If Falling for Christmas simply fleshed out Sierra more, and made us believe she was in love with Jake, not just grinning at everybody, we’d have a movie. Instead, it’s a predictable stunt.

It is a remarkably unattractive-looking movie. I don’t know when people voted that the seasick look of an iPhone video is now a desirable style.

The script is so overstuffed with painfully obvious clues (the constant patina of sweat on the cocky doctor's face, for one) that we don't need the ominous rumbles on the soundtrack to tell us where we're headed.

Wolfs, a so-called comedy written and directed by Jon Watts in which Clooney and Pitt play rival New York fixers tasked with discreetly disposing of a dead body, is a dreadful, laugh-free slog that tests the limits of what star power alone can salvage.

Ride Along tries to be a comic version of “Training Day,” only there’s nothing in it as funny as Denzel razzing Ethan. There’s nothing much funny in it at all.

Burying the Ex is missing the key ingredient every good zombie movie needs: brains.

A dull drama about domestic squabbling that hopes to be mistaken for a thriller.

It’s a harrowing tale that deserves a much better movie than this insipid junk.

Aside from a relatively brief appearance by Joan Cusack's avatar as the kidnapped mother, there are no involving characters or situations.

Director Annette Haywood-Carter films the proceedings with a sepia-tinged prettiness, but this is a Southern “Downton Abbey,” minus the loopy plot turns and wisecracks that make that series so addictive.

A truly repulsive piece of trash that says far more about the absence of values from contemporary filmmaking than the waywardness of teens.

Like “Traffic’’ on a massive dose of downers, Ridley Scott’s The Counselor is a great-looking and star-filled but lethally pretentious, talky, lethargic drama.

Even an appearance by Alec Baldwin as Moretz's eventual - if highly unlikely - savior isn't enough to keep Hick from leaving a bad taste.

Now that even Woody Allen has stopped making "Woody Allen movies," you would think that wannabes would move on, too.

A horror-comedy that takes a weak premise (do high school boys even go scouting anymore?) and barely uses it, anyway.

I've had root canals that were more enjoyable than Margot at the Wedding, Noah Baumbach's hugely pretentious, ugly and annoying follow-up to "The Squid and the Whale."

Ohayon doesn't judge Thompson or his customers, but you don't need to be a Harvard-educated psychiatrist to realize that the bunch of them are dirty old men who treat women as commodities.

Syd is a jerk whose anger does not make him interesting. The only reason to keep watching is because you hope someone will drop a piano on his head.

The schmaltzy Diana is directed at a dirge-like pace by German director Oliver Hirschbiegel, whose film “Downfall’’ depicted the final days of Hitler and provided one of the Internet’s most enduring memes.

Though darker elements loom in the shadows, nothing in this painfully sincere film is remotely affecting; just think of it as “My So-Called Strife.”

Reiner, who came in to rescue this picture after the original director was fired, once gave us "When Harry Met Sally," but seeing him work now is like watching Willie Mays hobble around in a Mets uniform during that pathetic final year when he hit .211.

The movie's last words are "This is how legends are born." Make that stillborn, because when the makers of this one pitch the sequel, the only answer is going to be, "Ah HA HA HA!"

The ending means to stir our emotions, and it does inspire one: relief that it’s over.

Your average episode of “Days of Our Lives” is less soapy (and performed with more restraint).

When they came in to pitch A Thousand Words, no doubt by calling it "Jerry Maguire" meets "Groundhog Day," a studio exec should have raised the palm of rejection and said, "When you stop being sadly derivative and write an original idea that's as good as those two, come back."

In the end, it is inadequate, juiceless storytelling that deprives Titan A.E. of any dramatic force.

Director Anthony Leonardi, in his feature debut, litters the film with inconsistencies.

Captivity is torture porn without the sex. Cuthbert squirms, screams, weeps and pleads for her life with great conviction. Slick, sick sleaze.

More tedious than affecting.

The bottom line of Last Days seems to be, fame's a bitch. Yes, Gus - now start making movies again that tell stories, please.

The movie, a sequel to 2009's much more sprightly and amusing indie "Women in Trouble," seems to be reaching for Robert Altman territory. Instead of offering many intriguing stories, though, it can't come up with even one.

