The biggest problem is with the kids themselves, which are played by little people with electrically operated fake heads stuck on top of them. The kids have very little expression, and their voices seem disembodied. As a result, The Garbage Pail Kids Movie seems so much cheap fakery at a time when breathtakingly convincing special effects have become the rule rather than the exception.

Simply calling Surf Nazis Must Die a bad movie doesn't do it justice. This is a horror-action movie with dull action and horror, feebly done on every level: leaden satire, a repulsive romance, a revenge saga of zero intensity. The actors are often upstaged by the beach graffiti.

Despite the presence of theoretically interesting elements such as dirty cops, amnesia and money-laundering, Killerman is two hours of pure boredom.

10 Minutes Gone is clumsy and cliché-ridden, and populated by two accomplished action stars who look like they just want to get through this job as quickly as possible.

From beginning to end, American Skin is a jagged symphony of false notes, each one struck with a sledgehammer. The most charitable thing that can be said about it is that if Parker is attempting to simulate the work of a bad or inexperienced filmmaker, he succeeds beyond his wildest dreams.

Madison’s work aside, this picture isn’t all that exciting. It’s 80 tedious minutes of shouting, swearing, nudity and gore, cut together with the deftness of a chainsaw.

James Franco’s Pretenders begs the question: is this a film about bohemian artists or a parody of a film about bohemian artists? Because if we’re supposed to take this laughably trite and sexist claptrap seriously, one has to laugh.

Even ignoring the fact that it was completed back in 2017, Reality Queen! a punishingly shrill, unfunny mockumentary about a social media darling of a Paris Hilton-type celebutante, can’t help but feel totally so yesterday.

Daniel Espinosa’s Morbius, a misbegotten, artistically bankrupt bid by writers Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless to fuse a gothic horror edge to the MCU, is the nadir of comic book cinema.

The movie, filmed over several start-and-stop years (credited director Eric Etebari completed the shoot) contains lots of weak dialogue, heavy-handed faith talk, awkward voiceovers, thin characterizations and illogical plot turns. Any questions?

Don’t let the cartoonlike ads for Reform School Girls fool you. The movie has been billed as an outlandish sendup of the women-behind-bars genre, but that’s just wishful thinking--or part of the movie’s cynical hype. “Girls” is far too feeble to qualify as a raunchy prison parody. It’s more of a brainless homage, in the clunky way that “Rambo” and “Missing in Action” paid tribute to “The Green Berets.”

The movie is disturbingly reckless, needlessly brutal and deeply homophobic. Later attempts to wedge in a few nice moments between James and Kareem fall flat.

But beware: "Hamburger" is the dregs of "Animal House" and "Police Academy" raked over again, with another passel of daffy, goofy, sex-crazed guys; bosomy, moaning sex-starved girls; screaming nerds; yowling dimwits and howling bullies... The script may set a record for misfiring gags and lewd puns. [3 Feb 1986, p.C7]

One of the most atrocious viewing experiences of the year, “The Tax Collector” relies on a trite visual language built on obvious flashbacks and bland imagery that match the unimaginatively dreadful writing where every Latino in sight is a gangster.

Overall pacing is flaccid and too many scenes peter out when they should punch. But perhaps the movie’s biggest infraction is that there’s hardly a chuckle in it.

A collection of flat gags, spiritless action, cornball satire and overbroad or bored-looking performances, it sometimes resembles the draggle-end of a nightmare “Saturday Night Live” show, where the cast has come to despise their own skits.

It’s hard to think of a less satisfying creature feature in recent memory than the simply terrible Split Second, which by the end not only has allowed few glimpses of the beast in question but hasn’t even explained where the big guy came from or what kind of animus, supernatural or otherwise, is responsible for its strange m.o. It’s a monstrous cheat.

Millennium has little to distract you from the obvious phony hair coloring of its stars.

Phrases like terminally stupid and brain dead leap readily to mind.

It’s a rom-com both com-less and rom-less.

Thanks to a relentlessly terrible script by many hands, it's a dumb movie about dumb cops that should have remained on the shelf, where it's been sitting for over two years. [31 Jan 1994, p.F5]

Terrible acting, zero suspense, laughable logic and the promise of another one next year. How can we get this policy canceled?

Even a 15-year-old boy would find this movie to be a chore.

Plunges into an abyss of gruesome imagery so repulsive it precludes further watching.

Running Scared is so desperate and surreally stupid that all you would have to do to see it as a brilliant sendup of everything that is corrupt, vulgar, sad, deluded and bad-for-you about Hollywood is squint.

A conflation of the horror genre's laziest tropes, plot angles and shorthands, this inept creation isn't so much a film as it is a smorgasbord.

Devotes itself to inflicting serious pain upon innocent moviegoers who wander into what is perhaps the single most poorly conceived and ineptly executed movie released to theaters in quite some time.

It's not like Paris Hilton to rise above her material, but The Hottie and the Nottie sinks so low that all she has to do is stand upright.

Just as silly and tedious as the first two unconnected tales of young gay love -- but lots worse.

