Soporific, shamelessly derivative and barely coherent by American standards.

It's hard to imagine how Shyer and script writer John Sweet could have brought this tale to the screen in a cruder, cornier or less interesting way.

There's 80 minutes of mawkish, overacted melodrama - laced with gratuitous violence and profanity - before we get to anything more than the briefest snippet of a dance number.

A triumph of misguided moviemaking, starting with a grotesquely miscast Mira Sorvino, who arguably gives the worst performance ever by an Oscar winner.

This adaptation is so sloggy it feels like wading through thigh-deep snowfall, stained scarlet from all the gratuitous gore.

Atrociously written.

Child of God is, like the source novel, loosely inspired by the notorious real-life cannibal murderer Ed Gein. So was Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho.’’ Nobody left that classic bored — but they sure will be by Franco’s film.

Sexual and toilet humor plumb new depths in Keenen Ivory Wayans' Little Man, which will stink up theaters like several gross of dirty diapers.

In the fourth and by far the worst screen version of "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers," Nicole Kidman's character struggles to stay awake - as will the audience.

The Love Guru is even funnier than "Wayne's World" or "Austin Powers." Not.

The Wedding Ringer is not so much a rom-com as an anatomy lesson. And the lesson is this: Men have balls. They must have them, or grow them, otherwise they are not men. They are little girls.

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

The makers of The Spy Next Door should give 50 percent of their profits to James Cameron for ripping off "True Lies." Let's see, what's 50 percent of nothing?

Never rises much above yawn-worthy.

Seidl sternly rejects nuance. All the women are crude and insensitive, all the men are desperate and exploited. Despite copious full-frontal nudity, it’s an unrelievedly puritanical and didactic film.

A hapless family film that's too scary for little kids and too boring for everyone else.

There are a couple of grams of interesting stories about Miami's drug traffic in Cocaine Cowboys, but the good stuff is cut with 50 kilos of cinematic baking soda.

Let us return to reality (all this happened less than three years ago; do documentarians think we don't read the papers?).

Becomes more and more confused, unpleasant and preposterous.

Dramatically inert, satirically inept and thematically insufferable, Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk is the most disappointing film of the year.

Though it tries — with a much too heavy hand — the new Evil Dead is far less humorous than its predecessor.

Lethargic direction, bland visuals, credulity-straining plotting and tin-eared dialogue turn even pros like Rebecca Hall, Paul Bettany and Morgan Freeman into sleepwalking bores.

After two lousy sequels, here’s a pitch for Warner Bros.: “The Matrix Retirement.”

A criminally slow, all-but-laughless blaxploitation comedy.

None of Dunham's humor comes across, except when someone says, "And when you speak, your words are snakes I swat at with swords," which is hilarious, but not intentionally.

Dreamworks Animation's clunky and wildly unimaginative Monsters vs. Aliens really doesn't have a clue what to do with the [3-D] technique.

Plodding drama.

Last week I thought watching women take their clothes off was sexy. This week I saw A Wink and a Smile.

I'd call Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days harmless if it weren't for some totally unnecessary gay-panic jokes that could actually encourage bullying.

How would “Slightly less terrible!” look on a poster? That is my approved quote for Zack Snyder’s Justice League, a perverse exercise in fanboydom on HBO Max that tacks on two extra hours of footage to a maligned 2017 DC Comics movie to create a kind of new, still-bad movie.

The misleading documentary Trumbo paints a golden nimbus of holiness around the onetime highest-paid screenwriter in Hollywood, Dalton Trumbo, an on-the-record hater of democracy, defender of authoritarian rule and avowed Communist.

The one highlight is Julia Nickson, who breathes life into the role of Ethan's evil stepmom.

From bad to worse - Even in verse - The Producers moves like a hearse -Mildness and blandness -Mugging like madness - Who knew that "Rent" would win this fight? - Murdering a genre's just not all right!

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.

In the pantheon of James L. Brooks films, “Ella McCay” is far from as good as it gets.

A British indie as tepid as yesterday morning's tea.

Well, it smells, all right, but authentic isn't the word I'd use for this maudlin male weepie, a compendium of the worst clichés of sports and journalism movies.

It makes so little sense on-screen that all you can do is nod along vaguely sympathetically at its sheer creative bravado.

Why was this pointless movie made? Because quality actors like Blanchett and Weaving like to play drug addicts. They can't stop themselves. They need help.

Recalling the lesson about bringing a knife to a gun fight, a British documentary filmmaker brings a spoon to a hatchet job in the film Sarah Palin: You Betcha!

The Return is about bullets, bombs and boobs - the biggest boob being Van Damme, natch, but there are also mammaries aplenty.

Brutally banal chitchat about life and love ensues.

An exercise in cynicism every bit as ugly as the shabby digital photography and muddy sound.

Hyperactive.

It's a film that reeks of stupidity and cynicism, one that makes you feel soiled just to have sat through it.

It's nicely photographed but slow-moving, dull and utterly predictable.

Like the lobby of a Donald Trump building, it looks ever so expensive and amazingly cheap at the same time.

Purposely amateurish.

The movie (Untitled) is a tinny satire destined to go "(Unwatched)" because it is "(Uninteresting)."

