Though Cho occasionally connects with her targets, more often than not she seems as intolerant and hate-filled as she accuses them of being - and that's not funny.

Pretentious, stagy and over-the-top update of Chekov's "The Three Sisters."

Domino, though, is the dregs: This thriller may be randomly set one year in the future, yet it’s hopelessly regressive — a parade of lame stereotypes that feels directed by an out-of-touch Old Hollywood old guy (De Palma is 78).

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

At the start of Insidious 2, a young woman opens her mouth to speak and someone else’s voice comes out of her. Demonic possession? Nope, just some inexplicable dubbing to kick off this clunker of a horror sequel.

This unambitious Michael Bay-produced version doesn’t seem interested in cleverness, cravenly settling for the usual generic CGI shtick.

It really all comes down to the Bellas. With brilliant actresses like Wilson, who has a badass fight scene this time, and Kendrick, the stealthily vicious pixie, the studio could drop this cast in a DMV with a pitch pipe and they would make a decent movie out of it — a movie that I would pay to see.

Moves at a swift clip with pungent performances.

Works unexpectedly well for its first three quarters.

An overlong melodrama-by-numbers.

If only its characters weren't such stereotypes.

A better cast this time around — Michael Angarano, Milo Ventimiglia, Sofía Vergara and Max Casella, with cameos by Jason Alexander, Stanley Tucci and Hope Davis — tries to breathe life into Goldman’s cliché-ridden plot.

First-time feature director Clare Niederpruem gives it her very earnest all, but falls short both on continuity issues (a smoldering curling iron, for example, is dropped to the floor and immediately forgotten) and on making her gradually aging cast match up.

The dancing’s fine here, but there’s little else to distinguish Make Your Move, an entirely generic drama.

Outlaws and Angels isn’t perfect — Murray mumbles into his beard way too much — but Eastwood sure is at ease with a cowboy hat and revolver. Clearly, she’s studied with the best.

An instant candidate for the so-bad-it’s-sort-of-great hall of fame, Jupiter Ascending is totally bonkers, a sort of black-velvet-Elvis mash-up of “Star Wars’’ and every other sci-fi/fantasy movie of the past half-century right up to “The Hunger Games.”

Despite being named “Gator Bodine,” Franco seems like something Statham would scrape off his boots. Put it this way: Franco needs a baseball bat to be intimidating; Statham just needs to be Statham.

Jigsaw is a wickedly fun villain, if you can put aside the implausibility of a guy who likes to saunter away from his deathbed to kidnap younger, stronger people and devise medieval torture chambers.

Fanning has little to do beyond grasping her prosthetic stomach, but James is a decent foil for Gere, who gives form to the highly topical subject of how pain meds destroy lives.

An impressive screen debut.

If you have an appetite for audacious, one-of-a-kind filmmaking, this one's for you. Just don't say you weren't warned.

It's a thinly disguised lecture about intolerance, spotted with historical inaccuracies and groaning with dialogue so dreadful that it makes a fine cast look ridiculous again and again.

The biggest problem with the corny horror film Anacondas: The Hunt for the Blood Orchid is that its titular reptiles are about as scary as jellied eels.

What follows is a jumble of cop- and heist-movie clichés, dotted with appearances by actors you liked in something else.

One of the big problems here is that, despite much exposition, the nature of Klaatu's mission on Earth isn't at all clear.

Ambitious, guilt-suffused melodrama crippled by poor casting.

Generic variation on the overworked serial-killer genre.

The talented cast doesn't stand much of a chance in this rambling, pointless narrative.

Overall it's got two left feet - and charm is in dangerously short supply.

Tries to be "The Karate Kid" of gymnastics. It looks more like "The Karate Kid" as imagined by Details magazine.

It's another in the bicoastal indie industry's endless series of self-congratulatory comedies about the alleged dopiness of middle American hicks who do things like read Parade magazine and decorate with flags.

More than lives up to its name with ultra-campy performances, high-glucose direction, laughable dialogue, cheesy effects and a back-lot simulation of a Manhattan street that wouldn't pass muster on an after-school special.

