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.