Dramatically inert, satirically inept and thematically insufferable, Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk is the most disappointing film of the year.

The movie is still a mess, stumbling from comic-relief scenes that aren't funny to a job-training interlude in which we learn that, among other things, owls make excellent . . . blacksmiths?

Rarely is a sports movie so inept that it can't even make its central figure likable.

Indeed, for all its jokiness, this isn't the film for anyone who suffers from even the mildest fear of ugly, scuttling, jumping creatures with spindly, furry legs that have a habit of hiding in your shoes.

Has its share of laughs.

Dull and creaky soap opera.

A soggy love story doesn't help this instance of style over substance.

The self-possessed Hall is well-suited to this proto-feminist role, smoking and rolling her eyes as the pasty old men around her exclaim, for what is clearly the millionth time, "An educated woman!" as if she were a zoo animal.

Unfortunately, his machine fails en route; way more unfortunately, he comes up very short compared to Mark Watney, the red planet-stranded astronaut played with such humor and energy by Matt Damon in last year’s “The Martian.”

We watched a story of a Labrador. Who eats the couch and disobeys. I said to Lady, "It's a labra-bore."

A gooey morass of indie-movie clichés, the wacky-family dramedy The Hollars marks yet another egregiously cutesy attempt to rekindle that “Garden State” magic.

“Do you know how long it takes to peel the skin from a human body?” a torture-happy Russian goon asks in Red Sparrow. I imagine it feels about as long as sitting through this atrocious spy thriller.

Hollywood’s ongoing campaign to remake every horror movie of the 1970s and ’80s has finally caught up with the Stephen King-Brian De Palma classic “Carrie,’’ and the results are distressingly anemic, pig blood and all.

Sandler, like him or not, is a master at bringing ‘90s heart and sentiment to his dumb schtick, and he’s disarmingly quiet and warm here. And his best jokes have nothing to do with Halloween.

Cardinale’s few brief scenes are the ones with the most depth; her facial lines really did come along with some wisdom.

Director Greg Berlanti’s romantic comedy, which imagines that Richard Nixon’s administration really did film a fake, backup moon landing in 1969, is a mystifying misfire all along the way from initial concept to end credits.

The men who made The Guardian strive to be the averagest of the average - and don't quite succeed.

This future looks awfully passé: The stimulus didn't work out. Neither did 1917 Russia.

The most depressing date movie since "Random Hearts."

There's something oddly endearing about the Barenaked Ladies. And by the end of the movie, you begin to see just what it is that inspires such intense fan loyalty.

The director has listed Jean-Luc Godard as an influence, which explains the movie's French New Wave exuberance.

The film's tongue is so firmly in cheek that, without being a spoof like "Dragnet" or "The Brady Bunch Movie," it has more in common with the "Austin Powers" films.

Has precious little to add to the canon -- and does so in a highly melodramatic manner.

Pretty dry stuff that verges on an infomercial, despite cameo appearances by Sarah Jessica Parker and Mizrahi himself.

Sort of a poor man's "Rent" - minus the music and the AIDS - and much blander than the title would have you expect.

De Palma is extreme, visceral, usually in bad taste but almost always riveting. De Palma's Redacted, a no-budget fake documentary that imagines the circumstances behind a real rape and murder of a civilian girl committed by US troops in Iraq, is a piece of anti-war propaganda whose aims I don't agree with, but it jolted me nonetheless.

A valuable reminder that for nearly three decades, basketball was dominated by Jewish players - and coaches who found the sport an ideal vehicle for assimilation in the United States.

The Manzanar Fishing Club has enough interesting footage for perhaps a 15-minute segment of a TV news magazine. Beyond that, my eyes started to glaze over with endless talk about rods, reels and bait.

The siblings react with humor and horror to what they discover. So will many viewers of this self-indulgent but engaging work.

The second half is therefore much more interesting than the first; even so, the whole movie suffers from a lack of narrative momentum and a surfeit of wordless shots of men exchanging deep, meaningful glances.

Proving it’s still possible to stick to the broad contours of “The Graduate” story and come up with something brightly endearing, 5 to 7 is a memorable directorial debut for “Mad Men” writer Victor Levin.

