entertaining as watching a potato bake.

Unspeakably awful.

A singularly distasteful campus romp.

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!

No originality, no memorable characters, no comic timing, and no good jokes equal no fun for the audience.

Not content to merely be lowbrow and stupid – there's room in the world for lowbrow and stupid mass entertainment – the film is pushy and might actually cause chafing.

Listless, dull, and totally lacking in spectacle.

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

This dragon, sadly, is DOA.

This movie is a mess: It keeps doubling back on itself – a twisting pretzel of a plot that doesn’t really make sense.