Anderson, in her first major non-Scully film role, is lethally miscast.

Features all too much footage of the scowling Burns, who has a narrower range than almost any actor working in Hollywood these days.

You simply cannot believe you’re staring at megastars — so sapped of individuality and charisma they are. My barista could have been cast as the lead of this action-thriller, and the film would be absolutely no different.

Toby is so un-self-aware that his journey seems like mere obtuseness; what the film has to say about youthful degeneracy is less than zero.

There are some decent actors and great costumes in this overly solemn compendium of rock clichés.

It lurches ineptly from lame comedy to hokey melodrama.

Fails to grab the imagination as it unfolds in familiar TV-movie fashion.

Spun is quickly exposed as being all flash, no substance.

Unfortunately, his machine fails en route; way more unfortunately, he comes up very short compared to Mark Watney, the red planet-stranded astronaut played with such humor and energy by Matt Damon in last year’s “The Martian.”

Sir! No Sir! doesn't make a lot of sense, but it does have some fascinating footage of Jane Fonda, both as a dippy young protester and today, when she remains dazzled by her own legend.

The movie pretty much exists to sell tie-in products, and it's about as entertaining as watching little kids playing with their toys in the sandbox.

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.

A comedy that forgot to install the funny.

Rambling, schmaltzy romantic comedy.

Feels like a Greek version of "My Own Private Idaho."

A rare dud from great Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar, I’m So Excited! is a campy, sex-obsessed spoof of airborne-disaster movies that never really gets off the ground.

They should have called it “Star Trek Into Drowsiness.”

Nothing in Redemption quite adds up, including the paranoid hero’s insistence that he’s being watched by drones.

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.

So laugh-poor that it shoves all its comedy chips on a bet that you can build a movie around nose gags.

A documentary hardly anybody has been waiting for.

While sporadically funny, the sophomoric My Name Is Bruce is no "Bubba Ho-Tep," the movie where Campbell unforgettably played Elvis Presley as a nursing home patient battling a mummy with the help of John F. Kennedy. But Campbell's fans can feel free to add a star or two.

It isn't entirely clear if Games People Play is a spot-on but longwinded and excessively campy spoof of those TV "reality" game shows... or just a particularly ingenious and sleazy example of the genre.

It was supposed to be a lark. And then, almost immediately, it went off the rails. I’m not referring to the mother-daughter vacation gone wrong in Snatched, but rather the experience of watching it.

Most of Mortal Engines is a wearying blast of CGI and genre-cribbing (most egregiously, director Christian Rivers hired composer Junkie XL to seemingly lift, wholesale, his soundtrack from “Mad Max: Fury Road”).

A woefully earnest indie about a crime and its aftermath.

Katie Aselton has achieved the seemingly impossible. She's turned a movie about sex into a boring, talky snooze.

The movie offers very little that food radicals don't already know.