Here comes Wayne Kramer's Crossing Over, a bid to create the "Crash" of illegal-immigration dramas.

There’s a fatally miscast lead (Jack Huston, you are no Charlton Heston), cut-rate special effects, reams of eyeball-glazing dialogue, and a schmaltzy “inspirational” script that pointlessly alters the story in ways that make absolutely no sense.

Nobody is good in this thing. You’d think it would be nostalgic to see Dern, Neill and Jeff Goldblum together again, but they all act like old fogies, and they’re written to sound like morons.

Essentially a downscale TV movie about spousal and child abuse.

Its intriguing subject matter is diluted by too many bland performances.

Even with a title this generic, there’s less to Murder Mystery than meets the eye.

The book is a fascinating, insightful, touching window into a unique community with immense struggles. On-screen, it’s exploitative.

Fails to draw much humor from farcical situations.

Sucky vampire flick.

Filmmaker Josh Stolberg claims to have been inspired by real-life events, but mostly he ineptly rips off other movies and wastes a cast that includes Rosanna Arquette, Adam Arkin and Elizabeth Perkins.

At the end, as Shadyac proclaims, "I stopped flying privately" (well, hurrah for you, Mahatma), renounces his Pasadena mansion and moves into a trailer park, the results of his epiphany grow funnier than any of his movies.

The result is mystifying - intentionally so - and frustrating. But it's worth a look.

The minimalist style keeps the suspense warm. The movie is unusual among teen horror flicks in that it largely avoids the usual cheap thrills and bursts of scare music. Instead, it carefully repeats isolated images and sound bites until they take on a shivery power.

Yes, it’s gross, and no, it’s not remotely original.

For John Cusack in Cell, the bad news is that his phone just ran out of juice. The good news, sort of, is that those who are on their phones were just attacked by a piercing signal that turned them into flesh-munching zombies.

It's funnier than "Bedazzled," which isn't saying much.

Lame spoof.

The cinematic equivalent of enduring a cross-country airplane flight trapped in a seat next to a manic depressive.

Well-meant but rambling little indie melodrama.

Alas, the laughs - courtesy of screenwriters J. Mackye Gruber and Eric Bress and director David R. Ellis - are unintentional.

The movie spins further and further into coincidence and incoherence.

You can't get this kind of full-on sensory-jolt anywhere else, not legally anyway. "Sharkboy" will be equally beloved in elementary schools and in college dorms.

Dryly comic, arch, sleek, and suffused with mood-setting tracks by the likes of X and Depeche Mode, Electric Slide has some of the mordant absurdity of the novels of Bret Easton Ellis. Like its dim hero, it’s going nowhere, but traveling in style.

Situations get increasingly ridiculous, and none of the characters ever seems like anything but a screenwriter's sketch.

The acting, script and direction - not to mention the syrupy score - conspire to make this a perfect storm of a hoot that will find its most appreciative audience among renters who have had a few glasses of wine beforehand.

It's something old, it's something new, it's something borrowed and it's something that blows.

Remember how "Double Indemnity" featured smart criminals and a smarter investigator? The indie film If I Didn't Care, with its dumb criminals and dumb cops, is a sort of "Double Stupidity."

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

A lazy coffee-table book of a movie,

Far from perfect, but it holds your interest as a character study because of strong performances by Daniels and Stone.

An excruciating indie knockoff of "Training Day."

Cage and director Joel Schumacher, who has fallen so far from the A-list that he provokes a demand for new letters of the alphabet after Z, have each found their cinematic soulmates.

The plot, however, comes with twists you can spot as far off as a Himalayan peak. The dialogue is heavily expository, and the actors are not up to the task of breathing life into characters meant to symbolize the Spirit of the Afghan People or the Nature of Evil.

If the script serves any purpose at all, it is to allow jocks to show off their buff bodies. They're hot, but not worth 12 bucks at the box office.

The bite and bark of Underdog are both pretty awful, but little kids might take this pooch for a walk.

