Crude and witless.

Dim and eye-rollingly foolish -- Call it Dumb, Dumber, Dumber Still, and Dumbest.

It has no subtlety, no shadings, and no suspense, and might as well not have a screenplay.

Strives for folksy charm but ends up just lying there like a plate of kippers.

Antitrust is anti-fun, anti-wakefulness, and anti-interesting.

As intriguing as the premise sounds, Mission to Mars hasn't a single moment of real suspense.

Hellish matrimonial misfire.

A stiff, clumsy, amateurish mess, one of those ethnically righteous movies likely to be endured exclusively by its story's demographic.

It's "Shampoo," 30 years after. What a surprise, then, that this effort ranks lower even than the Steve Martin remake of "The Out-of-Towners."

A slick, simplistic, and laughable effort that's reminiscent of a bad Jerry Bruckheimer film. A really bad Bruckheimer film.

Who the heck green-lit this garbage heap anyway?

Better, as they say, than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick -- but only just.

This wretched jumbo helping of Christian Fundamentalist agitprop takes itself entirely too seriously to be anything but ploddingly dull.

Appears to have been written and directed by a grade-school dropout snorting airplane glue.

The only thing about this movie that will haunt you is its boggling ineptitude.

It's a sugar rush that'll leave you feeling like a rotten cavity.

Inept, unfunny, and so brimming with bad ideas it's a wonder it wasn't manufactured by mandrills rather than adult humans.

I'd rather go on an all-Crisco diet than sit through Poor White Trash again.

Love & Sex is nothing but pain and suffering.

Brand-new and uproariously unimproved.

This grade-Z programmer is a painfully earnest, clichéd, amateurish waste of time.

A miserable western that is clearly headed downward toward the latter destination.

There aren't even any naked chicks in it. What the hell is up with that?

As for genuine willies, well, chances are you've had more disturbing encounters with, say, a belligerent Shih Tzu.

Because so little of what occurs on-screen either engages or entertains, there's ample time for the boiler of your self-respect to build up quite a head of indignation at the forfeiture of your time, money, and (exceedingly minimal) cerebral exertion.

Dreadful demonic disaster.

Sitting through the film is like Chinese water torture, for sure, and for reasons beyond the forced, idiotic campiness of the thing. For one thing, there is not one word of dialogue.

Whipped is cinematic suicide, if not for actor, then certainly for audience.