There's no shortage of "wow" moments, but the strong liberal political subtext of the trilogy has largely disappeared.

Dystopia’s supposed to be worse than what’s in the papers, fellas. Try to keep up.

The origins story Dracula Untold is Dracula unbold — unoriginal, unimaginative and utterly non-unprecedented. This Vlad the Impaler has all the edge of Vlasic the pickle.

As apocalypse scenarios go, this one feels both retro and commendably topical: Nuclear bombs, remember those? (Also: Edward Furlong, remember him?)

Blake Lively doesn't have a whole lot to do as Hal's employer and occasional lover, who sometimes requires rescuing. No great loss; she and Reynolds have minus-zero chemistry.

During an endless, maudlin last act, it becomes more and more difficult not to laugh -- or barf -- as the protagonists tearfully come to terms with their issues.

The only feeling the character seems capable of is lust -- and when he hits on the male nurse looking after his newborn baby in the hospital, this hollow, unfunny "comedy" moves from merely tedious to nasty.

Milks the very real problem of "organ tourism" for all the melodrama and car chases it's worth.

Sporadically hilarious but more often just plain crass and contrived.

The plot is predictable, as complications line up like jets awaiting takeoff. Even the camera work is predictable: The attractive-girl's-scary-boyfriend-suddenly-pops-up shot; the morning-after, face-in-the-pillow shot.

Like some hybrid beast out of Greek mythology, this young-adult sequel has the body of a “Harry Potter,” the head of a “Twilight,” the feet of a “Hunger Games” and the tail, oddly, of a “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

Antony Cordier's Four Lovers offers only dull characters playing for extremely low stakes.

The cowardly producers have banished the grit and darkness of Parker’s original.

About three-quarters of the way through, Havana Nights suddenly becomes laugh-out-loud awful, with dreadful, lame lines delivered painfully badly - as if a different screenwriter and director had taken over for the movie's final act.

More tedious than affecting.

While a mob thriller can be as nasty as it likes, what it can’t be is silly.

Most of this film is humorless and with not so much of a score as a subwoofer.

A roaring old-school action adventure for kids, with as many mythical beasts as a year at Hogwarts and a healthy dose of smiting without the crazed bloodlust of “300.”

Has some witty dialogue and sprightly performances by Karen Black, Andrea Marcovicci, Victoria Tennant and others.

Jeremy Piven's infamous "sushi defense" for skipping out on a Broadway role is easier to swallow than his performance as a scuzzy auto liquidator who sees the light in The Goods: Live Hard, Sell Hard.

There is a passable 85-minute comedy in here, caked in an additional 30 minutes of flab.

Overblown, interminable and unfunny.

Stevens has a keen sense of the absurd, but the whole thing is too forced - and his use of "rotomation" (last used in Richard Linklater's "Waking Life") to give a Timothy Leary-swirl to key dramatic moments winds up looking incongruous.

One of those thriller-comedy combos that never get the balance quite right.

The best scene centers on neither Latifah nor Martin. Rather, it's the venerable Plowright delivering an a capella rendition of the slave spiritual "Is Massa Gonna Sell Me Tomorrow?"

The result is a hodgepodge of plots and styles, a fault compounded by stiff acting and, except for a few scenes, wooden direction.

There's something seriously wrong when you assemble actors this good -- and can't believe a single stilted word coming out of their mouths.

Bad in ways that are almost endearing, St. Trinian's does offer the spectacle of Rupert Everett mincing around in drag as a headmistress bedeviled by Colin Firth, as an education minister and former lover who wants to shut down her out-of-control school.

Young men and fast cars are automatically stupid together, but even if you set your intelligence level at “off” — and you should — you’ll get a hangover from this cocktail of 200-proof stupid, clinking with moron ice cubes and with an idiot cherry on top.

Some of the powerful characters you thought were good are evil and vice versa. It’s like “Wicked,” but wretched.