Sir, no, sir.

This is one of those thrillers where the person on-screen is often the only person in the theater who can't guess what'll happen next. Lots of laughable moments provide camp value, though, and Bentley ("American Beauty") makes for a charismatic creep.

Baywatch is not nearly as good as this genre’s best entries, like 2012’s “21 Jump Street.” It washes up on the beach like a dead whale.

A fabulous and often hilarious variation on "American Pie" that substitutes quiche, gerbils and various sex toys for apple pie.

Dom DeLuise, as a fruitcake director, and John Waters fave Mink Stole, as Robin's Jewish mother, spice things up, but not enough to make Girl Play worthwhile.

In the end, there's just a roomful of decent character actors in search of a point. For them, the titular Flypaper may have simply been a paycheck.

Sweeping, if exhausting, historical epic set at the turn of the 20th century.

The next time Siddig plays a man of intrigue, let’s hope he’s chasing something more interesting than a clueless kid.

Some things, like ouzo and flaming cheese, are best left at single servings.

Despite oblique references to "Psycho" and "Children of the Corn," Freddy vs. Jason lacks the knowing wit needed to keep it afloat in an age when even the horror spoofs have been spoofed.

A fairly painless, if not particularly stimulating, experience, Gray has no idea how to capitalize on the reunion of "Pulp Fiction" co-stars Travolta and Thurman.

A clunky movie that feels as if it’s underwritten by the Roman Catholic Church.

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

The mystery is why the filmmakers thought third-graders or anyone else would be willing to pay for this master class in tedium.

Son of God is guilty of all the sins of the 1950s Bible epics, but without any of the majesty.

Writer-director Steven Knight mixes a tried-and-true James M. Cain formula with a clever digital gimmick worthy of Christopher Nolan, but some of his dialogue is overripe to the point of rot.

In the dud thriller The Tourist, Jolie basically plays an overdressed, humorless live-action version of Jessica Rabbit, running around Venice dodging hired killers.

Dumbed down to the point where it's barely recognizable as coming from one of Donald Westlake's John Dortmunder novels.

The lackadaisical pace of CD3 is a disappointing surprise.

A cinematic petit four.

Falls far short of capturing the hedonistic spirit of this ephemeral art community. It's more like a routine home video with arty pretensions.

This is a terminally whimsical vanity project that would probably have been a chore to sit through even in its original intended format, a 20-minute stage monologue.

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.

Zoey Deutch is fine in a non-demanding role as the requisite starry-eyed female student, and Danny Huston (“Wonder Woman”) gives us a softer side as Richard’s weepy best friend. But this is, at its core, a one-man show, and given the uncertain future of Depp’s career (being axed from the “Pirates of the Caribbean” franchise, for example), it might also have been titled “Johnny Says Goodbye.”

Like most of Netflix’s films outside of awards season, “Atlas” is a sluggish afterthought that settles for being just short of OK.

Among the year's ultraviolent pulp movies, "Sin City" was prettier and "The Devil's Rejects" more focused.

A big, loud, proudly brainless popcorn flick that blows up cars, trucks, tanks, boats, helicopters and even a train.

Wrath of the Titans suggests a franchise that isn't trying very hard, and I don't really expect a sequel. But if it does happen, I fear it'll be even less of an event: "Tiff of the Titans."

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.

Carell's frantic mugging as a modern-day Noah barely keeps Evan Almighty afloat.

Slow-witted and occasionally unintentionally hilarious.

Seven Days in Utopia obviously isn't targeted at us cynical New Yorkers. But it goes down more smoothly than you'd imagine thanks to Duvall and an excellent supporting cast.

A maudlin and unintentionally hilarious romantic weepie.

Poor John Leguizamo, who hopefully got well-paid to voice a stereotypical Latino bird providing a stream of nonsensical narration.

Annabelle is mostly a grab into the Great Big Bag O’ Horror Clichés: sound-bombs of shrieking violins explode randomly, doors slam unbidden, rocking chairs creak by themselves, machines suddenly whir to life.