A cringeworthy, unfunny example of a culture-clash romantic comedy.

If this cheesy, cheap-looking update of "A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur's Court" had been co-produced by the Ku Klux Klan itself, it could hardly be more repellently stereotypical.

Features some good acting, but most of it doesn't ring true.

The whole movie is so ineptly written and directed that its 90 minutes seem to take twice as long.

Painfully unfunny spoof.

A baffling mixed platter of gritty realism and magic realism with a hard-to-swallow premise.

The most distressing bad choice in CBGB, a movie entirely composed from them, is that those brilliant songs are repurposed studio recordings.

The actors are personable, but they're burdened with a script full of stereotypical characters and offensive jokes. By the time Christmas Day arrives, this movie will thankfully be long forgotten.

Congratulations are in order to Table 19: This comedy about the random losers stuck together at a wedding reception actually, uncannily, creates an experience as dull, awkward and excruciating as the thing it mocks.

Endlessly lame.

Liev Schreiber's film version of "Everything Is Illuminated" achieves the impossible — it's even more annoying than Jonathan Safran Foer's gratingly precocious novel.

Those endless end credits reveal that McKittrick previously worked at Steak & Ale, Roadhouse Grill and Friday's. He may well need to return to his line of work after a debut as dismal as this one.

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones hopes to be the start of a new franchise for tweens and Twihards, but the twuth is this twash is anything but a twiumph.

The good news about I Don't Know How She Does It is that it's so bad that it's another ovary-punch to the formula chick flick. Bring on more films like "Bridesmaids."

A low-watt, low-wit comedy.

An English-language film from Italy, Tale of Tales toys with the ogres, princesses and crones of classic fairy tales to almost no dramatic effect, albeit with lots of sex and gore. Imagine the Brothers Grimm’s cousins Tyler and Jake writing for a late-night slot on Cinemax and you’ll get the idea.

Deadly dull.

These man-eaters are deadly, mainly in their ability to bore you to death.

Corny action scenes and borderline-hilarious direction by Isaac Florentine mark the film as an obvious straight-to-video item that somehow took a wrong turn into a movie theater.

You'd be better off renting Demi Moore's "Striptease."

It’s a violently annoying and annoyingly violent ensemble piece speckled with “look how wacky we are!” characters that are impossible to put up with; a copycat Coen Brothers yarn with the depth of a tortilla.

You could make a very funny comedy about a guy who pretends to be retarded so he can win the Special Olympics, but The Ringer isn't it.

One of my critical brethren opined that this sort of dumbing-down and low comedy may be the only way to sell the public a movie about the Iraq war. If that's true, God help us.

The only thing remotely scary about Monsters is that Magnolia is releasing this boring scare-, suspense- and gore-free horror movie (which reportedly cost less than $100,000) on Halloween weekend.

A charmless, unscary, fatuous and largely incoherent fairy tale.

Every once in a while the old-fashioned costume drama comes alive, only to sink again into run-of-the-mill special effects and long periods of talkative tedium.

The movie falls into all the usual rhetorical traps.

The whole endeavor seems like a bad idea badly executed, and one can only imagine that Simone, a fierce advocate of black pride and empowerment, would be aghast at this cheesy rendition of the later years of her life.

The choppily edited and thoroughly wooden Serena utterly fails to catch fire, even when everything literally goes up in flames. So despite its big stars, it’s getting only a token theatrical release.

Just because two people are miserable doesn’t mean they’re interesting.

Things rapidly go downhill in this pinch-penny production.

The often difficult-to-follow plot is sort of "Traffic" for nitwits.

Most of the comedy comes from dull situations like a fat guy trying to put on a fat suit for no reason.

A stultifying vanity piece.

Guardians of the Galaxy brings to mind some of the most unforgettable sci-fi event movies of the last 30 years. Alas, those films are “Howard the Duck” and “Green Lantern.”

This is essentially a student film offering nothing but absurdly contrived coincidence.

It’s not great art (in fact, it’s pretty low-rent CGI), but it’s passably entertaining.

Bears all the signs of having been composed by an inferior race of alien screenwriters from the Hackulon System.

At last, the missing link be tween "Phantom of the Opera" and "Saw." Welcome to the gonzo revenge saga Law Abiding Citizen.

A perfect storm of wooden acting, hackneyed direction, inane scripting and laughably cartoonish special effects produces a shapeless mess more wearyingly stupid than arch-villian Dr. Doom is evil.

Jane's Journey is an exceedingly graceful and dignified sleep aid.

The movie is essentially a theater piece in which Nolan (Walker) is mostly alone on screen, making use of what he finds a la John McClane, but without the smart pacing or inventiveness of “Die Hard.”

Save your money and wait for the new 3-D version of the 1939 classic that Warner Bros. has promised for later this year.

If I weren't already being paid to watch this movie, I'd feel entitled to compensation for having to sit through this many product plugs.

Semicoherent.

This masturbatory exercise is the least revealing "documentary" since Jerry Seinfeld's "Comedian."

There is a limit to the redemption Nicolas Cage can grant a terrible movie, and Primal is it.

Tedious and obnoxiously manipulative.

If there's a fresh idea in When Harry Tries To Marry, I couldn't find it.