I went in expecting to be disappointed, but even so, I was disappointed.

Director-writer Shimon Dotan takes this iffy story and makes it nearly unwatchable by jumping back and forth in time, using screens within screens and bouncing between color and black-and-white.

His late father directed "Rambo: First Blood,'' but Panos Cosmatos' debut feature couldn't be more different - this would-be cult classic is the movie equivalent of gazing at a lava lamp for nearly two hours.

Good Luck Chuck, a fungal little sex comedy, doesn't need a review. It needs a tube of ointment and a shot of penicillin.

That Awkward Moment is a rom-com for dudes that seeks to outdo the ladies by being even more insipid, formulaic and contrived than anything Katherine Heigl has ever done.

Four Brothers? Ringling Brothers is more like it, because John Singleton's latest stinks like something the elephants left behind. It's not clear what the film is trying to do, but it seems safe to guess that it's doing it wrong.

Misconceived, bloated and incredibly ugly fantasy epic.

Love Happens is a weepie about the grieving process, mainly my own.

The nicest thing I can think of to say about the doc Neil Young Journeys is that at least it isn't in 3-D.

The only thing that's shocking about Death of a President is how boring it is.

The only possible relief from director Xavier Gens' abusively bleak survivalist scenario is how implausible it is.

The rest of the cast is uniformly awful, including Carmen Electra and Kathy Griffin as a wacky medium who asks, "What do I look like? A comedian?" Not from where I'm sitting.

Romantic comedies are often as contrived and irritating as Loosies, but few feature a lead character so lacking in appeal.

It settles for being a bland and preposterous thriller.

It reeks of contempt for the audience. This is not just a "B-movie" -- it's a B-movie that fails to entertain on any level.

Screamers, one of the most bizarre documentaries you'll ever not see.

Completely lacking in imagination and purpose, this vanity project might suffice as a home movie, but it's hardly worth the expense and bother of seeing it in a theater.

A comedic sinkhole, a dramatic tundra.

Bereft of inspiration, the agonizingly witless screenplay - blamed by the credits on George Gallo - resorts to pathetic cheap jokes about flatulence and impotence, lame slapstick and that juvenile gag about the horror of two men waking up naked in the same bed.

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

The entire movie seems to have about the same budget as a 30-second sneaker commercial. I'm not talking Nike, either. I'm talking a commercial for Steve's Second-Hand Sneaker World and Falafel Emporium that you'd see on NY1 News at 3:08 a.m.

Strings together 60 amateurish short films to tell us drugs are cool, man.

Anything can happen when Michael Cera wanders around Chile without a script on a mission to get high on mescaline. Or, in the case of Crystal Fairy, nothing could happen, too.

A thoroughly amateurish effort at capturing clued-in and smartass teens.

Actual abduction may be preferable to the movie of the same name, but only if your kidnappers don't torture you by forcing you to watch it.

Rookie director Sean Kirkpatrick keeps stomping on the drama pedal while blowing the cliché horn, yielding scene after tired scene of predictable developments as the principals keep shoving guns into mouths and screaming obscenities.

In a culture where Anderson Cooper is out and gay-inclusive shows like "Modern Family" are wildly popular, a dud like Babymakers doesn't even find sticking power in its offensiveness. It just wipes off.

The hero is the Texas prosecutor who won a questionable indictment of DeLay, Ronnie Earle. But he sounds more extreme the more he talks.

The cheap-looking special effects, embarrassingly clunky attempts at humor and one-dimensional characters are bad enough, but the PG-rated movie's most offensive crime is its uncomfortably lewd interactions between adults and kids.

The worst Hollywood musical so far this century, it’s another misstep for Sony Pictures, which also sponsored the abortive ‘‘The Interview.’’

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

When I'm Still Here reached its climactic moment -- Joaquin Phoenix puking into a toilet -- I had never before felt quite so much like a toilet.

An unholy mess.

Oh, and one more thing the comedy of Jackass 3D has in common with "The Divine Comedy": Neither of them is funny.

This would be a stultifyingly incestuous affair even if all the jokes about fertilization weren't so tiresomely lame and predictable.

It's a time capsule from a strange moment - like "Hair" without the groovy music.

A pointless, wincingly snide exercise.

At 96 minutes, this vanity/insanity project runs a bit long; five minutes would have been plenty.

This adventurously awful film is awful in many ways at once.

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

Shoot ’em up, run ’em over, blast ’em with flame-throwers, who cares? These creatures are only there to go splat.

Dumb and unwatchable.

The family at the center of "Catch" is likable and authentic, but the seriousness of their plight sits uneasily with the shoddily assembled escapist goof it generates.

Brain-dead variant of "Risky Business."

It's pretty sad if you're a comic and Al Pacino is the funniest thing in your movie.

Having root-canal surgery would be less painful than sitting through the martial-arts disaster Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior.

Virtually unwatchable and laugh-free.

Damonically awful.

