This is basically a movie about one neurotic woman and her neurotic L.A. life. .

After Earth stupefies us with nonsense, such little thought and logic went into this idea that it can’t even be considered a rough draft, this is a movie almost daring an audience to emotionally detach throughout. For shame!

She (Lopez) wipes away the unpleasant memories of "The Cell," and serves notice to Julia and Sandra that there's another girl out there who can do romantic comedy-even of the half-baked variety.

So you'll laugh during Big Momma's House -- but the laughs are so negligible you'll probably forget them before you get to the parking lot.

This is a story that has everything you’re looking for, provided that you’re looking for absolutely nothing.

There is no obvious reason for the film's meandering existence: it's a series of beautifully photographed postcards of Africa.

Either I’m getting dumber or the “Transformers” sequels are getting more coherent.

This is still Ron Shelton in good -- not great, but good -- form here, and the rewards are plentiful.

Pandering and tired, Down to Earth lurches from one dead gag to the other, in search of both comedic rhythm and a dramatic pulse. It finds neither.

Frankly, no one in this ensemble is done any favors by Jason Hall and Barry Levy’s screenplay, a “Duplicity” for dummies filled to the brim with double-crossing cliches.

John, John, John -- one more bad-guy role in a bad movie and you're going to need another comeback.

It's not easy to go 12 rounds against a cliche-ridden story like Price of Glory and remain standing. But somehow stars Jimmy Smits and Jon Seda, and first-time director Carlos Avila, manage to survive.

The whole point is nothing more than the revelation that the terrain of suburbia is populated with damaged people inflicting damage on others. This is still news?

Jackman and Judd are sweet together, so much so that you wish they were in a fresher movie than this.

A pastiche of bad film cliches and scenes devoid of any real conflict or character development.

Ephron is still a director whose movies veer uncomfortably between the good -- make that adequate -- "You've Got Mail", the bad "This Is My Life" and the ugly Lucky Numbers. Pity.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles isn’t a movie; it’s a brand re-launch that’s going to satisfy stockholders far more than it’s going to entertain the people who paid to watch it.

Dumb and irritating.

A crap film that's steeped in liberal paranoia, but it's also so ludicrous that it falls under the guilty-pleasure category.

Sound nonsensical? It is.

The true star of this film, funny and often breathtakingly lovely, Zellweger carries virtually every scene in which she appears -- which aren't nearly as plentiful as one might like.

The most frightening thing about the franchise at this point is that it just keeps on going, undaunted by the characteristics by which the first film made its name. Family is still family and a brand is still a brand, but the blade… well, it’s only grown dull.

Not every book should be made into a film and, as appears to be the case with Winter’s Tale, not every book can be (especially this one).

The absolute antithesis to the pioneering punk spirit it tries to portray.

The franchise is sent off in style, a reminder of why it earned such praise and affection in the first place, the wolfpack giving us one final howl at the moon.

Ambitious and perversely fascinating.

Rob Schneider's stab at an "Ace Ventura"-like gamble for stardom.

That it’s not totally dialed in throughout makes it a victim of the same thing most bad movies fall prey to: having the spark of a great idea rested awkwardly on top of a spinning mess of execution.

Merely reconfigures the same predictable gross-out jokes, sentimental platitudes, and decorative sex that figure into half the screenplays in circulation.

Just another lame slacker comedy.

Recycled "Steel Magnolias."

The film is confusingly and sloppily put together, edited down to the point that the few genuine jokes of Let’s Be Cops are given precious little time to breathe, before zipping into the next sequence of increasingly irrational events.

If you're already a huge fan of any of these artists, this film will be a lovefest. For all others, it's a mild diversion at best.

For Stallone, and his original script for Driven reflects a more mature, self-effacing perspective.

Self-conscious clunker.

Should satisfy the planet of b-boys and girls to whom it preaches.

It's insulting and devalues the experience of watching not just this film but all films.

Lurches on for the better part of two hours with a ludicrous plot and even worse dialogue, interspersed with what look like excerpts from a music video made by some naughty Catholic-school graduates.

The entire enterprise is a bewildering mess, put in place only to frustrate and alienate anyone who buys a ticket. Every action scene is telegraphed, and most of the dialogue is irrevocably stupid.

Every scene of Danny Mooney’s directorial debut is brightly lit, every car squeaky clean, every moral dilemma transparent, with evidently thorough period detail undone by production values that lend even the riots an idyllic glow, while foiling the potential for truly dramatic conflict with leaden dialogue and predictable changes of heart.

Insufferably boring, culturally hegemonic, and profoundly ugly.

It's little more than a loose assemblage of Hollywood action movie formulas: "Dirty Harry" and assorted cop/buddy flicks are the clear models for the movie.

