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.

As whacky as the characters are and as tense as the setting is made to be, the movie drags.

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.

If you love KISS, you'll probably see this movie anyway. If you don't, there's no point.

The best they were able to manage, apparently, was a grabbag of spectral sights and spooky touches grabbed from better horror films and a final act that raises more questions than it answers.

Goi and his screenwriter Anthony Jaswinski must have thought that simply stuffing the film with as many shock tactics as possible would suffice. It doesn’t. This ship goes down with her captains.

Love Hurts is a prime example of what happens when a film spreads itself too thin trying to juggle multiple genres—it drops all the balls. Ultimately, it’s a forgettable attempt at blending action and romance, proving once again that genre mashups rarely deliver a knockout.

Fails to satisfy.

Hardcore gorehounds will be disappointed by the lukewarm scares. Fans of throwback films will groan at the lack of tongue-in-cheek references. Anyone who’s seen a film will groan at the stupidity of it all.

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.

A commendable subject matter does not a good movie make. Tape is inherently misguided, a queasily voyeuristic project, rendered nearly-unwatchable by its pseudo-artistic tendencies and patronizing tone.

About as funny as a funeral.

Overall, this is just another boxing movie with few surprises and an awkward message to viewers.

I completely dreaded sitting through this movie...Two-hour purgatory.

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

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.

For a film that asks its audience to erase so much of the series’ lore, it certainly enjoys feeding them “memberberries” throughout its runtime.

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

Holbrook is talented. There is no question about that. The guy wrote, directed, produced and cut Beloved Beast together. It’s just a shame that this strange yarn couldn’t be reduced to the essentials and given real power. Had we been offered less movie with more meaning, the impact would have been far greater.

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

There are enough laughs here to fill a five-minute skit but sadly, the film lasts a lot longer than that.

For American viewers, the film will hopefully provide an incentive to learn more about the Philippine-American War, an important but frequently ignored chapter in American history. Thanks to all of this, Goyo: The Boy General avoids being a complete disappointment, and you’ll at least be glad you watched it.

The most telling symptom of bad comedy is pretty easy to diagnose: no laughs.

A noisy, chaotic affair.

While it fails to shed significant new light on its subject, Gibson's film and the all-Jesus-all-the-time attention from the media it's attracted do tell us something somewhat disconcerting about the state of American culture: That the way to make a religion based on love and forgiveness relevant today is to turn it into violent entertainment.

Unfortunately for Epps, Diggs and Jones -- three capable actors -- the disjointed direction of the material robs them of any dimension and forces them to play tail-chassing caricatures.

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.

Downloading Nancy is an excruciating experience.