How feeble a movie is Stolen Summer? So feeble they've just about buried the title on the film's own poster.

Some movies make you sorry you've seen them, and The Cell is one of those. Creepy and horrific, it's a torture chamber film.

Doomed to be inconsequential and forgettable.

It was probably worth every costly cent for Kim Basinger to get out of doing the dreadful Boxing Helena -- but you have to wonder whatever there was about it that persuaded her to do it in the first place. [3 Sept 1993]

The one thing that can be said of Waking Up in Reno is that it's rigorously consistent. Every note rings false.

Lacking the combustible Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas in leading roles, Showgirls descends into incoherent tedium. Though the filmmakers' incessant talk about vision, artistry and honest self-expression lead one to expect a sexually explicit biopic about the Dalai Lama, what is in fact provided is depressing and disappointing as well as dehumanizing.

A limp, predictable less-than-sitcom of a movie. It's a bomb, man, not the bomb.

Those foolhardy enough to place themselves at the mercy of 8MM can expect the following emotions: disgust and revulsion, then anger, followed by a profound and disheartening sadness. There are some films whose existence makes the world a worse place to live, and this is one of them.

There is nothing more memorable about Vegas Vacation than the flatness of the writing in Elisa Bell's script and the uninspired direction of first-timer Stephen Kessler.

An execrable mess that leaves no genre cliché unturned or human body or soul untrammeled.

The result is a calculated, cynical piece of business that epitomizes the creative bankruptcy and contempt for the audience that infects so much of the blockbuster side of Hollywood.

Even Willis seems a bit bewildered at times, as if asking himself how he managed to get into such a mess. [24 May 1991]

At one point, Michaels expresses his excitement at the outcome of a game. "You're excited?" Costas yells. "Feel these nipples!" If you're old enough to see this movie without a parent or guardian and all that sounds encouraging, this review has failed, and failed badly.

Compounded by a dated visual style, patched-together special effects and ludicrous dialogue, Battlefield Earth is a wholly miserable experience.

[Shore] seems convinced that the antics of his retarded persona amount to some manner of postmodernist anti-comedy and this makes the resultant boredom seem all the more pathetic.

May quite easily put an end to any discussion of what is the worst theatrical release of 2004.

Warner Bros. quietly releases Hiller's latest film, Carpool, without advance critics screenings, without more than a whisper of promotion, without warning or apology to the lost souls who might wander in to see it.

Don't imagine there is any reason to see Fair Game.

Mixed Nuts is a farcical whirligig that doesn't whirl. It's energetically unfunny, like "Radioland Murders," and, like that film, it boasts top-flight talent. Maybe the idea of making a comedy about a suicide prevention center just got to everyone-it's a bummed-out comedy about being bummed out. [21 Dec 1994, p.1]

It doesn't seem possible that a film with both the formidable Reno and Waits could be all bad, but The Tiger and the Snow is precisely so.

Misconceived, misguided and a completely miserable viewing experience, this is one to avoid at all costs and for all time. [06 May 1994]

There are terrible movies and there are loathsome movies. And then there's that rare breed so idiotic, exploitative and sickening one wishes they could be scrubbed from memory. The Human Centipede (First Sequence) is such a specimen. Would that I had 100 legs to kick it.

There's also no point in paying the 3-D ticket price for occasional bits of gristle flying your way, or blurry action shots. Whereas the first "Saw" got marks for originality, the filmmakers have so lost their fastballs that this one's extreme gore provokes either laughter or sleep.

May not be the most tedious superhero movie ever - the competition is admittedly tough - but it is certainly in the running.

I Melt With You assuredly marks itself as one of 2011's most ludicrous releases.

This is a movie that celebrates selfishness, stupidity and the mean-spirited insensitivity that goes along with it. We're better than this, America.

3 Geezers is painful.

Six-year-olds at recess could come up with a wittier script and more charming performances, since they probably wouldn't be hampered by lame pop culture references, laziness disguised as parody, and gore disguised as slapstick.

For cheap thrills, Nothing Left to Fear is true to its title. Director Anthony Leonardi III and writer Jonathan Mills have let not one scary moment on screen.

To call this winkfest toward an astoundingly retrograde sliver of Judaism offensive would be, well, offensive to the word offensive.

Cloying and smug when it's not being unfunny and crass, the high school reunion comedy Back in the Day hits lows with a frequency that suggests a world-class sharp shooter or free-throw king.

If the ostensible thriller contained a single believable moment, let alone an ounce of suspense, its nonsensical final twist might be grounds for concern.

Cheesy visual effects, flat shooting, slack directing and pacing, risible dialogue and characterization, lots of crummy acting, plus a painfully dull first act make this anything but a rapturous experience.

All the controlled substances in the world couldn't improve a viewing of the execrable Don Peyote, a tedious, incoherent look at a paranoid stoner's emotional and spiritual unraveling.

Behaving Badly is a dreadful sex comedy that gets worse and worse as its dopey story snowballs into relative incoherence.