Aims straight for the tear ducts as well, but this weepie is a dry well.

Possibly because Heigl is one of the producers, the most beautiful woman in the film -- the stunning Christina Hendricks of "Mad Men" -- dies in an off-screen car crash barely before the opening credits are over.

If you thought Matthew Broderick looked uncomfortable playing “himself” in “Trainwreck,” wait till you get a load of the actor portraying a married man who wonders if he’s gay in Neil LaBute’s mean-spirited comedy Dirty Weekend.

A weird mash-up of disaster, horror and dystopia genre pictures, Aftershock fails to make the Earth move.

A clueless Mundhra tackles the subject with a heavy hand and a contrived script. The result is a daytime soap mixed with a second-rate women-behind-bars flick.

Barely watchable, despite the presence of such pros as Michael McKean and Jane Lynch.

This partially animated, charm-free atrocity is awful enough to instantly cure any remaining nostalgia for the rodent trio.

Halfway through, the jokes stop - the laughs never began - and give way to a tiresome thriller.

As sensuous as its title, Silk is an exquisitely felt love story that unfolds as delicately as a blooming flower. And as slowly.

Struggling for the same vibe as male-bonding comedies like “Diner,” Growing Up & Other Lies instead feels like a really long beer commercial, except beer commercials usually contain at least one witty idea.

Robert Zemeckis’ film “Here” is an object lesson in how to take a touching idea and make an extremely annoying movie out of it.

A formula flick that should have tapped out in the script stage.

It’s a wispy movie that does not end so much as peter out, and it could have benefited from a little more humor and a little less heinous male behavior. Miller and Farahani, though — both sometimes used previously as decoration — give strong performances as women bonding over their delight in both movement and their own beauty.

This blithe inattention to authenticity is perversely endearing, and the whole (overlong) shebang is so jolly and well-intentioned, that it's kind of fun. It's just not very good film-making.

Who needs a big budget when you have a quirky script, an energetic cast and a soundtrack that features Union 13, the Blondes, Future Pigeon and Omega Man?

Their heads spun 360 degrees. They vomited up green sludge. They violently shouted curse words...No, not the demonically possessed girls in “The Exorcist: Believer” — the awful movie’s furious audience.

The less you know going in, the more you'll enjoy it. Suffice it to say that it's a hugely entertaining thriller disguised as a chick flick.

It's fine for kids, though, and it doesn't try too hard.

The script is garbage, the voice acting is wooden and the songs are as infectious — and deadly — as the Mister Softee jingle.

It’s long, dumb and there’s nothing below these high-school students’ conspicuously perfect complexions.

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

Only really little tykes will find the surplus of pratfalls and poo and fart jokes a hoot.

When Will I Be Loved would rate no stars except for Campbell's brave, totally committed performance -- which deserves a far better movie than this.

So over the top that it often plays like a parody.

Amidst the ennui, there are some fine performances.

Long on heart if short on surprises, Big Stone Gap is an easygoing visit to small-town America.

This rousingly sweet little flick is certainly nothing to go out of your way to avoid.

OK premise quickly deteriorates into a silly, badly acted slasher movie -- minus the slasher.

Playing like a script that’s been moldering since Diane Keaton turned it down in 1983, The Other Woman is a weak adultery rom-com in which the most authentic performance comes from a non-housebroken Great Dane.

The agent in this interesting little thriller — well played by John Cusack — is up to the Company’s usual dirty tricks.

A runaway bore.

Infuriating grab-bag of a movie.

Boasts exceptionally attractive locations, but its painfully amateurish plotting, dialogue and acting -- combined with slack pacing -- make this Beijing-set indie romance something of a trial.

There is probably an amusing movie to be made about camps that try to "rehabilitate" homosexuals - but this thuddingly stupid satire isn't it.

Whaley gives an earnest performance, especially when he's articulating his frustrations during his monologues. But it's all relentlessly glum. The film, like Jimmy's routines, could use a few good laughs.

It's full of Plympton's trademark twisted humor, with lots of sex thrown in.