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.

Even more frustrating than the trite dialogue exchanges, is the robotic performances delivering them. This is Tom Hanks' worst performance is years (maybe even his worst ever). Ron Howard's slothful direction is giant misstep from his previous effort ("Cinderella Man"), relying on techniques and hopefully he won’t repeat it again.

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?”

Fred Claus is belligerently unfunny.

Small, amateurish Israeli feature.

The movie does a great job of capturing the excessive behavior and the fun that was had but it falls short in delivering a realistic picture of lives after the party ends. Christopher, like Rubell, is into giving his audience escape, not reality.

What could have explored the real complexities behind a serious issue instead became a self-congratulatory pat on the back for holding a specific viewpoint, and a boring one at that.

Director and (uncredited) choreographer Robert Cary and his performers are simply not up to the task of recalling the great moments they are trying so hard to evoke.

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

The fault here lies in the film’s dead rhythm, which never lights the sparks necessary for an action film. The plot and action progress like an eroding lakeshore, but the energy and excitement are washed away in every scene.

Death and comedy rarely mix, and this tedious and painfully un-funny effort by director Darren Stein is no exception.

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.

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.

Something in Toback’s approach to the subject of sex, somehow both lecherous and detached, makes it tough to get a handle on the film.

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

The problem with Brave New World falls squarely on the writing and the story.

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

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.

Summertime junk food.

Fangs Out is rough from start to finish.

Edward and Carter are like the original Odd Couple, except nobody’s laughing.

A terrible rehash of better torture genre exploitation, with none of the charm.

No one would rationally expect the man behind Disneynature fare such as Penguins, Elephant, and Diving with Dolphins to make his directorial debut with a demonic horror feature.Yet here we are, witnessing David Fowler perform a 180° swivel, from anthropomorphizing animals to slaughtering human beings in Welcome to the Circle. The results clearly demonstrate that he should’ve stuck to voicing chimpanzees.

The rape scene is, admittedly, as brutal as any I've seen in recent memory, but much of what Iliadis shows us is a direct riff on the original.

Director Steve Carr ("Daddy Day Care") tries nothing new in the world of aesthetics. Should be no surprise considering that any film put out by Adam Sandler's Happy Madison Productions doesn't really need to take any kind of cinematic risk.

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.

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.

It looks stylish, sure, but the script is laughable and the acting is ridiculous.

As it is, you'd get the same level of excitement watching "T.J. Hooker" reruns.

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

Inert, inept epic.

Takes an unimaginative love story and stretches it as far as possible in an attempt to make it epically grand. Instead, the end result plays out like a George Lucas film without spaceships and lightsabers.

The movie appears brutally cut which might explain its inability to develop a thought, much less any narrative momentum.

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

Director Stephen Herek certainly doesn't come up with anything, and he fails to make the swings between silliness and schmaltz smoothly.

Perhaps the worst thing about the writer/director/star’s feature is that it basks in the excess it purports to condemn, confident that pounding the viewer into submission is the way to go, in addition to ending on a hypocritical note that defies everything that’s occurred up to that point.

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.

My only question is, how did they ensnare you, Eugene?

Remember when John Hughes made small, original, oh say, GOOD movies?

This cinematic train wreck reminds me of when Hollywood decided to cash in on the success of “Chinatown” by making a sequel...

Audiences enjoyed the original “Bridget Jones” because it hit close to home...But the sequel has about as much emotional depth as a sitcom

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.

It’s insulting to think that children will see a movie solely because you have animals that talk and act silly.

Fool's Gold could easily have been released in 1977, and there's a sort of laid-back, timeless, Gerald Ford feel to the movie: the resolution is never in doubt, the villains are comedic rather than menacing, and no one involved seems to care one way or the other that their names are attached to this indifferent mess.

Overall, director Deborah Kempmeir mistakes ominous and depressing for deep and meaningful, a misfire that undermines the effect it tries to achieve.

Isn't nearly as offensive to the senses as I originally thought it would be when first presented with the trailer.

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.

Another unworthy follow-up to the modestly scary and well-crafted, Clive Barker-directed Hellraiser from 1987. Therefore with Hellrasier 6, lots of confusion and silly slasher joke writing is raised, but not much hell, in any sixth sense of the word.

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.

I never really expected something so utterly lame-brained. Though, the film is not as awful as I've heard, it's quite possibly the laziest script I've ever seen.

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.

Watching the multiple, nonsensical, seizure-inducing sequences, set to bottom-of-the-barrel, thunderous EDM and homemade melodramatic beats feels like being smacked in the head repeatedly by a blaring subwoofer.

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

The direction keeps things visually engaging, and the editing is flawless. Sadly, for me, the stories don’t connect well enough to justify the whole fated aspect and all but a single song, in this musical, are some of the worst I have had to ever endure.

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

Run -- don’t walk -- from this film or you might end up watching a bad CGI character do a painful Dr. Evil impression.

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.

Just make sure you exit the theater before Simpson's god-awful version of "These Boots Are Made for Walking" starts playing during the end credits, or you may find yourself taking the straw from your drink and puncturing your own eardrums in self defense.

The Quiet is best for cheap laughs by jaded moviegoers with absolutely nothing better to do with their time.

Unfrosted is dumb. Not only is it dumb, it’s stupid. It commits the sin of being a comedy that thinks its funny. The film goes wrong in so many ways.

Better than I expected, but since I expected it to be a horrific failure, that isn’t saying much.

The plot lurches from one awkwardly-staged, heavy-handed, poorly-lit, bathed in eye-scorching soft-focus sequence to another with little regard for tonal shifts or narrative fluidity.

The Reaping isn't a total failure. Swank is never less than competent.

The writer-director’s perverse, continuous, and purposeful avoidance of any semblance of genuine emotion or coherence results in an aggressively unpleasant experience.

Nothing more than a big old chunk of horse poop.

Christopher Munch wrote and directed this feature and it is nearly impossible not to feel deep-seated anger towards him for what he has wrought on screen.

The primary problem with “Rabbit Test” was that it was based on a hoary one-joke concept – in this case, a man becomes pregnant. But Rivers had no clue how to take the concept and expand it into a flowing, coherent comedy script.

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."

Lackluster dialogue, ludicrously unbelievable storyline, and the fact that the entire film looks and sounds like it was shot on a camcorder mean nobody outside of the studio’s target demographic is likely to check this out.

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

Kids of all sizes and genders are going to be disappointed.

A wholly inept action experience that works at boring us to tears.

The audience will respond better to ENTERTAINMENT than a club to the head.

The plot itself is a disappointingly gory concatenation of two recently forgettable sci-fi thrillers; "Hardware" and "Event Horizon."

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

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.

A movie celebrating the life of the greatest military conqueror the world has ever known should feature a bit more conquering.

Ultimately, Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga fails to transport us into this hyper-realistic world of Iceland as Ferrell is equally unable to endear us to his character of Lars in a film that didn’t need to be two-hours long.

Let's start with the obvious: Olyphant just isn't that intimidating an assassin. Think of some of cinema's more memorable button men: Léon, Luca Brasi, Frank Nitti...that's right, not a pretty boy in the bunch.

Offers neither horror nor style.

Every so often, a motion picture comes around that’s so dreadful you wonder what prompted anyone to want to waste their time making it and your time watching it to such a degree. When I’m a Moth holds that dubious distinction.