On paper, fine; on celluloid, a Rocky Horror Show of nightmarish proportions.

By the time the deathwish duo embark into mountainous terrain, you'll want to hand them a copy of Thelma & Louise's road map —with clearly marked directions to the cliff.

Here both Greenaway's strengths and weaknesses are on show as he toys with the viewers' capacity to ingest blurring metaphors and convoluted content.

Largely, real emotions are substituted here by people swearing and trying to kill each other, which adds up to a shamefully dehumanising piece of work.

Waters' attempt to reach a bigger market sees him lose his own unique identity.

Proof that when you aim for the stars, sometimes you find a black hole. Hopefully just an anomaly for the usually wonderful Gervais.

Boring and Silly, Ronin is a better example of Frankenheimer's direction.

Brilliantly terrible or terribly terrible depending on your viewpoint.

Non-Stop is weak sauce, a cheapie snoozer that not even heavyweights like Neeson and Moore can save.

Ultimately, BMX bikes and Day-Glo elbow pads just ain't cool. One best left to fond memory.

Like a parody of a Jason Statham film, without any of the joy that might imply. This Working Man just doesn’t work.

Dump thriller which trivialises the subject matter.

As bad as cinema gets.

Globe-trotting but not adventurous, action-packed but not remotely exciting, utterly overstuffed and completely paper-thin. Nuke it from orbit.

Very, very low-brow.

In this stereotypically-fuelled moralistic gangster movie, the plot is poor, the acting worse and standing at three hours, proves about three hours too long.

Witless, charmless, teen twaddle. Let's take all prints off the film, and bury them. Don't bother marking the spot with an X.

Dodgy on every level.

Reeves and Ryder work very hard to make Destination Wedding work, but deeply unlikeable characters and a clunky script means there’s no escaping the fact it’s a disappointing misfire.

What sounded like a bad idea before it started shooting, proves such an atrocity that it makes her last effort, The Beverly Hillbillies, look almost Oscar-worthy.

Better avoided unless you're doing a study on vaguely titillating rubbish 80s animation.

It's bad enough to ban on purely artistic grounds.

The kind of film the tabloids will call to ban. Don't take that as a reason to see it.

The first film had its moment of charm, and the cast were good enough to overcome the downright stupidity of the storyline, but this is simply a dreary bore that takes advantage of a terrific cast by moving them about on the screen without giving them anything to do. One long yawn.

It may occasionally shock a laugh from you, but between those moments your face will be a rictus of horror.

A needless threequel. Note to director: avoid 'rise of the' titles.

Dire, B-movie cheese throughout, this gives no clue that Pitt - or anyone else involved - could ever have a career in Hollywood.

This hastily-produced sequel ignores the dreamstalking premise that had made A Nightmare on Elm Street successful and reverts to the overfamiliar possession story.

However you dress it up, laughs where there should be frights is patently piss poor.

All-in-all a fairly unpleasant experience for most audiences.

This deeply disappointing new Fear Street instalment leans too hard into worn-out tropes and excessive gore, at the expense of fun, engaging characters or any genuine scares.

Whatever it is they do so successfully on TV clearly fails to translate to the big screen, particularly when saddled with a script that does no one any favours. Sinbad, as an Afro-heavy 70s throwback, does his best to elevate things, but this stodge is beyond help.

Pointless re-make. One of (the once great) Carpenter's worst.

Another reason to avoid films endorsed by the US military, this is sub-propaganda tosh that inadvertently plays like Hot Shots: Part Trois.

Worse than Scary Movies 1 through 3… And they were terrible.

In the title role, newcomer Smith shows vestiges of an intuitive and moving performance, but he's swamped by a veritable tsunami of sentimentality and hamstrung by cute dialogue.

Sometimes this kind of comedy just goes too far into rubbishness to make it back.

The world can only hope The Swamp Thing's abode is now bulldozered and turned into a shopping mall.

Conceptually, this flop has potential for the satirisation of military responses to an alien threat, but it ís wasted in a loose script whose weaknesses are all the more glaring for the film's inability to exploit the power of absurdity.

One of the problems is that King usually writes about cliche subjects so well that you don’t notice the hackneyed aspects of his books, and so when all the character detail, precise backgrounding and elaborate plot setting-up mechanisms are pruned away, all you get is a dumb TV movie with characters doing insanely stupid things to prolong the agony.

Technically competent, but essentially a fantasy movie that mistakes industrial light for magic. As dragon movies go, Dragonslayer, Reign Of Fire and even Dragonheart can rest easy.

A bizarre, hopelessly muddled fantasy that's likely to induce utter bewilderment in its target audience.

Tonally, Baywatch veers all over the place like a drunk on a speedboat, making for one of the most lacklustre comedies of the year so far.

The Beverly Hillbillies turns into possibly one of the worst transitions ever. With a cast full of nobodies (who are nobodies for good reason, except Eleniak and that's for her breasts) and an uninspired script the whole film is a considerably patchy affair.

Toying with themes too serious for it and stars too big for it, this fantasy is incalculably less than the sum of it's parts.

A waste of space.

Depressing and trivial.

