Slow-moving, yawn-inducing remake.

So feeble it fails even as train-wreck exploitation. I’d be unkind, but not entirely inaccurate, to label Coppola’s sophomoric, er, sophomore effort as a director an offer you can refuse.

Though a bit stiff in the joints and acted by an undistinguished cast amid TV-movie trappings, this low-budget adaptation of Ayn Rand's novel nevertheless contains a fire and a fury that makes it more compelling than the average mass-produced studio item.

A movie that appears to have been shot entirely on leftover sets from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail."

This is the sort of comedy that requires you not only to suspend disbelief, but your sanity as well.

It is a better option than the third "Santa Clause."

Fitfully amusing.

There’s nothing wrong with being a brainless B-movie, but this one is funless and lackluster, a grinding mess of pulp clichés with dull characters, perfunctory violence and dim plotting.

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.”

Everybody flirts with everyone else as director John Irvin pours on a level of shopping-mall-gift-shop-kitsch that would shame Wayne Newton.

It stumbled onto an accomplishment truly awe-inspiring: It makes “Battleship” and “The Watch” look good.

Anyone interested in this remarkably prolific author would be better off visiting a library or bookshop.

Crudely animated, badly dubbed, incomprehensible, boring -- and headache-inducing -- attempt to wring a few more yen and dollars out of a thoroughly spent franchise.

The "Prinze" of terrible movies is back - in what might charitably be called "Rear Window" for morons.

It’s a scrappy, unpretentious movie, with nicely calibrated pacing, but there’s no logic, little motivation and above all, no personalities.

Strands a good cast in a sea of stereotypes and clichés.

Most of this movie is beyond lame. It almost makes "A Cinderella Story" -- the ever-mugging Duff's surprise hit of last summer -- look like a real movie by comparison.

This ponderous drama from director Kazuaki Kiriya quickly gets weighed down by its own blood-drenched armor.

The sort of movie that seems to exist for no good reason except to keep the studio's pipeline filled with filmed product.

Actually more entertaining than its 1994 predecessor.

Garfield is a downright cat-astrophe.

The people who are inflicting this movie on us intend it as some sort of inspirational epic. But the only thing it will motivate viewers to do is get out of the theater.

A few magic rocks and tepid battle scenes do little to inspire interest in the goings-on as Malcolm McDowell and Eric Idle spout villainy and punch lines, respectively.

Mortdecai is mortdifying, a mortdal sin of a movie that’s headed for the cinematic mortduary.

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 son of Muppets creator Jim Henson has delivered a cliché-ridden, laughless bore that wastes lead actress Melissa McCarthy’s prodigious comic talents and beats well-trod territory with a mallet.

Exploitation pure and simple. But it's artistically redeeming exploitation. If you can handle it, see it.

A vulgar, grating alleged "family" comedy.

The transformation of the girls from winsome wisecrackers into whiny bling-obsessed chuckleheads is complete.

As for Grant, who hasn't been this sharp since "Love Actually" six years ago, he is once again the prime minister of cute comedy.

A movie so pathetically lame that hopefully even Spears most ardent young fans will give this stinker a big thumbs down.

You could do far worse in the current marketplace.

Might have been more successful if Darabont and his pal had attempted a Preston Sturges-like farce. Instead, it's played totally without any kind of edge - a fantasy that makes "The Lord of the Rings" look realistic by comparison.

Catwoman is pretty well summed up by Hedare: “This is a disaster. It’s a total bloody disaster.”

Sappy and simplistic.

They go on a biker trip from Cincinnati to the West Coast because they are tired of being bored and would prefer to bore us instead.

Bay swipes elements from other popular movies and TV shows, such as “The Da Vinci Code,” “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” and “Game of Thrones.” This director’s motto? Throw everything at the wall and then blow that wall sky-high!

Watchable in a train-wreck kind of way, but you'll probably want to take a shower afterwards.

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?

A schmaltz-laden soap opera from Saskatchewan.

There's no limit to Coyote Ugly's crass shamelessness.

A total disaster.

Ineptly directed by Simon West, the scare-free When a Stranger Calls is the worst of the seminal horror movies from the late '70s and early '80s that have been getting the remake treatment lately.

One of those movies that comes "straight from the heart" - the heart of the hack screenwriter's manual that pushes formulaic structure to cover up a lack of compelling characters, genuine emotion or actual humor.

I was held in suspense throughout The Fog, aching to learn the answer to its central riddle: Why would any one remake such a crummy movie?

A comedy that locks up Will Arnett's talent and throws away the key.

This witless action comedy begins to insult the audience's intelligence from the opening scene.

An example of lazy, dumb and couldn't-care-less hack movie making.

While there are some scattered laughs, the flimsy and nonsensical script - combined with the sledgehammer direction by Brian Robbins, make the similarly themed "Big Momma's House" look like Noel Coward.

A game and often quite funny attempt with an expert cast.

A brightly colored but terminally dull cartoon.

Co-star Christina Applegate, who's much more at home in this down and dirty milieu, wipes the floor (in one scene, literally, in a ludicrous cat fight) with the erstwhile Oscar winner.