The sad truth is these durable 80-year-old characters, who peaked with a 1950s TV series, never even come to life in this bloated, misshapen mess, a stillborn franchise loaded with metaphors for its feeble attempts to amuse, excite and entertain.

Have you ever seen a movie without a single believable moment? Perfect Stranger, a convoluted and altogether risible thriller with Halle Berry and Bruce Willis, manages this difficult feat.

A contrived comedy that could have made an especially weak episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond.”

There are a few exciting battle sequences and the sets are lavish, but mostly the film meanders aimlessly for more than two hours. No wonder new sword-and-sandal movies are in short supply.

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

Sometimes there's a fine line between a labor of love and a vanity project, and The Lost City, Andy Garcia's heartfelt - but hackneyed and interminable - love letter to his native Cuba, repeatedly crosses it.

Despite this seemingly surefire premise and cast of veteran comedians - there's even a cameo by Liza Minnelli as a masturbation coach - The OH in Ohio just lies there, without a single laugh.

Many diehards, in their slavish, zombie-like subservience to the MCU gods, will tell you that Sam Raimi (brilliant on the 2002 “Spider-Man”) has directed a horror movie. Lies! It’s as scary and visually arresting as “Van Helsing,” “Underworld” and “Hellboy 2.”

Almost without exception, the men are either sickening deviants or wise mentors while the ladies tend to be kickboxing hipsters or victims of sexual abuse (many are both).

The only hint of professionalism comes from Cheech Marin as Cannon's boss, who at times seems to be acting in a different movie.

The Lord works in mysterious ways but Persecuted works in blundering, obvious ways, straining a Christianity-under-attack theme through a dopey thriller.

A depressing and tedious movie.

“Secrets,” somehow the third of a planned five, really puts the “dumb” in Dumbledore.

The real disappointment is Danny DeVito as a creepy coroner.

With so many worthy movies being made in Europe, it's a crime that something as mediocre as Erotic Tales gets a release here.

Toothless, unbelievable and not particularly funny, New Suit is no threat to "The Player," "Swimming With Sharks" or "The Big Picture," to name but three more interesting pictures in this inside-baseball genre.

A very belated and very silly follow-up to "Death Wish."

Makes little attempt to be credible or original. And the acting is poor.

Tired? This series is as exhausted as Shrek after a day of baby wrangling and diaper changing.

Wind power plus solar power equals hot air in the propaganda piece Carbon Nation, a documentary so disconnected from reality it could have been produced by President Obama's speechwriters.

Charles Busch's spoof of beach-party movies and psychological thrillers, an off-Broadway hit 13 years ago, stubbornly refuses to entertain in this unrelentingly dull film version.

Rickman has fun playing a lecherous old bastard of a professor in Nobel Son, a pulpy would-be comic thriller, but the movie doesn't deserve him.

A good cast can't save The Lodger, the utterly wrongheaded fourth movie version of a 1910 novel inspired by Jack the Ripper.

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

A movie about bisexuals sounds fresh and fun on paper, but a sensitive acoustic song under the opening credits shows exactly where The Happy Sad is going. Deadly earnestness and sex don’t mix well at the movies.

A miracle of badness, a kind of art- house "Showgirls" -- which actually exceeds "Showgirls" in its self-indulgence, shallowness and sheer stupidity.

While the film is a modicum better than the actress’ “Falling For Christmas” last year — such a punishing world, this is — the improvement is also a knock against it. This high-fructose-corn-syrup movie remains air-headed, that’s for sure, but it’s far less campy and therefore a drag.

Nesting is a sitcom, but a really slow and dull one that barely grinds out 22 minutes' worth of plot to fill a 90-minute hole.

Holmes, with Alice Cooper hair and crazy Jim Carrey eyes, looks terrible and acts worse, unless this movie is unintentionally a lobotomy documentary. Whatever could have happened to her in the last couple of years to zap the talent out of her like this?

Repo Men is a rare film where Toronto plays itself. It's also the first I've ever seen where a typewriter is used as a lethal weapon.