Are two Demis better than one? How you answer will determine the level of patience you'll need to sit through this bizarre pet project.

Maladies is at least watchable, though just barely.

The rare example of a film that had to have been a tonal mystery to everyone involved for the entire process of scripting, shooting, and editing. The lingering issue? They never managed to crack the case.

Kids -- may like this movie. But kids like green ketchup, so what do they know?

Drop Dead Gorgeous eventually shows that it doesn't like anybody -- in the movie or in the audience.

The effects never really get ahead of the characters or the script's layered personality.

As the anticipated follow-up to Roman Coppola’s marvelous 2001 film “CQ,” this is something of a letdown, but as a breezy romp it could be far, far worse.

One terrible sub-plot away from being a legitimately good movie.

Doesn't have the courage or inclination to go inside of Dick's ideas, or offer any kind of structured or detailed approach to his thinking or writing.

This lightweight concoction can't justify a trip out to the multiplex, unless you're a girl between the ages of 12 and 17, but it does provide a launching pad for a group of attractive people.

Charlize Theron has charm and skill, but no actress could survive this role, which has the gravity and verisimilitude of a sketch from a late-sixties Nancy Sinatra TV special.

A One-Joke Show.

An authentically spirited popcorn movie.

As with most non-Disney animated features, Trumpet of the Swan does make the Mouse look like a genius.

To the film’s credit, it doesn’t waste much time in doling out shadowy figures and fake-outs for the gullible and easily goosed, and the cast as a whole dutifully delivers its panicked looks and cries in the night.

By any measure, 'Temptation' ranks amongst Tyler Perry's worst.

For me, Trixie finds its own peculiar groove, and-buoyed by a compulsively watchable actress-folds neatly into the off-center work of a distinctive American director.

One way or the other, there really is something to be said for a movie which seems to revel in its own inherent comic-book silliness.

Has a cute idea. Which it promptly runs into the ground.

A standard morality tale, and looks especially weak in the shadow of "Eyes Wide Shut" and "Fight Club," which it resembles.

Don't be surprised if you exit Here On Earth feeling both moved and incredulous.

The film isn't very good. The Million Dollar Hotel is an uneasy melding of Hollywood shtick and art-house sensibilities.

An endlessly contrived exercise in self-referential "black comedy", can't help but strike me as no kind of triumph of anything over anything.

Embarrassing and weird.

Plainly unfunny.

A dismal film, a flop as both 21st-century romantic comedy and gay "Kramer vs. Kramer."

There is a legitimate film in here somewhere, buried deep beneath the rubble of its terrible script and editing.

It's not just bad, it's ugly. Not just stupid but really aesthetically displeasing. The sooner this movie disappears from sight, the better.

Far-fetched, absurd and hopelessly schticky, but if you can get past its boring initial set-up, it’s actually quite funny.

There's a lost opportunity here.

Wants to be many things, but ends up being not much of anything.

It has every element necessary to be a classic, and it never comes anywhere near achieving that potential.

Not quite good enough to leave more than a vaguely pleasant, vaguely disappointing aftertaste.

Sly, slick and slow.

Custom-made for an audience of mouth-breathers.

The filmmakers went for cheap laughs as well as for some a little harder-earned. The only thing pure about this film is the dog, and he's magnificent.

Maybe Kevin Bacon can use the Twinkie defense to explain Hollow Man.

So campy...may be good for a few laughs.

I would rather have been scraping gum off my shoe than sitting there another minute.

Beautiful is a mess, but not without interest.

A painfully unfunny movie.

A fascinating study. What might surprise audiences, though, is how droll the picture is, how much of the violence is just slapstick, and how much deadpan humor is running throughout the film.

If you're looking for something child-appropriate that'll actually keep the little darlings awake for two hours straight, you'd do better...and cheaper...to just stay at home with the Discovery Channel.

God-awful.

Chaotic, peurile, loaded with sniggering commentary and obsessed with breasts, Saving Silverman is like a 90-minute walk through a 13-year-old boy's head.

The animation is only marginally better than the TV show, which means it stinks, and the story is pretty trite.

While the art of action filmmaking depreciates, Harlin remains steadfast in his classicism, even if the movie doesn’t have the foundation to support him.

The film blinks too fast to maintain a coherent vision.

A dismal new serial-killer thing.

Watching Left Behind's plodding screen adaptation may make you feel the Deity has already abandoned us to a shockingly dull post-apocalypse.

I don't like Say It Isn't So, but I understand its karmic inevitability.

Mostly dreadful.

The film isn't merely bungled. It's starved and battered by Lichtenstein.

Borderline incoherent.

A Haunted House, its despicable bigotry aside, is also a not-very-good comedy.

It's only when you see the movie that you discover how completely the film misses opportunities to develop these ideas into anything like movie comedy.