Has the sex appeal of a Road Runner cartoon, one-tenth the laughs and equal plausibility.

Delivers more of what the original promised, with the crudity index up one notch and the humor index down quite a few.

What starts as a cute premise crashes faster than a skateboard with an oak branch shoved between its wheels.

Puts more miles on plot that was worn out long ago.

The "Puppetoonish" characters in Hoodwinked didn't bother me: They're primitive and inexpressive, but their personalities come through. In fact, the problem is that their personalities do come through: They're all wackily sarcastic, unfunny nonentities.

The outtakes prove Analyze That could have been even worse.

As in most cheap futuristic movies, everything is dark or illuminated by a drab bluish glow. The buildings look grubbily similar to each other, so every location has to be identified onscreen. Of course, that saves the audience the trouble of paying attention.

This movie is made by and for people who don't care about good storytelling.

Ambiguity can enrich a movie, but artists abdicate their responsibilities if they don't take a stance of any kind.

Without a philosophical payoff, without characters whose relationships resonate in our hearts, without explanations for situations that beg for explanations, what are we left with? To quote another great writer of battle scenes: "a tale full of sound and fury, told by an idiot, signifying -- nothing."

Allen's laziness is startling, even in so mechanical a filmmaker. He uses a monotonous narrator to tell us what the characters think and do, though he then shows them performing the actions that have just been described.

It begins as energetic, clichéd nonsense and ends as irritating, clichéd nonsense.

A Frankenstein's monster of a movie: clumsy, patched together from parts that don't align properly, desperate to be loved, destined to be chased by mobs with pitchforks - those will be the critics - until it stumbles into its grave.

Solace is especially frustrating when it moves down interesting paths, then stops.

It took four years to come up with this? Someone needed that long to assemble this patchy, recycled collection of gags about stinky butts, superfreaks, finger-wide blunts and racial cliches?

It's marginally possible that Nancy Drew is spoofing high school adventure movies, and I almost hope so. Otherwise, it's unwatchable on every level.

The best way to sit through Max Payne is by using minimal brain.

If they decided not to give us Camelot, did they have to leave us with so Camelittle?

Ridley Scott and Russell Crowe attempt light romantic comedy in A Good Year, and the results are as grindingly discordant as a punk band writing a suite of waltzes.

Flat as a Moravian cookie, flat as a sailor's wallet after a month in port, flat as the average European's impression of the Earth in A.D. 800.

I once said I'd watch Chiwetel Ejiofor act in any piece of disposable fluff, and now I have.

Movies can certainly be worse than bad sitcoms, and this is one of them.

Abbott, Petroni and director Michael Rymer do exploit the visual and aural cliches of vampire movies from the last 20 years: The creatures wear tattoos, shave their heads, listen to blistering rock and dress in black leather. For a band of societal outsiders, they're pathetically conformist.

Heavy-handed symbolism permeates the picture, down to the leading lady's name.

Cowardice and cliché - not a tasty combination.

As a film, it's flabby and utterly predictable.

Speed Racer is chaotic as a six-ring circus, gaudy as a transvestites convention and soullessly cute as a robot puppy.

As lame as a three-legged mule.