The bargain-basement Christmas Ride is so inept on every level that it almost has to be seen to be believed.

Not Cool is the Internet culture of artlessness, excess, empty popularity, whining and sex-fueled hatred writ large.

As horror, it's frightless and boring. As comedy, it's desperate and laughless. As exploitation, it's exceedingly dull. Even excrement was once something of substance. The Human Centipede III: Final Sequence is just rancid air. It too shall pass.

Who knew a movie seemingly meant to spread holiday cheer could be so off-putting in an almost sadistic way?

Coming off like a hodgepodge of rejected spec scripts for "The Walking Dead," Anger of the Dead reveals particularly misogynistic and misanthropic filmmaking.

It’s appropriate that the Natural Born Pranksters take their name from the film “Natural Born Killers,” because this group of YouTube stars just murdered prank-based humor. RIP pranks.

In the laughably awful Code of Honor, Steven Seagal continues his campaign to make minimal onscreen movement, alarming chunkiness, and slurred, whispered threats in a weird Southern drawl, into the greatest assault on disbelief suspension in action filmmaking.

There’s howlingly awful and then there’s The Assignment, a thoroughly ridiculous, numbingly slow neo-noir thriller.

The movie tries to wrap an important social message in comedy, but it’s unpalatable all the way through.

Enduring Natural Selection, with its painfully overt themes of good versus evil, absolution and redemption, is the true definition of survival of the fittest.

A thoroughly amateurish un-comedy about show business.

Jaye never gets to her original question about rape culture, and ultimately twists herself in knots to justify the movement’s misogynist rhetoric.

As it stands, this abysmal romantic comedy serves as an abject lesson against vanity filmmaking.

Two Weeks to Go is not a movie, it’s a sketch of a character study or a possible outline for a future project. It’s most definitely self-indulgent drivel.

Like a fog that corrupts your ability to be entertained, Top Coat Cash is genre amateurishness that neither thrills nor makes sense.

Falling just short of being so bad it’s good, Rogue Warrior: Robot Fighter is a shameless low-budget “Terminator”/“Star Wars”/“Mad Max” knock-off that will have to settle for being merely godawful.

A risible misfire of a contemporary war drama, the low-budget “Unfallen” stands as an epic fail on all fronts.

This is a visually inept, nonexciting slog, from the dialogue scenes in which the image shakes because one assumes the camera operators were laughing, to the action shots that you would have re-staged if you were just filming your pets at home.

Writer, director, producer and star Stephen Kogon is clearly trying his hardest to create an entertaining film fueled by a passion for tap dance, but what’s on screen demonstrates an utter lack of filmmaking knowledge.

This movie is soooo bad (How bad is it?) that it makes "Caddyshack I" look like "Godfather II."

This is comedy so insidious it could scarcely be less than diabolically inspired; to know these 84 minutes is to know an endless living death. [14 March 1989, p.C6]

This astonishingly bad film, adapted by writer-director Raghav Peri from a novel by Michaelangelo Rodriguez, mishmashes such big topics as genocide, homosexuality, teen pregnancy, child abuse, alcoholism and mental illness into a painful, inadvertently laughable stew.

A numbingly obtuse experience, a feat of maddeningly indulgent non-storytelling hiding behind a symphony of bared midriffs and jiggling derrières. ... Kechiche doesn’t just sell out his characters, his story and his collaborators; he sells out his own talent.

Even better than opium for avoiding pain is avoiding Shanghai Surprise itself, a movie of jaw-dropping, high-water mark dreadfulness.

[A] lethargic, hallucinatory mish-mash with matching dialogue that has all the zing of a Wikipedia entry.

The aspirations behind Lady Beware -- a tale of psychological and physical molestation -- are unquestionably earnest, heartfelt and serious. At the same time, what's presented on screen is as vile and tasteless as everything the film makers purport to disdain. [22 Sept 1987, p.6]

It’s probably for the best that The Fanatic is so terrible. If it were made with any actual care, it’d be offensive instead of just dumb.

The movie can only be classified as something truly terrible, escaping any other categorization that would make it resemble an actual film.

A rank, execrable disaster, Certain Fury is the kind of movie that's destined to show up in a trivia game as the answer to the question: "What's the worst film ever to star two Oscar-winning performers?" Rated R for its gratuitous violence, foul language and bad acting, it's a cheesy, ludicrously implausible bloodfest that tries to pass itself off as a distaff update of "The Defiant Ones." [6 March 1985, p.4]

Director Patrick Hughes’ film should be avoided at all cost.

Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-a-Rama is too obvious and heavy-handed even for this amount of attention. It deserves a gutter-ball score. [02 Feb 1988, p.7]

Is this a bad movie? Is the sky blue? Short of repeating all 237 or so of its incredibly limp jokes there's no way to convey how completely Repossessed goes awry. On and on they come, endlessly: like a blizzard of stale pork rinds. [17 Sep 1990, p.F2]

The Bubble is so charmless, joyless and jokeless — and at more than two hours so endless — that by its close you have to check your smile muscles for signs of atrophy.