The silliest sci-fi movie since "An Inconvenient Truth."

Justice League is a pointless flail of expensive (yet, somehow, cheap-looking) CGI that no amount of tacked-on quips, or even Gadot’s luminescent star power, can rescue.

Still, it was a beautiful wedding.

The erstwhile crack dealer born Curtis Jackson may be a prot‚g‚ of Eminem, but this shapeless and derivative gangsta saga is no "8 Mile."

The kind of thriller whose ridiculous climax hinges on a hitherto undisclosed GPS tracking device in a dog's collar - an appropriate touch in a movie that's more than a little flea-ridden itself.

Coincidences and plot contrivances pile up. What starts out as a delightful black comedy and social commentary ends up, at best, as a guilty pleasure where I had a hard time sorting out the intentional from the unintentional laughs.

A comedy as black as vinyl, Kill Your Friends is a music-industry tell-all set at a decadent London record label in 1997.

Without a real story to go with the notion of Farm Belt "wiggas," the humor wears thinner and thinner until it disappears.

As an actress, Lopez is a bit stiff, as she has been in all of her movies save "Out of Sight." It really doesn't matter much here, given the sparks between her and Fiennes and the fact that the role is pretty much form-fitted to her public persona.

An overwrought, ramshackle weepie that really doesn't deserve Kline's Oscar-caliber work.

A guaranteed crowd-pleaser for the whole family.

A glossy gay soap opera that graphically illustrates new meanings for the term "missionary position."

Slick but painfully precious, it strains to be darkly romantic but is bereft of genuine feeling.

The best sequence comes when the gang meet a saucy French lady mouse who works for the Resistance and at moments of high drama sings "Je Ne Regrette Rien" ("Ah!" your children will say. "At last, an Edith Piaf joke!")

A cartoonish, unfocused and mostly unfunny satire.

Unremarkable and none-too-scary horror movie.

Combining narrative heavy-handedness with an airy disdain for the details of the situation, director Julian Schnabel gives us a one-sided view of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in Miral.

I suppose you have to give credit to the movie for coming up with some badass killer mermaids.

A decade later, these tabloid hall-of-famers are finally back to share the screen in By the Sea — glumly emoting in a pretentiously arty, humorless vanity production that drags along for two hours that feel like at least four.

Mine all you like. You’ll never find any smarts in this cavern of stupidty.

The Paperboy can't decide whether to be an unfunny sex comedy, a half-hearted detective story or a woeful race drama - so it decides to be all three, then becomes yet another movie (a swampy "Heart of Darkness") in the final act.

For a bad movie, this one is an awful lot of fun.

The movie's prideful silliness makes it semi-watchable in the manner of Saturday afternoon cable flicks like "Delta Force."

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

Rarely have I wanted to fast-forward through a movie as much as Click, a treacly and not-funny-enough Adam Sandler comedy.

I kept hoping the meaning would click into place, but it never quite did.

Even an 11th-hour cameo from the late Dick Gregory as Ella’s long-ago boyfriend can’t keep The Leisure Seeker from being, well, forgettable.

Expect a fast-paced, beautifully mounted and well-acted soap opera with overripe dialogue that plays fast and loose with history - just like they did in the '30s, '40s and '50s - and you won't come away disappointed.