There’s nothing wrong with some silver screen sorrow, but not when it amounts to indecisive mush.

You couldn’t ask for a more fun summer popcorn movie than White House Down.

Berry wears two hats effortlessly. Her direction is gritty and assured, and her leading performance hasn’t lost an ounce of that star quality — to simultaneously be so weak and so strong — that won her an Oscar for Monster’s Ball.

A deadly dull, by-the-numbers rendition of the Nativity story.

A ragged piece of filmmaking, but the odds are you'll have as good a time watching it as Nicholson and Sandler seemed to have making it.

This ludicrous Quentin Tarantino-chosen low-budget movie features choppy editing and an amateurish script, and it switches strangely back and forth between dubbing and subtitles.

Director-co-writer Fabrice du Welz has taken a clichéd premise and infused it with a stylish perversity that should have horror fans squealing with delight.

Candis gets some wonderful performances from his impressive cast.

Viewers are either going to walk out after 10 minutes or, like this tolerant critic, get caught up in the sordid lives of the three misfits and stick around for the ambiguous ending.

Fails to deliver the dramatic punch.

The problem lies with the paucity of sizzle between the romantic leads, Renée Zellweger and Ewan McGregor. They just don't look like they're having any fun together, particularly the bony Zellweger, who has trouble filling out the wow-worthy ensembles and perpetually looks like she's sucking on a lemon.

It's awkward, listless and fails to reach any sort of climax.

Woody Allen's most purely entertaining film in years.

Just because the goods are made in Italy doesn't mean they're designer-quality; Don't Tell is glossy on the outside, cardboard and staples on the inside.

A must for Jaglom fans. For other viewers, it will depend upon how much they can take of Jaglom's improvisational style and Frederick's over-the-top, tear-filled acting.

Complaining about the gooey and generic The Holiday is as useless as railing against fruitcake - this is a slick, throwaway chick flick designed to provide nothing more than mindless diversion between bouts of shopping.

Without question, the follow-up isn’t as hilarious as the original. Who honestly expected it to be? And a good 20 minutes could have been trimmed. But “2” is warm and comfortable, features another untethered performance from Sandler that only he can give, and is less lazy than I feared.

Brewer, who romanticized the world of pimps and ho's in "Hustle & Flow," is obviously out to push some politically incorrect buttons with this ludicrous - yet, in the end, sweetly involving - Southern Gothic pulp yarn.

Ever wonder what "Scrubs" would've been like if Zach Braff's fledgling-doctor character was psychotic instead of goofy? I get the feeling John Enbom, screenwriter of The Good Doctor, has.

The Sons of Tennessee Williams, which offers touching interviews with many older gay men, somewhat awkwardly connects this history with the efforts of a gay Mardi Gras crew to keep going in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.

May be momentarily entertaining, but don't expect anything profound from the lightweight saga.

A disarming Spanish dramedy of late-life love, speaks a universal language.

Hot Summer Days makes a lukewarm case for global warming. It's a better argument that the production of mindless fluff is not just limited to Hollywood.

This sort of violent comedy — think “True Lies’’ meets “Grosse Pointe Blank’’ — is tough to pull off, but Spanish director Paco Cabezas and screenwriter Max Landis (“American Ultra’’) nail a screwball fantasy vibe that stops just inches short of downright silliness.

This Michael Mann-directed film is full of Michael Mann-isms, many of them familiar from, and done better in, “Heat.”

A well-written and -acted drama that's also unrelentingly grim.

Eschews the heavy sexual content (and most of the clichés) of so many gay films -- it also has a lot of heart.

This long and overly genteel adaptation of Peter Cameron's 2002 novel never quite comes to a boil.

Christopher Plummer confronts Nazi horrors again in Atom Egoyan’s preposterous thriller, which squanders a terrific performance by the Oscar-winning actor.

Fay Grim is like watching stoners playing Risk and Clue at the same time.

Much sillier - and the movie's nearly two-hour running time seems to last nearly as long as a vampire's afterlife.

