In Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials, selfish oldsters scheme to rob young people of their vital essence, sacrificing them in the process. It’s basically “Social Security: The Movie.”

I suppose it's nice that Romero has a hobby, but he couldn't be more of a bore if he were showing off his pine cone collection.

Director Ben Hickernell soft-pedals the material into a blandly feel-good dramedy. As Abigail's spirited young trainees, Alexandra Metz and Meredith Apfelbaum give Backwards their all, but can't row their way clear of its clichés.

The dialogue is ridiculous, the acting wooden - but that's not why we go, is it?

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

A slight movie. But it has its share of charm and is a pleasant way to spend a little over an hour. It also is a sign that Burns might actually have talent.

Oblivious to both narrative logic and the laws of physics, the cliché-filled San Andreas doesn’t nearly have the star power of earlier, better disaster movies it borrows from like “The Poseidon Adventure,” “Earthquake” and “The Towering Inferno.”

By the time this corn festival is over, you'll be crying out for the relative toughness of the average Jimmy Stewart film.

The chick comedy-drama Catch and Release may look bland, but it's not. It's worse. To rise to the level of blandness, it would need to have a few gallons of Tabasco dumped into it.

A surprisingly unengaging and charmless fantasy from a director whose previous films ("Across the Universe," "Titus," "Frida") were, despite their other issues, never boring.

It's hard to get close to a wild creature, and True Wolf doesn't always manage, either.

Director John Moore has added some creepy visuals and assembled an unusually strong cast for a horror flick.

A shaky effort to make a point about art triumphing over all.

Isn't quite up to the comic standard of Rob Schneider's 1999 hit "Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo."

Gandolfini, who skillfully fleshes out what's written as a one-joke character, comes close to pilfering The Mexican from the stars. Under the circumstances, that's not a huge accomplishment.

Startlingly immature.

The film accurately reminds you, if you need reminding, what it's like to have your mind hijacked by somebody's body.

These two stars bring believable chemistry and emotion to a film that might otherwise wilt under the weight of so much melodrama.

Hot Rod started to go wrong at about the time someone in casting said, "You know what? I'll bet America's just about ready for the comedy stylings of Sissy Spacek."

A purely entertaining, scary flick will infuriate the culturati who like their movies like they like their Atlantic articles: long and academic. However, despite some issues, this Janelle Monáe film is a breathless watch.

Roughly a more broadly comic French version of John Favreau’s “Chef,’’ this film stars veteran Jean Reno as a longtime celebrity chef who may lose control of his Paris restaurant because the young new CEO thinks he’s old toque.

Smartphone apps don’t particularly lend themselves well to political allegory or satire. But that’s precisely what the makers of this fitfully amusing animated adaptation of the once-popular game seem to be fruitlessly attempting.

Doremus can’t quite make the emotional breakthroughs rewarding enough to justify the slow buildup, but the icy beauty of the film makes it worth watching.

A slow trudge devoid of suspense and adrenaline.

Not even Sandra Oh, as Phoebe's boss, and Elodie Bouchez ("The Dreamlife of Angels"), as Ashade's sister-in-law, can keep Sorry, Haters from becoming a sorry mess.

There's a reason you've never seen the words "Will Forte" topping the billing of a major motion picture. After the throbbing flameball of unfunny that is MacGruber, you never will again.

Who let this dog out?

In “Mistress of Evil,” everything is a notch less fun, romantic and engaging.

Light It Up would be a strong candidate for the year's most irresponsible movie - if it were remotely believable.

Very, very funny, albeit inferior in a number of ways to the original.

Cinematographer Darius Khonji does a superb job of conveying both the sensual beauty (there's a spectacular moonlight-on-the-water sex scene with Leo and the lovely Ledoyen), and the darkness of Richard's paradise lost.

This relentlessly mediocre romantic comedy is basically a pretty arthritic third-generation Xerox of "Annie Hall," with Jason Biggs and Christina Ricci in the old Allen and Keaton parts in a probably quixotic attempt to court the youth market.

