Turistas has mastered the international language: stupidity.

Repackage clichés and stereotypes with attractive young performers in a simple-minded script that panders to the teen audience.

This is the sort of movie that requires you not only to suspend disbelief, but to check your sanity at the ticket counter.

Relentlessly dopey and vulgar.

For a film that takes place largely in a basket, Harper manages an epic mood. Nonetheless, you can’t help but feel swindled by Hollywood’s hot air.

Frustratingly superficial.

That Eulogy has any laughs is largely a testament to the understated Romano -- he and Deschanel are the only ones in the cast who aren't straining to be funny.

The result is an intermittently instructive and amusing jumble that might have been seen as daring and "transgressive" in both form and content if it had been released, say, three decades ago.

What a bloody disappointment Stigmata is!

Among group-suicide movies, A Long Way Down may prove uniquely inspirational: It’s bound to make audience members want to kill themselves. It might be the only summer movie during which the snack bars will be selling cyanide Kool-Aid.

A dull, trite thriller.

A pretentious, unsatisfying and ultra-slow-moving thriller.

Jarringly insensitive and amateurish debut feature.

Tommy Riley is a ten-cent "Baby."

Partly a schmaltzy, by-the-numbers romantic comedy, partly a shallow rumination on the emptiness of success -- and entirely soulless.

This female revenge thriller starts out promisingly, but squanders its girl-power capital quicker than you can say "Rihanna."

Only rarely does the film present a genuine insight, such as the observation that many black people loved to dress up in their finest for church because, during the week, they were so often dressed as servants and manual laborers.

This inferior sequel is doomed by a lousy - and extremely vulgar - script.

A comic adventure that suffers from a dearth of both laughs and thrills.

Appalachian mountains get blown up to extract coal in the documentary The Last Mountain, a film in which activists are at least as hot as the TNT.

"Happy Feet" was one of the greatest and most original animated films, but the sequel can't even decide what it's about for the first 40 minutes.

Something most have gotten lost in the translation.

A dopey psychological thriller that combines elements of “The Sixth Sense” with an overbearing sentimentality, The 9th Life of Louis Drax flat-lines from beginning to end.

True, the stars are very good at what they do, but so what?

It's another flick about maps, landmarks and buried treasure that makes "The Da Vinci Code" look like TOLSTOY.

Fitfully funny at best, it's a sophomoric, facetious road comedy.

Nothing’s wrong with a few buckets of blood, but Perkins’ movie waters them down with its repetitious plot and weak attempts at humor. “The Monkey” strains to be a comedy as much as a horror film and effectively works as neither.

The film is full of baffling choices, like the EKG machine that beeps for the first 40 minutes, so loud and so maddening that the great words barely register. Mumblecore is not a good look for Ibsen.

The film is Beverly Hills Chihuahua. The audience is the fire hydrant.

Features less than 10 minutes of music in its mercifully brief 83-minute running time.

There are a few good jolts - and a moderate amount of spurting blood - but things pretty much proceed exactly as you think they will.

Michael J. Bassett's Solomon Kane is been there, done that.

A lightweight French comedy worth watching only for Cecile de France. The gamine actress - decked out in short reddish hair, black tights and a thigh-high mini - is charming as Jessica.

Though it boasts excellent performances by Anna Friel and Michelle Williams as bosom buddies whose lives meander over three decades, it plods on with a wearying predictability and some truly terrible dialogue.

The comedy is without distinction and the conclusion is melodramatic. I must note that ads for the film are misleading because they give no hint of the dark side of The Bubble.

The story is so slight, a low-wattage hair dryer could blow it away.

A talky, pretentious soap opera about Spanish intellectuals.

The movie doesn't do anything with these viney bastards. There's no back story, no satire, no allegory, no implications beyond what's happening on the pyramid.

Problem: Kidman is the only one in the theater who is turned on. The rest of us are giggling.

Despite its talented and/or attractive cast, Heartbreakers is an ugly movie: The kind that makes you feel slightly soiled afterwards.

O'Brien also provided the lethargic direction and collaborated with Messina on the cliché-infested script, which is long on booze-filled confessions.

Disco may still be dead, but Benji: Off the Leash! resurrects another dubious artifact of the '70s - the crudely made family films starring that lovable mutt.

Say this for A Lot Like Love: It isn't one of those impossibly witty romantic comedies.

Your baby is near death. Instead of dropping everything to save his life, you make sure the video camera keeps rolling.

For much of Flannel Pajamas I wondered if the couple's big problem was that Stuart was secretly gay. Nothing so interesting - he's just a narcissistic control freak and she's off-puttingly needy.

In the hands of the formerly promising director Joe Carnahan, this stylish, nihilistic, hugely derivative mash-up of Tarantino and Guy Ritchie (before wife Madonna ruined his career) is fun for roughly half an hour.

Considering that Gracie says nothing that hasn't been said in dozens of films, one does wonder whether Hollywood is being as diligent as it could be in digging up fresh story ideas.

The director has cited "Inglourious Basterds" as paving the way for his own movie; but for all his boldness, Quentin Tarantino avoided the camps altogether. My Best Enemy shows the camps only briefly, but once it does, it becomes both too much, and not enough. Once you see even a long shot of such a place, the impulse to find humor in much of anything is gone.

Love and Honor may be politically clueless, but Hemsworth and the student journalist he hooks up with (fellow Aussie Teresa Palmer of “Warm Bodies’’) do make an undeniably attractive couple.