A preposterous premise that never makes sense. A tedious thriller that offers no thrills. An A-list cast reduced to C-list material. Piers Morgan. We can but pray that scientists invent a procedure to remove the memory of ever watching this film in the first place.

Even John C McGinley (Dr. Cox from Scrubs) can't save this lamest of comedies.

All told, a fairly shameful enterprise, displaying a breathtaking paucity of imagination.

But for all her slinky, undead-chic looks, Beckinsale can't carry the film on curves alone and there's not much else here worthy of attention. Evolution's action sequences are as horribly bungled as its plot, resulting in a string of repetitive confrontations that feel toothless even by the last movie’s standards.

The lesson to be learned here is that movies are far more complex than music videos. Most videos require little or no thought of plot, structure or characterisation, but look great. Which is probably why Williams is so good at them.

Gibson's future-world may be a cold one, but it should never be seen as a dull one; this is a missed opporunity.

The first film to be based on a line of toys, this might not be the last, but it'd take something awful to replace it as the worst.

The Hustle buckles under the overbearing weight of its own vulgarity. Avoid the dirty rubble by all means. An embarrassment to the heist genre, an insult to all existing comedies, a disgrace to feminism.

Director Blanks delivers a wholly pedestrian feature debut in this by-numbers teen horror flick that could give you the impression Scream never really happened.

More terrible and tacky than one could have imagined, it will soon be forgotten and consigned to the True Movies channel to play alongside television movies about Karen Carpenter, Jayne Mansfield and Jackie Kennedy.

Indeed, the only bright spot in the film is Amanda Plummer — the wacky object of Robin Williams' desire in The Fisher King — with a brief but memorable cameo here as a futuristic nun who swears like a trooper, carries around a rifle and thinks turning the other cheek is kicking a guy in the balls.

The cinematic equivalent of being teabagged without your consent.

You should feel sorry for the memory of Julia - whose swansong this is - but actually it's Van Damme who commands sympathy.

Utter, unforgivable bilge.

It's incredible that a film could be so closely patterned on Carpenter's still-thrilling original movie and yet be so stupid, unscary and plodding as Halloween 4 is.

The one saving grace is Lloyd, who gives a terrific and lively portrayal despite some horribly sentimental lines. He is the movie's guiding star, a lone bright light in a string of dud bulbs. Otherwise, beware.

However, it is probably the screenplay that is most at fault, and while "Demolition Man" director Brambilla again makes things look okay, his hands are tied with flat dialogue, zero comedy and not much caper, either.

Bottom-rung dreck.

Slap a restriction order on yourself and don't come within ten paces of this hideous concoction.

This is poorly shot, edited and scored, while any acting talent feels wasted.

There are atmospheric shots of billowing thunder clouds, priests on cliff tops, bloody stigmata and moody eclipses, but it all amounts to nothing.

Rubbish. Irish eyes will be hard pressed to grimace, let alone smile.

Could have been T2 with seraphs, or Assault On Precinct 13 crossed with Revelations. Instead, it’s a lazy genre bore. Doesn’t bode well for Priest, the next Stewart/Bettany film in the pipeline.

A big old pile of Smurf.

A twist-burdened techno-thriller that would be by-the-numbers if it could count.

Re-prehensible, re-heated, and certainly not re-commended.

Designed to showcase Culkin at the expense of everyone else, this will have trouble appealing to the adult contingent of the family audience it's aimed at.

You'd think it'd be hilarious. Think again.

Long-delayed. Arguably not long enough.

A clunky, lumbering sequel that, like its masked protagonist, has no redeeming features.

A turkey in crow’s clothing.

Fails on both an emotional and comedic level.

A totally unneeded sequel which does nothing whatsoever for the legacy of the original tale.

Blue Iguana grates on pretty much every level, a misjudged hodge-podge of ill-defined characters, tired filmmaking licks and an air of general unpleasantness. It also contains one of the worst shootouts in recent memory.

Smug and lazy comedy that barely raises a chuckle.

An absolute shambles of a fantasy folly. Overlong, undercooked, and clogged with enough clichés that even its teen target audience will feel disrespected.

Double the dads, but half the laughter.

Disappointing.

Safe when it's ripping genre jokes word for word, this pallid pastiche never goes for the jugular, the heart, or any other part of the audience, for that matter. It breezes by like the tamest of ghosts, almost unnoticeable.

Dismal, cliché-ridden stuff.

An early but strong contender for worst movie of 2008.

Absolute tosh. A ridiculous, unerringly tedious plot is weighed down by listless performances from a cast who clearly wished they were somewhere else, despite the sumptuous locations.

On paper, this could have been excellent; as it stands, it’s painful and futile for all involved. Much like the Afghan conflict itself.

Don't bother.

Van Sant's film is cold and the gallery of eccentrics merely come across as vulgar caricatures.

Like, so lame.

About as funny as contracting cancer.

A toothless, tedious farce which deserves to sink without a trace.

Poor script, poor direction and poor performances mean a dismal 70's disaster movie is the result.

Stereotype-based comedy from Eddie Murphy in a variety of fat suits is just not enough to make a decent film.

Incompetent and mostly just quite boring, Assassin Club doesn’t even have the good grace to be so-bad-it’s-good. Rough, rough stuff.