Demonstrating that an hour and a half of stunts doesn't make a movie, this feature is X-treme only in its multidimensional dullness.

There’s a simplicity and directness in Chaplin of the Mountains that keeps it aloft; its wholehearted sincerity feels much fresher than any number of slicker, more cynical films.

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

Coming-of-age road trips have rarely been more tedious or predictable.

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.

There are enough sharp one-liners and funny situations to keep things entertaining even as Braff delves (lightly) into genuine dilemmas confronting many a married couple.

As for a villain, you could do worse than Bryan Cranston as the evil political overlord who is trying to stamp out the resistance -- When he goes mano a mano with Farrell, it's not spine-tingling. It's embarrassing, like watching a dude beat up his dad.

It's an even rarer pleasure to see a film that combines exciting action with a smart, well-informed script and vivid yet restrained performances.

A messy, woefully uneven chick flick.

The opening and closing scenes are scary and should please fans of the genre, especially at Halloween time.

Woo has never been particularly good at human stuff, and to the extent that Paycheck is, or should be, a love story, it feels forced.

Under writer-helmer Rehana Mirza, the acting and direction are workmanlike, but the plot is full of hackneyed characters and contrived events better suited to TV than the big screen.

Most are exercises in sickening bad taste, with an emphasis on human bodily functions. The biggest stinkers? “T Is for Toilet” and “F Is for Fart.”

Temple and Angarano, entertaining enough, never quite sell the idea that this goodhearted couple would be so easily transformed by greed.

As a spooky midnight movie, The Wolfman is worth curling up with.

Dear John is the sort of movie that gives tearjerkers a bad name.

I understood two words of Youth Without Youth: "The End."

An appropriately respectful and dignified biopic.

The documentary tells us little we don't already know and is overwhelmingly one-sided. It would make a nice TV infomercial, but certainly doesn't deserve a big-screen release.

More violent than anything Wood ever did, Automatons nevertheless has the kitschy feel and look of something he might have concocted. And I mean that as a compliment.

Delivers plenty of smart dialogue and devises a number of excellent reasons to photograph his cast in situations that suggest the working title for the film might have been "Women in Underwear."

A sort of "Babel" of bonking, 360 gives us much in the way of international anguish, frustrated coupling and longing stares, but there's very little plausibility or genuine emotion in its egregiously contrived story of ardor gone amiss.

With Roth at the helm of a script attributed to Price, there is minimal suspense, audience involvement or coherent social commentary.

Except for the rock soundtrack, these movies could be silent - and probably should be.

Providing a hint of redemption is Edgar-Jones, a naturally vulnerable actress who can turn the shallowest of material into something deep. We like Kya and are with her every step of the way, even though at over two hours there about 50 steps too many.

Ryan's heart is definitely in the right place and his film has good performances and flashes of talent. But, overall, it plays like the world's longest — over two hours -- after-school special.

Even parents might find themselves having fun.

Murphy has fallen back into the comfortable rut of sloppy family comedies that are low on laughs and high on toilet jokes.

Predicated almost entirely on the repeated juxtaposition of innocent girlishness and mindless violence, Violet & Daisy could still have been campy fun — instead, it wilts for lack of wit.

Tom Arnold plays the fatherly head of a child-prostitution ring and John Malkovich a sympathetic social worker - two clever casting twists that constitute the main interest in the grueling Gardens of the Night.

If you've seen "Gone With the Wind," you've seen what Love in the Time of Cholera isn't.

One of those potentially interesting movies that takes its sweet time getting to the point - by which time many audience members will likely have bailed out or dozed off.

It's "The Postman" on a pitcher's mound.

In monotonous narration, Rosette rants that the vendors' right to free speech should allow them to obstruct sidewalks, but the portrait of his subculture is so vaguely rendered, it will likely put audiences to sleep rather than change minds.

A skin-deep examination of a shallow lifestyle that draws a conclusion so logical it's almost superfluous.

It's as light as a feather yet tickles all the same.

Some gut-busting moments, but for the most part the thrill is gone.

