We began this dismal movie season with one lethally bad World War II romance -- "Pearl Harbor" -- and now we're wrapping up with another howling dog.

“Love Hurts” is only 83 minutes long. “Hurrah!,” you say before it starts. But the film feels endless because the story is such a chore to follow.

It's basically the longest (a butt-numbing 21/2 hours), the most expensive (a reportedly obscene $150 million), most vulgar and by far the stupidest episode of "Miami Vice" ever.

If Young ever converses with the gentlemen from al Qaeda, I expect his comments to be along the lines of "Please don't cut my head off."

The drama is a crude blend of history and pulpy romance, with maudlin performances from the two leads.

Goes from being tediously terrible to downright gigglesome.

Nothing in this movie would actually happen, so what’s irritating is that it presents itself as a savvy, “Am I right, ladies?” dating commentary.

The movie chides us for being a sick voyeuristic society, hungry for the sight of violence. The purity of this moral stance is somewhat clouded by the movie's habit of staging sick violent acts.

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.

Whelk, I hope the makers of Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs earned a nice celery, but I’m afraid they made a hash of things. A hash seasoned with oy sauce.

Small fry will learn an important lesson taking in the recycled storylines of Ratchet & Clank: Like nearly all recycling, it’s garbage.

The ugly, witless pair of clowns who flit through the movie are emblematic of everything that is wrong with this dull, monumentally pretentious mess.

Andy Lau and Siu Fai Mak, the men behind the successful Hong Kong police thriller trio "Infernal Affairs," should be arrested for directing Initial D.

The film is amateurishly directed and sluggishly paced with an anorexic plot. Even the photography, sound and costumes are substandard.

On paper, “Moonfall” has all the hallmarks of an Emmerich blockbuster — natural disasters, parents separated from children, the total annihilation of Manhattan — but with a twist so baffling, you pinch your arm to make sure you are really awake. No need to reach for your dream journal — it’s all painfully real.

This ludicrous Quentin Tarantino-chosen low-budget movie features choppy editing and an amateurish script, and it switches strangely back and forth between dubbing and subtitles.

The indie road movie Janie Jones is billed as "inspired by the true story" of its writer-director, David M. Rosenthal. Impossible. No one's life is this boring.

Rolls out stiff clichés to tell a familiar story of racial injustice in the South.

There's little reason to see the claustrophobic Chronicling a Crisis unless you have a fascination with the Kolleks. Watching the vanity project is like being forced to sit through a friend's boring home movies.

Sex can be fun and exciting and wonderful. It also can be deadly boring, as in Psychopathia Sexu alis.

The embarrassing drama — offensive, clunky, poorly written — sullies Eastwood’s storied legacy, and makes great actors such as Bradley Cooper and Dianne Wiest come off like amateurs.

There's still no good reason to suffer through a half-baked little movie that proves indies can be every bit as boringly formulaic and artistically bankrupt as their big-budget brethren.

Arguably as effective as Ambien at inducing sleep, but possible side effects include uncontrollable laughter.

All the film provides is this bulletin: Lefties are angry about the things Lefties are angry about, chiefly corporate profits.

As always, Dracula sucks blood. But his latest movie simply sucks.

Their heads spun 360 degrees. They vomited up green sludge. They violently shouted curse words...No, not the demonically possessed girls in “The Exorcist: Believer” — the awful movie’s furious audience.

No phrase terrifies me more than “for the fans,” because in the movies that tends to mean “awful and incomprehensible.” And so it does for “Mortal Kombat II,” an onscreen bucket of slop that people will give a pass to because losers cheer whenever a character, such as they are, is impaled or sliced in half.

Watching the film, I did manage to retain my empathy for the narrator, though: I was as desperate as he was to escape the situation I was in.