There are some charming moments and some funny scenes along the way. But you end up feeling sorry for the likes of Ron Howard, Karen Black, Fred Williamson and Peter Bogdanovich, who agreed to play themselves in cameo.

A lame teen comedy.

As the plot loses steam, director Mark Pellington (whose paranoid thriller "Arlington Road" was one of the worst movies of 1999) tends to rely on cheap tricks to maintain suspense, although the final catastrophe is very nicely done.

Tries to be many things -- romantic comedy, mockumentary, a satire on beauty and aging -- but ends up succeeding at none.

Purposely amateurish.

But a happy reunion can’t re-create the original’s spark, innocence and masterful comedy.

As in Allen's films, the extensive shooting -- mostly at locations in and around Central Park -- takes place in a whitebread world where the only person of color is Rosemary's nanny.

The low-low budget ($50,000) coming-of-age drama, shot on high-def video, is nothing if not daring and innovative.

There isn't anything especially wrong with Who Do You Love but there's nothing here that cries out to be seen, either. Read more: http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/movies/who_do_you_love_VZgyGvsv0ruc9teHrzQIlJ#ixzz0kcaj8Mwl

Ranks somewhere between the barely watchable "The Back-Up Plan" and the good but wildly overrated "The Kids Are All Right."

As Lydia Lunch of Teenage Jesus & the Jerks puts it, "They seem so desperate to be liked, desperate to have their music used in the next car commercial."

A rather unremarkable, if endearing, entry in the quirky rom-com genre.

Some movies present their whole story in a two-minute trailer, but Gridiron Gang says it all in its poster.

Prieto does what he can to keep things roaring along, but the overall effect is not a lot more stimulating than your average diet cola.

Really, though, it is just another tiresome and impenetrably brooding Gerard Butler movie in which no event seems to matter any more than the next one — and grimaces are mistaken for drama.

Robin Williams’ last live-action film, Boulevard, is a frustrating ending to a stellar career, a cramped and melancholy film about a cramped and melancholy man.

A glacially paced, extremely moist, terminally gloomy and cliché-laden romantic drama with a supernatural twist.

Wind Chill is very much Blunt's show - there are no other major characters save Holmes - and she even gets to climb a telephone pole in her Prada heels. Brava!

Good-natured, lightweight fun, although clichéd and more suited to DVD and cable than the big screen.

There's nothing you haven't seen before - and better - in Deadfall, which would seem to appeal mostly to fans of snowmobile chases.

There aren’t really game-changing shocks here so much as detours. Shyamalan takes what your non-serial-killer father might call the scenic route. The destination? Meh.

Branagh’s warped vision of these films as putrid, depressing slogs makes Death on the Nile interminable.

A campy docu-drama about the secretly gay world of 1950's muscle magazines.

Uncommonly well-acted and beautifully shot on location in southern India, but it's not exactly riveting.

Amateurishly written and directed, and so predictable that it hurts.

A boring, wincingly cute and nauseatingly politically correct cartoon guaranteed to drive anyone much over age 4 screaming from the theater.

Fresh off of winning the Best Director Oscar for "Nomadland," Chloé Zhao has upchucked one of the MCU's worst movies in ages.

Day’s performance is a beacon surrounded by mediocrity and mismanagement.

I didn't buy how The Next Three Days plays out - but I almost bought it, and that's good enough for a thriller.

This is a Disney adaptation, beautiful but frequently treacly.

Bidding to be the “Terms of Endearment” of zombie movies, Maggie sucks all the life out of an idea that just won’t die.

Has a few things going for it -- a winning performance by Luchini and a small role by Pedro Almodóvar favorite Carmen Maura. But these talented folks can't compensate for a plot that strains credulity and lacks badly needed social bite. Wait for the DVD.

No one loves a broad comedy like the French, but Gallic touches of restraint tend to keep such light entertainment pleasing rather than blundering.

A mild, slow-moving drama that belatedly tries to argue that graffiti writers are political artists, not an urban blight.

Take a stroll down London Boulevard if you enjoy surly, smart, hard-edged British crime movies like "Sexy Beast" and "Croupier."

These man-eaters are deadly, mainly in their ability to bore you to death.