It's hard to believe that the distributors of See No Evil were so afraid of what critics would say about their movie that they refused to provide advance screenings. The movie's target viewers aren't the type who read reviews, if they read at all.

No one but a convict guilty of some truly heinous crime should have to sit through The Master of Disguise, an unbearably tedious and unfunny comedy.

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.

Grotesquely unfunny comedy.

In the pantheon of films about magical cars, this one is not big, bold or beautiful.

The movie seems to think it's building up massive suspense by not telling us our hero's back story, but given that the wife and kid aren't around and he keeps telling people who ask that he's not divorced, it's obvious they're dead. The only mystery, then, is what exactly happened to them. The answer is: nothing interesting.

Brain-dead film.

Grueling vanity piece.

Brain-dead political satire/tear-jerker.

What truly makes U.N. Me repulsive is its crassness.

Unwatchably bad.

If a more incoherent and self-indulgent movie has been released so far this century, I'm not aware of it.

This painfully unfunny mockumentary about obsessive collectors of frozen-food entrees takes potshots at anti-abortionists, Christian rockers, aversion therapy for gays and the disabled -- and misses almost every time.

If M. Night Shyamalan sold his soul to the devil for the success of "The Sixth Sense," I think His Satanic Majesty has finally collected in full with The Last Airbender.

If 65 million years of evolution have been building up to this movie, then Darwin was wrong. But there's no intelligent design here either.

A relentlessly dull film that's shot on eyeball-gougingly ugly digital video.

If you experience any laughter while in the presence of this movie, it's a credit to your imagination. But if you can tickle yourself, why spend the $10.75?

I didn't know whether to be more offended as a moviegoer or as an American, but I do know I'd rather gargle nitroglycerine than watch this again, though given that the film looks like it were buried under a log cabin for a century, I barely saw it the first time.

Overblown, interminable and unfunny.

Amsterdam has every advantage imaginable. Doesn’t matter. It’s the worst movie of the year so far, and I will bow down to whatever comes along and tops it.

Aeon Flux is by far the year's worst movie, a most dubious achievement.

State of Play is bordered by the states of absurdity and cliché.

Skin-crawlingly awful.

The movie is so inept - with its flat characters, histrionic acting, dull dialogue ("Killing him is not going to change anything"), a dreadfully overdone musical score and la-la-la flashbacks starring the kid - that its clichés grow slightly funny. But not funny enough to make the endless torture scenes bearable.

Nasty, borderline bigoted, stunningly amateurish film.

It's the worst of both worlds as Disney cash cow Miley Cyrus makes the most dubious "dramatic" debut of any singer since Britney Spears.

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

It's a totally inept and unfunny parody of the TV show "Cops."

Say a prayer that there's no "Hatchet III" in the future.

If you mashed-up the worst parts of the infamous "Howard the Duck,'' "Gigli,'' "Ishtar'' and every other awful movie I've seen since I started reviewing professionally in 1981, it wouldn't begin to approach the sheer soul-sucking badness of the cringe-inducing Movie 43.

I’d rather wake up next to a severed horse head than ever watch Gotti again.

Plays like a bad daytime soap opera. The acting is amateurish. Ditto the uninspired script (continuity? what's that?) and direction.

Jude Law gives arguably the worst performance of his career as Wolfe in Genius, the ham-fisted directing debut of noted British theater figure Michael Grandage, bombastically adapted by John Logan (“Gladiator’’) from a biography by A. Scott Berg.

Laughless, pointless and downright creepy, Say Uncle is a would-be black comedy.

Wince-worthy as Guttenberg is, he cannot be accused of being worse than the amateurish direction and the trite script (both by Allie Dvorin) stuffed with insufferable romcom banter and putrid dirty jokes. Some films go straight to video; this one should have bypassed that step and headed for the incinerator.

Franco’s distancing routine helps sink True Story, an already turgid and tone-deaf adaptation of a self-serving memoir by a disgraced New York Times reporter (played by two-time Oscar nominee Jonah Hill) who bonds with a murderer he’s trying to exploit.

There is only one joke here, milked endlessly.

Truthfully, it's all incredibly boring. Noé tosses in some dime-store existentialism ("Time destroys everything"), but this is a movie with not a whole lot on its mind except rank exploitation.

A witless, stale and half-hearted rehash of cliches borrowed from the likes of "The Wedding Planner," "The Wedding Singer" and "Four Weddings and a Funeral," this pathetic, alleged comedy certainly wasn't improved by clueless direction by Clare Kilner.

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 noise level reminds me of Canal Street in Chinatown on a Sunday afternoon.

Tedious, amateurish and hilariously ill-timed film.

Low-end schlock that will likely land with a dull thud in the video remainder bin before the frost is on the pumpkin.

Nearly two hours of New Age hooey.

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.

Garfield is a downright cat-astrophe.

Calling Boys and Girls the year's worst movie makes it sound more entertaining than it actually is.

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.

Williams appears to be having trouble keeping his eyes open, and the audience will, too.

So awful it qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.