Clearly, Gomorrah is supposed to represent the best of today’s European cinema...and if this is the best, I would hate to imagine the worst! Gomorrah is a boring mess focusing on how the mob in today’s Naples has its tentacles stretched far and wide

Reflecting on Sokurov’s other recent work – like “Russian Arc” for example – The Sun is a giant step down. It’s an outrageously long-winded drama that’s awfully directed with the skill of a high school play.

Speaking as a reviled straight male, I would say that the only true saving grace about this film is Penelope Cruz's performance.

The new bad movie from Clint Eastwood which takes Dennis Lehane's best-selling thriller and turns it into an inert mess that clocks in at 137 minutes but feels like 137 hours.

The animals are often caught in a stare as if they, too, are looking for the tale that Anderson forgot.

It seems as if every possible cliche and story twist from any seafaring picture of the past 80 years made its way into this flick.

Chicago is a failure, but that should not come as a surprise. Bob Fosse, who directed and choreographed the original 1975 Broadway production, was long baffled in making a film of the show and eventually gave up trying.

Such garbage that taking a shower at the Bates Motel is a more appealing alternative.

You really have to be in the right mood to sit through Tony Takitani. You have to be ready to take in a thoroughly depressing story that moves...very...slowly.

Clooney has littered his film with such a high quantity of mistakes that it is hard to know where exactly to begin finding fault.

Nosferatu is a failure on almost every level.

All of the nutty editing and the loud score just grated on my nerves and failed the story.

An Inconvenient Truth is something you rarely see in movies today: a blatant intellectual fraud. Shame on all of the people involved in this travesty.

About as funny as a funeral.

It makes the mistake of developing the characters less in order to increase the chance of symbolism more.

Inert, inept epic.

Simply put this is a TWO HOUR AND 20 MINUTE long documentary that consists of nothing more than millionaire rock stars bitching, whining and complaining about their problems.

If Cars is indicative of the kind of movie we can expect from Pixar post-Disney merger, well, there's always Miyazaki.

Sadly, the whole affair is little more than ennui with a pedigree.

The film is professionally made but a thorough bore at every imaginable level.

As it stands now though, the acting is good, but the narrative moves like molasses, leaving the audience at a distance.

Aside from all the known material on public record the filmmakers chose not to use, Howard isn't even capable of believably bringing this off.

There is certainly an issue here worth isolating and examining: that of veterans finding their oaths at odds with the state. How the movie considers this theme is dangerous and confusing. It’s an out-of-touch and partisan documentary, wasting its talents to stir mud.

Blitz disappoints on nearly every level.

The acting is sub-par, with Selena Gomez delivering the weakest performance. I don’t know Spanish, but even I can tell she struggles to sound like it’s her first language. As Emilia, Karla Sofía Gascón is stiff as a board and can’t sing. Zoe Saldaña is the only one putting an effort in, but even she can’t make horrible lyrics sound authentic.

Zhang Yimou is seriously off his game with the utterly ridiculous Curse of the Golden Flower, a new epic that feels like "Hero" meets "The Lion in Winter" meets "Peyton Place." The film is worthless as a serious work of art, but it may offer the jaded viewer a surplus source of MST3K-inspired wisecracks.

A frozen pile of reindeer droppings. The cinematic equivalent to passing a kidney stone, Zwigoff’s unholy foray into “dark comedy” gives us a suicidal, sociopathic drunk slinging swear words with a ferocity that would make Tony Montana wince.

Topical resonance is all that the movie musters, as it changes subject matter on a whim and doesn’t give the audience enough background information on the issues or the interviewees to make a whole lot of sense.

Ultimately, The Cow Who Sang a Song Into the Future represents one of the sternest examples of sacrificing the heart of a film for the demands of a specific message. Every genuinely compelling moment is forced to become an object of one-dimensional dogma. And all of the film’s latent wonder is sacrificed at the altar of hollow reductionism.

The movie is never funny, scary, spooky, or interesting. Bakalova and Davidson are trying their best but cannot buoy the picture. Badly lit, poorly shot, and sporting even worse dialogue, the film offers nothing to anyone, though it thinks it has something important to say. Pretentious and dull is the worst combination.

While Florence Pugh and David Harbour try to inject some soul into the chaos, the film proves that no amount of punchlines can save a story that forgot its superpower. Sometimes you don’t need a group hug—you need a good old-fashioned throwdown.

