Everything about the film seems to have been done on the cheap. The music sounds like it came from a high school band.

The writers supply character traits that seem to point toward a pay-off but never reach one. People all end up as tight-lipped, indistinguishable automatons who plummet 50 feet down jagged rocks with scarcely a scratch.

Repeated lapses in continuity and common sense.

Though the writing doesn't work, you have to give Burns credit for shrewd direction. He gets the best performances I've seen from Graham and Murphy.

It starts as enjoyable B-movie pulp, degenerates to camp, then turns into laughable lunacy.

Sandler proves even a hardened Israeli secret service agent can be an imbecilic juvenile.

It's theoretically possible to make a fascinating film about a thieving, self-indulgent, freebasing, treacherous scumbag who pimps his girlfriend to a gangster and contributes nothing to society. Wonderland isn't that film.

If this project is some kind of huge in-joke, I’m willing to admit I didn’t get it. But if I did get it (and I’m afraid I did), it’s a huge disappointment.

A frenzied, cacophonic cartoon.

This picture has an ugly habit of humiliating Bridget, which "Diary" did not.

Without a plausible script, crisp dialogue or rounded characters, the majority of the picture will sag gracelessly.

Director Chris Robinson moves his camera aimlessly, cutting in and out of speeches as if he were just as bored as I.

Most painfully, the semi-alert Owen and the leaden Aniston go together like sausages and syrup.

This stale, redundant story goes round in the same tight circles, revealing one piddling new secret and containing one unconvincing change of character.

The truly appalling thing, though, is the stupidity of the screenplay by Richard Kelly.

What's the message: that women must remain vigilant about poundage to keep husbands from chasing taut-thighed secretaries? That's a charitable Christmas thought.

A fairy tale full of fascist, Bible-thumping straights, self-deluded and pathetic gay people who deny their impulses, and two honest lesbians who triumph.

Better than you might expect, if you didn't expect it to be any good.

There's nothing more painful than watching comics tank, and Looking for Comedy in a Muslim World is a 95-minute wince.

Of COURSE it's bad. It was always going to be. But it's worse than necessary.

There's one thing to be said for The Perfect Man: It confirms my belief that I'll never need to see another Hilary Duff movie until (1) she turns 30 or (2) she plays a crackhead in "Requiem for a Dream II."

It's almost impossible for a movie to go irrevocably wrong during the opening credits, but the ceaselessly irritating The Jane Austen Book Club does just that.

Hamlet has audacity, intelligence, a provocative visual and musical style, virtually no poetry, a garbled story line weakened by savage cutting of the play, and a great yawning hole where a Hamlet ought to be.

The script by Kristofor Brown and Seth Rogen and the direction by Steven Brill have a careless, never-gave-a-damn feel that's as insulting to viewers as the film is dull.

The film's filled with inconsequential scenes and supporting characters who add useless atmosphere or by-the-book diversity.

The assault is against our ears, as the soundtrack pours forth a stream of thrash and Goth music.

The opposite of memorable.

Isn't satisfying or surprising. It doesn't even make sense from scene to scene.