More perplexing than any of the supposed mysteries of Terminal is what Mike Myers, of all people, is doing here, playing a train-station janitor with a creepy “Danny Boy” whistle.

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

Little Fockers may not be the worst, most vulgar, most pathetic and least funny picture of the year. But it's a strong contender for second place behind the picture Brett Favre allegedly sent over his cellphone.

Beat by beat, it’s exactly what you’d expect, right down to the camera’s prurient interest in the dewy flesh of Stefanie Scott as the 17-year-old daughter.

A lousy script, unfocused direction, incoherent editing, shockingly terrible special effects — and, probably, panicked studio executives — have left its four talented stars muddling through a dull superhero origin story with zero payoff.

The acting is, at best, serviceable; the sound track is too often unintelligible; the direction is often over the top; and the script relies heavily on stereotypes.

So utterly devoid of suspense, energy or credibility it should have been shipped straight to the remainder bin at Blockbuster.

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

Thirty years after "Annie Hall," the beloved actress is scraping below the bottom of the barrel with this desperately unfunny farce, in which she mugs and pratfalls in the worst performance of her entire career.

The film plays out pretty much exactly as you would expect - which won't bother some people one iota.

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."

Heck, between this and “Cats,” maybe Universal is now just specializing in confounding talking-animal movies. At least this one leaves you feeling kindly toward other species, rather than freaked out by them.

It's so painful to sit through you eventually stop feeling sorry for the floundering cast.

The Poison Rose doesn’t aspire to transcend any clichés, and judging from the flagging energy level of the actors, everyone involved knows it.

I was too bored to hate the movie. Besides, who hates a stuffed animal? If it actually said something intelligent or surprising, you’d be alarmed, not pleased.

Unfortunately, for the time being, the star of “Tár” and “Blue Jasmine” is stuck as the lead of the worst movie of the year — a grueling, 102-minute endurance test that’s as lifeless as the video game it’s based on.

“The worst superhero movie yet” is a phrase I’ve written so much in the past three years, I should make a keyboard shortcut for it. “Madame Web” is F6.

Bloody awful movie.

This is the sort of low-grade dreck that usually goes straight to video -- with a lousy script, inept direction, pathetic acting, poorly dubbed dialogue and murky cinematography, complete with visible boom mikes.

At this point, there are inflatable toys that are livelier than Stone, but how can you tell the difference? Basic Instinct 2 is not an erotic thriller. It's taxidermy.

It's trashy and disgusting - and those are the best parts. Mostly it's just an endless, pointless drone with characters like bacteria and dialogue like an untuned radio.

A kid comedy that's been zapped by extraterrestrial suckiness rays.

Never rises above the level of a second-rate TV sit-com.

The source material explodes with wit, but this hackneyed screenplay has swapped the crackling repartee for bargain-bin joke book lines delivered at a snail’s pace.

A drippy romance that makes Nicholas Sparks look like Leo Tolstoy.

Amy Sedaris, channeling her inner Frances McDormand as a hyper admissions coach, gets most of the laughs.

A collection of product plugs masquerading as a movie en route to home video.

A witless and vulgar romantic comedy wrapped inside a mock documentary.

I still can't believe I Melt With You went there. Over the top, off the hook and just plain bonkers, it makes its mark.

Even if you overlooked the production values from a 1986 porno and special effects like something your nephew cooked up on his Mac, the movie's "Yay, money!" zingers are just a big bag of sad.

A sci-fi actioner with the production values of your average porno, Alien Outpost spews clichés like a machine gun set on maximum triteness.

Thoroughly inept in just about every aspect.

So unspeakably dull that it can’t even offend, save when the filmmakers have the almighty nerve to quote Alfred Hitchcock and Jonathan Demme. It would be far better to rip off a William Castle movie, and aim for a level they have a prayer of actually hitting.

The film is lousy with cartoonishly off-putting characters.

A feeble dramedy about a Baltimore beauty shop where someone should come in to sweep up the clichés.

Rambo: Last Blood features what’s easily the most violent movie scene of the year. It’s awesome.

It's loaded with -- scenery-chewing melodrama, cornball pidgin dialogue and syrupy music.

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

Succeeds completely at failure; the unified incompetence of its writing, directing and acting suggest a man who manages to be on fire and drowning at the same time, just as the bus runs him over.

This movie is so self- combustingly bad it could never be good. But it's damn great fun to watch the thing go up in flames anyway.

Hokey, inept tear-jerker.

Overall, this sci-fi/martial arts hybrid has the stale aura of a product assembled out of bits of other action movies.

Pretentious and trite.

A buddy comedy that reeks like stale underpants.

Sandler's latest ode to projectile vomiting, passing gas, gay jokes and physical insults to the groin is basically a feeble cross between "The Revenge of the Nerds" and "The Bad News Bears."

WARNING: Do not take your mom to Georgia Rule unless she's Roseanne Barr. You may expect a three-generational chick flick, but what you get is a child-rape comedy.