The film begs for more action, thrills, and jokes, or more dramatic and painful revelations. What we get is an in-between mash of romantic ideals, a botched kidnapping, and some very good time wasted.

What the movie needs more than anything is a script. The story is very disappointing and near the end, things start to get weirder and weirder.

I'm sure the filmmaker would disagree, but, honestly, I don't see the point. It's a visual Rorschach test and I must have failed.

Although it runs 78 minutes, it feels like 78 hours.

Perhaps it is a shame that no one thought of digitally restoring and theatrically releasing the sex videos that Crane made with the many women he pleasured...that would have been far more entertaining than anything found in Auto Focus.

Valeria Bertucelli and Ingrid Rubio as Elena and Natalia barely register for the camera, either in their adult incarnations or as the mod teens of 1975 Argentina.

This “horror” (used as loosely as possible) debut will only frighten people who get startled by their own shadows every day, as it’s just a slog into nothingness.

Elio is a complete misfire—an ambitious premise that never takes off.

This masterpiece started out at around three stars, but after the credits, it just got sillier and more lurid.

Reports of boos at the film's debut at Cannes are more understandable now, not because Marie Antoinette is an inaccurate or indifferent look at French history (it is), but because it's self-indulgent shit. Booing - and beheading - are too good for it.

I’m not suggesting Cherry should have a laugh track, because it is not funny at all, despite several attempts at humor.

About as much fun as a grouchy ayatollah in a cold mosque.

The end result is stale, clumsy, and about as compelling as an average episode of "As the World Turns."

Emily Blunt’s Victoria and Rupert Friend’s Albert come across like museum mannequins – utterly devoid of any genuine passion.

Writer/director Gary Burns offers a suffocating experience which is too boring to be accepted as a satire, too lame to be accepted as a farce, and too infantile to be accepted as a drama.

The single worst Shakespeare film ever made.

The whole film plays like a hunk looking at himself in the mirror.

Bubble is among his (Soderbergh) worst films. What in the world was he thinking with this?

Reconfigured into a very different one-woman movie by Gibson and director Jeremy Kagan. Unfortunately, the transformation was not successful.

Good news is that most of the marvelous English dialogue cast from the Cowboy Bebop series has returned for the film. The bad news is that the heart and soul of the series hasn’t.

Behind the pseudo-intellectual curtain of Philippe’s pseudo-documentary, you will not find a wizard. You will find nothing at all.

I'm sure that an interesting film could easily be made about girl surfers, this just ain't it.

If "Models'" comedy is a bore, the characters' redemption is sheer agony – not to mention the shameless pop-cultural referencing that repeats like a bad taco.

If Dogville has a reason for importance, it is the astonishing all-star ensemble who try very hard to put life into their cardboard characters and make this silly film work.

With a clumsy hip-hop score permeating every free inch of the soundtrack and ugly 16mm cinematography that would never be allowed out of Film School 101, the audio-visual experience is a wreck. The quality of Quality of Life is non-existent.

Absent the actual music, Notorious would be a lot worse.

This one deserves to go back in the refrigerator – preferably to the very back of the refrigerator!

While I can understand and accept poor writing, it is deeply offensive to me that Wittock brushed under the rug the extensive abuse that Jeanne faces from Margarette and Marc. It normalizes non-consensual sexual behavior and parental abuse, both prevalent and very traumatic experiences. Therefore, despite all the good present in Jumbo, it would be immoral of me to recommend it.

With all the talk of how wonderful Christmas pantomimes are in the script, the whole movie seems to shrink away from any tradition that may have made this pitiful excuse of a Santa sneeze enjoyable.

The bright spot of Paul W.S. Anderson’s film is the villains.

This film has so many chances to spice up the screen....and passes, I was wondering if I were watching an info-mercial for some kind of "K-Tel Classics- Revisted" album.

It's jaw-dropping how slapdash Sheridan's approach is to what's supposed to be the heart and soul of the story – the bonding between Hannah and Connor. The characters are so cardboard, it's a wonder they don't catch fire.

The shallowest "serious" film to be reeling this year.

Tiresome, trite and choked with every lousy Dixie-fried stereotype imaginable.

Thoroughly obnoxious and relentlessly unfunny comedy.

First-time director James Gartner has managed to whittle away whatever was compelling about the 1966 Miners championship run.