At turns sexy, ultra-violent and sweet, it will infiltrate your brain long after you've seen it.

Provides a few minor thrills, but overall is talky and implausible.

Relies far too much on an overdose of gore and a pack of hungry wolves to deliver its chills.

The horror flick The Uninvited is not unclever - but it is unoriginal.

Calls to mind Grandpa taking out his dentures and trying to put on a comedy monster show for little kids at Halloween: When he tries to be scary, he's goofy, but when he tries to be goofy, he's scary.

The drama is a crude blend of history and pulpy romance, with maudlin performances from the two leads.

89 minutes go by like 89 hours. Not just 89 regular hours either: 89 hours of being stuck in an airport. During a blizzard. While Lewis Black sleeps drooling on your shoulder.

In the pantheon of films about magical cars, this one is not big, bold or beautiful.

Solid performances can't save Melissa Painter's pretentious teen drama Steal Me, which plays like a cross between "Dangerous Skin" (without the gay sex) and "Picnic" (without the production values or credible situations).

The writing, acting and direction are so amateurish that the only thing you'll care about is escaping the theater.

The problem is that there's not a sympathetic character among the nasty, brutish males. And the women, except for a flashy cameo by a swimsuit-clad Paris Hilton, are given short shrift.

Statham is an essential tough guy, what the Brits call "well'ard," as self-assured as Lee Marvin.

As bland as the Kenny G-style smooth jazz its hero listens to in moments of distress.

In Machine Gun Preacher, Gerard Butler says, "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of that hurt a lot of people." But enough about "The Bounty Hunter," "The Ugly Truth" and "P.S. I Love You."

But by the time events unfold, viewers will most likely have given up on this melodramatic.

The worst crime perpetrated in the Swiss-cheese screenplay by Gerald Di Pego ("Angel Eyes") is the cynical use of a mother's love for her child as a plot device for an intelligence-insulting sci-fi dud.

Horvath has a sensitive eye and ear, mixing good-looking shots of the barren landscape with portraits of the land's eccentric inhabitants. It's a world (scary at times) that most New Yorkers have no idea exists. [25 Aug 2004, p.40]

As expected, director Sam Taylor-Johnson’s woeful film “Back to Black” doesn’t play as the gripping battle of musical genius vs. personal demons it fancies itself to be. Instead it’s all sadness, songs and sensationalism.

Fairly sexy and stylish. Alas, it's also quite silly and not especially scary.

The Romantics isn't as consistent or as well-rounded as its parent, "The Big Chill," or as entertaining as its less literate but more extroverted cousin, "St. Elmo's Fire," but with its tart dialogue and its perfect ending, it is sensitive as well as sagacious. It's a rare combination.

A better than adequate date movie.

Earnest and predictable, it's the cinematic equivalent of a pop hit by star Selena Gomez's boyfriend, Justin Bieber.

Pretty far-fetched even for a franchise about rare genetic mutations that allow people to read minds and shoot lasers with their eyes. It’s not bad, just crazy.

A witless homage to "Shampoo" and "American Gigolo" that's brain-dead on arrival.

Has some entertaining moments, thanks mainly to Bullock herself, who is surprisingly glamorous as well as endearing.

With its poky pacing, thin characters, obvious message and predictable plot, the movie amounts to a cinematic sermon that, like many of those given in houses of worship, has a good-hearted message that will be difficult to deliver to a snoozing audience.

It's their hard luck that this movie is being released as the Olympics wind down. The contrast with the beauty and self-discipline seen for the past two weeks doesn't exactly work to the advantage of Nitro Circus.

Director Josh Boone’s goal was to jettison the usual comic-book trappings and make The New Mutants a horror film. He succeeded on the first part, but not the second. Nothing is scary or heroic. Perhaps unsurprising coming from the guy who directed “The Fault in Our Stars,” it’s all teenage troubles: love, sex obsession, a tinge of self-harm.

At one sip per cuss word, though, few viewers will still be conscious for the ending, in which the three cops finally come to the same place, each for an entirely different but equally ridiculous reason.