It settles for being a bland and preposterous thriller.

Lee's framing device - which ends with a head-scratching fantasy - doesn't work. At. All.

There is much more suspense in this sequence than a similar scene in last week's "The Sum of All Fears" -- which wasn't intended to be funny.

Sometimes hilarious but mostly sitcom-esque geezer comedy.

A sexed-up Afterschool Special pretty much guaranteed to render audiences comatose.

Lethargically paced, badly edited and shot in hideous digital video.

The movie isn't insulting to homosexuals but to comedy.

This bomb, which premiered at last year's Sundance Film Festival, belongs in the same remainder bin as Spacey's "Pay It Forward," "K-Pax" and "The Life of David Gale."

The Other Woman isn't a perfect film, but it makes better use of her (Portman) talents than her other current movie, "No Strings Attached."

As it stands, there’s little to explain the existence of this confoundingly unfunny film. It’s as if a talented cast (Wilson, Zach Galifianakis, Amy Poehler) assembled to make a comedy and at the last minute was told to play everything straight.

Lethally dull and self-important remake.

An Eye for Beauty star Éric Bruneau proves to be a haircut in search of a man, which makes him ideal for this vapid adultery drama that delivers the character depth of your average spread in Architectural Digest.

Those expecting an exhilarating, "Pulp Fiction"-style wrap-up will also be disappointed. Instead, Flowers gives us the impression - as the end of "Traffic" did - that we've just taken a few turns on a merry-go-round of doom that is going to keep spinning long after the movie ends.

The movie has two modes - very loud and extremely loud - and all of the actors are encouraged to mug their hearts out. That even includes Cusack's real-life sister Joan, normally one of the most reliable performers in the business.

Don’t expect too much of Heist — it’s a cheesy formula picture all the way — but it has solid character foundations, the occasional bright line of dialogue (“Cops, this is robbers,” Morgan says on a phone call) and a neat final twist. As throwbacks go, it’s more bearable than shoulder pads.

What could have been an intriguing look at a bizarre and complex woman plays like just another cog in the Annabel Chong publicity machine.

Shapeless, sloppy, badly paced mess.

Molly Ringwald-like, Wren must choose between two guys: the nerdy Roosevelt (Thomas Mann) and the Porsche-driving Aaron (Thomas McDonell), but both are so dull it's hard to care. So feeble is the movie that even the wacky, redheaded best friend (Jane Levy) isn't funny.

Surprisingly watchable because of its cast - especially Jack Klugman, who steals every scene he's in as Dad's paranoid survivor father. All he has to do to stand out is underact.

Kids should see Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties. It'll help prepare them for a lifetime of mediocre entertainment ahead.

Sorry, but if your sensibility is pure trashy camp, don't expect anyone not to laugh when you try to be earnest.

THE mesmerizingly awful The Kid & I is a historic first: a comedy about the making of a vanity production that is ITSELF a vanity production.

Going Under is the feature directorial debut of 65-year-old Eric Werthman, who has been a practicing psychotherapist for a quarter of a century. If you're not already seeing a shrink, Mr. Werthman, may we suggest that you start immediately.

A would-be piece of pulp fiction about a parolee trying to go straight, The Samaritan proves that even Samuel L. Jackson can be boring.

The script’s by Robert Ben Garant, also behind last year’s scary-movie spoof “Hell Baby,” and this one teeters right on the edge of laughable, with its V.C. Andrews-like series of goth twists.

Mirren maintains her class throughout Love Ranch. She may deserve another Oscar just for keeping a straight face while reciting a ridiculous speech about the Donner Pass tragedy on her way to a tryst with her character's lover.

Among gay Jewish French postman movies, Let My People Go! may be a Hall of Fame entry, but alas, by any other standard this would-be sex comedy is a dismal failure.

Lacks even a trace of imagination. Its by-the-numbers plot is depressingly familiar, and each line of dialogue is so predictable that the script... could have been generated by a computer.