Small, amateurish Israeli feature.

A noisy, chaotic affair.

After sitting through this movie, you will want to throw something more pungent than rice at The Groomsmen.

The supporting characters suffer from excruciating one dimensionality since none of them really have anything to do but look forlorn and opine about days past.

Dear Lord, this movie didn’t need to be made. It is profoundly awful. The foreshadowing is relentless. Sorry, Barry Jenkins just can’t direct animation.

Easily the most surprising comedy of his career. The surprise: it's not funny.

Overall, the film is lost and never found. In her first shot as director, Hunt seems direction-less.

Q: When is a vampire not a vampire? A: When it goes out in daylight, sees itself in a mirror, doesn’t drink human blood, and still manages to suck.

My conception of “punk” must differ from the creators of Tamala 2010. The lead character is feisty enough (she says “f---” a lot), and even skateboards, but she’s owned lock, stock, and oversized eyeballs by the Big Evil Corporation.

The actors do what they can, but even the talent assembled here can’t help getting swallowed up in the Shyamalan vortex of nonsense.

Two things come to mind as you watch the first act of Street Kings, the first is how fresh and exciting the movie would’ve been if it was released in 1984, the second is the question, “James Ellroy wrote that?”

Its premise may not be particularly original. But with it, Knuckleball could still have made for an effective movie, a horror film that’d also have doubled as a meditation on family. In actuality, however, Knuckleball ends up falling into a subcategory of horror films that I like to call “music-dependent.” Take away Michelle Osis and David Arcus’ scary-sounding score, in other words, and the film’s myriad flaws become woefully apparent.

This tired old pile of garbage will hopefully be chased out of town soon.

At 100 minutes in running time, Dallas 362 can be called "The Amateur Hour-and-40-Minutes."

Alyssa Milano is a delight, but her ten to thirteen minutes of screen-time mark her as more of a distraction than substantiation.

Neither a stimulating satire nor a serious exposure of the operations of the finance industry.

In truth, there's not much point to reviewing Adam Sandler comedies. They're almost always widely panned, and yet still manage to earn well over $100 million domestically. Don’' Mess with the Zohan looks to continue both trends, even if exaggerated Yiddish accents and sex with the elderly only take one so far.

Nothing more than a big old chunk of horse poop.

To its credit, the film's costume design is stunning. But unless you have a kimono fetish, there's no reason to pay a good dollar (or a yen, for that matter) on this junk.

The one lesson learned from watching this film is that Canadians can make movies just as badly as anyone else.

Banks ends up with a glossy Hollywood flick disguised as a straight-to-VOD grindhouse title. It feels dishonest, forced, and overstuffed.

Mrs. Doubtfire is overlong, barely funny, and a surprisingly bitter movie especially for a film aimed at children.

Just plain bad.

Fans of prison flicks would do better to catch the HBO series "Oz" or the five millionth rebroadcast of "The Shawshank Redemption."

Its portrayal of Britt-Marie sometimes feels condescending, several of its plot turns make no sense, and its visuals add nothing that wasn’t already there in the original book.

To paraphrase the play's most famous song: how do you measure the lien against your soul when you're forced to sit through something as forcibly maudlin as Rent? I dunno, but 525,600 minutes is about how long this movie felt at times.

More of a curio than a classic and it takes the strongest of constitutions to endure this film without entertaining notions of matricide

An eccentric local priest spouts nonsense, blood gushes out of the shower, bodies twist and contort at impossible angles, and creatures from hell crawl towards the camera. By the time the convoluted, shrieky finale arrives, it all blends together into nothing more than dull background noise. Your investment in the story will be indirectly proportional to its running time.

Not many actors could do justice to the vanilla story presented by Grogan and screenwriters Scott Frank and Don Roos, but Wilson and Aniston – two of the blandest, most uninteresting actors working today – are just the actors to pull it off.

Tomorrow Never Dies, like the commercial marketing assault the Bond cast has been involved in, is a hollow experience that's egregiously trumped up by its high energy glitz and gimmickry. Somewhere, in their rush to amaze and thrill, the filmmakers forgot about Bond, the man.

Sadly, the greatness of Jaa's movements are drowned by an ocean of bad editing, terrible dubbing, disorienting action sequences, and repetitive fight sequences that feel as if they were copied straight from a side-scrolling videogame like "Streets of Rage."