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

Rates an "E" for effort -- and a "B" for boring.

Even for a mumblecore film, Computer Chess is weak stuff, a punitively dull chunk of quirk that is about, and feels like, being stuck in a motel with a gaggle of programming nerds for a weekend.

Embarrassingly bad - the kind of slapdash exercise that gives even Hollywood formula a bad name, while doing little justice to the sport.

A twist ending does nothing to make the previous 85 minutes interesting.

To compete with the quintessence of nullity that is Sofia Coppola's insufferable Somewhere, imagine a film called "Wanna See Me Crack My Knuckles?" or possibly "Let's Learn How Long It Takes This Shallow Dish of Liquid To Evaporate."

I only laughed once, and it was when Whit Stillman made a cameo to be snubbed by the newly self-actualized Imogene. But it was mostly in disbelief; pretentious or not, Stillman represents a caliber of smart writing that’s wholly absent from Girl Most Likely.

The documentary Giuliani Time, which seeks to knock our former mayor off his pedestal, hits him with all the force of a wadded-up Kleenex. Those who hope Rudy Giuliani never returns to public life must be getting panicky.

This bore fest is nearly two hours of sizzle-less romance and thudding dialogue, centered around the sort of obnoxious free spirit who’d start up an unwanted conversation with you at a bar

The terrorism thriller Java Heat sure is violent. I don’t even want to tell you how viciously Mickey Rourke mangles the French accent he’s trying to do.

As lifeless and unfunny as a corpse on a slab.

An utterly clueless, relentlessly grim and rambling action epic guaranteed to displease devout Jews, Christians and Muslims alike, amuse atheists — and generally bore everyone.

The stars look bored out of their minds when the fourth episode of the franchise stalls between racing sequences.

The overall result is superficial and deadly boring.

A cheesy, often unintentionally funny, direct-to-video-caliber knockoff of "Aliens" that couldn't be more shallow.

The innovation of Refn’s latest is mostly just in the way it manages to merge gory and boring. At least it’s created a new movie adjective for me: goring.

This infomercial for Helnwein's work as designer for an Israeli opera called "The Child Dreams" doesn't tell us a lot about how opera comes together, but it is accidentally revealing about its subject.

The only prize this shamelessly derivative schlock is likely to be in the running for is the year's dullest thriller.

If I wasn't already convinced of this movie's obnoxiousness, its rendering of Graham's character sealed the deal.

Like one of those five-minute featurettes on star athletes deployed to soak up time on the pregame show -- expanded to a paralytic length.

This low-caliber Gun Shy has singularly ugly cinematography by Tom Richmond that at one point shows off Bullock's facial hair.

The screenplay is packed with so many hilariously bad lines (it's hard to believe that writer-director Helgeland won an Oscar for co-writing "L.A. Confidential") that the movie would be perfect material for a resurrected version of the TV spoof "Mystery Science Theater."

There may be a lot left to say about Hurricane Katrina, but if so, I'm Carolyn Parker doesn't say it.

Dreadful, misogynist slog of a film.

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

Set in the drab suburbs of Paris, The Stroller Strategy doesn’t even offer pretty backdrops.

If the film is meant to make us feel good about African justice, it does anything but.

Murder on the Orient Express has been . . . murdered!

Silly and pointless film.

The script is blaring and obvious at all times, and in his second directorial effort, David Schwimmer doesn't have a clue how dull it is for the audience to endure scene after scene of anguish, crying and screaming matches

Will there be a “Hatchet IV’’? I shudder to think about it.

Without any believable characters or situations, Reindeer Games is about as appealing as leftover Christmas fruitcake.

Even at a cramped and frenetic 82 minutes, the movie feels long. That’s what happens when the audience can guess everything that’s going to happen in advance.

A laughably bad B-thriller.

Proves, if anything, that sappy feel-good movies aren't restricted to Hollywood.

In Vehicle 19, Paul Walker is back behind the wheel again, but this time it’s a rented minivan and the plot is brainless even for a Paul Walker movie. Get ready for “The Slow and the Spurious.”

All hopes for suspense and plot twists are snuffed out about as quickly as the film's black characters.