With a sneer and a wink, Drowning Mona plunges us into a fresh deluge of idiotic Americana .

Knockout's heart is in the right place, but it drags because of tedious earnestness and shallow "You go, girl!" feminism.

Nobody involved will want to make this banal "comedy" a highlight of their résumé, not if they have any sense.

Duff isn't exactly known for complex fare, but even "The Lizzie McGuire Movie" was way better than this.

The final showdown between sole survivor and killer is sufficiently well done that you wonder why the rest didn't measure up.

This all-star Euro-indie is stultifyingly torturous.

So utterly awful, you're tempted to build a time machine, then go back in history and try to make sure Ward's parents never meet.

Shoddy and ridiculous.

Peet is still adorable, and a couple of twists enliven the plot, but the jokes are lame, the timing is off, the physical pratfalls are too broad, and there's still no chemistry between Perry and Henstridge.

A blender full of all the juicy nuggets that define Troma films: monsters, mayhem, syrupy bloodletting and gooey head-squishing, transgender mutilations, loads of bad acting by complete freaks, and even more pointless nudity by attractive and unattractive people alike.

Full of conspiracies, all The Skulls lacks is a brain.

First, the good news: Unlike most action film sequels, Speed 2: Cruise Control is not a mere retread of the original. Now the bad news: Better it had been.

Ultimately it's an ugly, insipid rape fantasy, nothing more.

Definitely merits its R rating with a fearless approach that will earn genuine laughs as it turns a few stomachs. Yes, a Rob Schneider movie that's funny. Strange but true.

A work of hilarious, nearly Ed Wood-worthy ineptitude.

Every bit as pathetic and unfunny as it looks.

Generally engaging.

Once you get past the inherent silliness of the premise, what we've got here is actually a deft little chiller, stylishly directed despite the so-so cast.

This lame hostage movie doesn't even deliver for Seagal fans.

Awful narration almost ruins the ghostly, gorgeous Running Free.

Every movie Dugan releases looks like something made on accident--tosses yet another stink bomb into theaters for audiences to sniff over.

Andrew Litvack, whose inability to direct is outweighed only by his inability to write anything remotely witty, enlightening, or engaging. Calling this a farce would be, well, a farce.

As the year stumbles toward its conclusion and critics begin penning their best-and-worst compendiums, here's a holiday contender fit for the all-time Naughty List.

Once the terror ends and the credits roll, we finally get to the best part: a merciful escape.

The pseudo-mystical nonsense in Brian Helgeland's supernatural thriller far outweighs its scare factor.

One presumes the only thing worse than making this disaster is actually watching it; wouldn't wish either on anyone.

Bearable only because, unlike the recent spate of teen films, it's so breezy it barely even registers.

A romantic comedy with neither humor nor sparks between the leads, Marci X attempts to lampoon gangsta rap clichés so obvious they feel ten years old -– “Malibu's Most Wanted” brought more to the table.