As blissfully simple as James Cameron’s original “Terminator” framework was, “Dark Fate” has a tendency to toss in unnecessary confusions.

A low-key Field is the best thing about Two Weeks, which is set in a Wilmington, N.C., where everyone mysteriously sounds like he just got off a Los Angeles freeway.

When the studio tells us that parental guidance is suggested, does it occur to them that they should have taken their own advice?

"Dark World” is low-stakes, low-emotion, lowbrow.

I went to a wartime thriller, but then a Poli Sci 101 seminar broke out.

Watching Penn pump iron and denounce capitalism for two hours would be roughly as illuminating as this monotonous Euro-thriller.

There's no real payoff - artistically or emotionally - in Gregory Harrison's gimmicky and tedious psychological thriller November, shot on ugly digital video.

Given the complete lack of chemistry between Chan and Forlani, their rather awkward lip-lock isn't worth $10 to see. Sadly, neither is anything else here.

The film alternates between shoving its confusing plot forward and dropping dialogue bombs that fizzle.

Anderson, in her first major non-Scully film role, is lethally miscast.

Features all too much footage of the scowling Burns, who has a narrower range than almost any actor working in Hollywood these days.

You simply cannot believe you’re staring at megastars — so sapped of individuality and charisma they are. My barista could have been cast as the lead of this action-thriller, and the film would be absolutely no different.

Toby is so un-self-aware that his journey seems like mere obtuseness; what the film has to say about youthful degeneracy is less than zero.

There are some decent actors and great costumes in this overly solemn compendium of rock clichés.

It lurches ineptly from lame comedy to hokey melodrama.

Fails to grab the imagination as it unfolds in familiar TV-movie fashion.

Spun is quickly exposed as being all flash, no substance.

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.”

Sir! No Sir! doesn't make a lot of sense, but it does have some fascinating footage of Jane Fonda, both as a dippy young protester and today, when she remains dazzled by her own legend.

The movie pretty much exists to sell tie-in products, and it's about as entertaining as watching little kids playing with their toys in the sandbox.

Might have been more successful if Darabont and his pal had attempted a Preston Sturges-like farce. Instead, it's played totally without any kind of edge - a fantasy that makes "The Lord of the Rings" look realistic by comparison.

A comedy that forgot to install the funny.

Rambling, schmaltzy romantic comedy.

Feels like a Greek version of "My Own Private Idaho."

A rare dud from great Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar, I’m So Excited! is a campy, sex-obsessed spoof of airborne-disaster movies that never really gets off the ground.

They should have called it “Star Trek Into Drowsiness.”

Nothing in Redemption quite adds up, including the paranoid hero’s insistence that he’s being watched by drones.

Much lip service is given to the global village in Connected: An Autoblogography About Love, Death and Technology, yet it constantly drifts back into a Shlain family slideshow.

So laugh-poor that it shoves all its comedy chips on a bet that you can build a movie around nose gags.

A documentary hardly anybody has been waiting for.

While sporadically funny, the sophomoric My Name Is Bruce is no "Bubba Ho-Tep," the movie where Campbell unforgettably played Elvis Presley as a nursing home patient battling a mummy with the help of John F. Kennedy. But Campbell's fans can feel free to add a star or two.

It isn't entirely clear if Games People Play is a spot-on but longwinded and excessively campy spoof of those TV "reality" game shows... or just a particularly ingenious and sleazy example of the genre.

It was supposed to be a lark. And then, almost immediately, it went off the rails. I’m not referring to the mother-daughter vacation gone wrong in Snatched, but rather the experience of watching it.

Most of Mortal Engines is a wearying blast of CGI and genre-cribbing (most egregiously, director Christian Rivers hired composer Junkie XL to seemingly lift, wholesale, his soundtrack from “Mad Max: Fury Road”).

A woefully earnest indie about a crime and its aftermath.

Katie Aselton has achieved the seemingly impossible. She's turned a movie about sex into a boring, talky snooze.

The movie offers very little that food radicals don't already know.

May well be the dullest and most pointless version ever filmed, thanks to a stunningly bad lead performance by Ethan Hawke.

The film feels unbelievably long at 84 minutes, and the color-drained, hand-held cinematography serves only as a reminder of just how good "Night of the Living Dead" really was.

A dumb, by-the-numbers children's movie.

A serial-killer flick told like an art lecture, Anamorph manages to be gruesome yet dull.

This movie fails so spectacularly - and on so many levels - that it's like watching a train plummet off a bridge.

Ang Lee's Taking Woodstock achieves an amazing feat: It turns the fabled music festival, a key cultural moment of the late 20th century, into an exceedingly lame, heavily clichéd, thumb-sucking bore.

It's bone tired.

Though Fiennes has done (far) better work, the blurry story seems almost profound when seen through his eyes. To the extent the movie works at all, it works best when it's just the camera and Fiennes in a bleak white room.

None of the actors has the heft to elevate this rote material, though to be fair, the task may be impossible. The dreamy shots of a poisoned sea in Little Birds show an imagination sorely missing from its drab plot and characters.

[Director Kaye's] dedication to the material is admirable, but his tactic of following one dismal development with an even more depressing one comes to seem monotonous and pointless.

Hossein Amini’s script leaves good actors like John Cusack, Ken Watanabe and Chow Yun-Fat flailing.

It isn't as ridiculous as this year's other version of a local best seller set during WWII ("Captain Corelli's Mandolin"), but it's arguably even less entertaining.