Another mean-spirited black comedy from Todd Solondz, tries even harder than the director's two earlier films to shock and outrage -- but the overall effect of his sophomoric excess is tiresome and dull, like watching someone else's 2-year-old act out for the 50th time.

Antonio Banderas is unintentionally hilarious as Father Matt Gutierrez, a sort of Jesuit James Bond.

This is just a slow-moving skin flick broken up by lots of boring discussions about Cherry's future.

The only pro involved in this amateurish labor of love is veteran character actor Arthur Nascarella, cast as Jack's florist father.

A stinker.

The years go fast but the minutes crawl in Wim Wenders’ new drama, filmed in murky 3-D so that, apparently, we can feel as if we’re living through a dozen dull years right along with its main character.

A pretentious Euro-snore that should occasion a fraud prosecution for any marketer who calls it a thriller -- and which stars an actor who seems to wish his name were Jorg Clooné.

Moreover, in attempting to update the play to a buzzing CNN world, Ralph Fiennes proves that as a director, he makes a fine actor.

A clunky movie that feels as if it’s underwritten by the Roman Catholic Church.

This incoherent screenplay seems to have been written by a roomful of the gorilla-like trolls who show up in the movie at one point.

You will be so put off by the bland couple (what do you expect from people named Joe and Jane?) and their dumb arguing - not to mention the grating score - that you won't really care.

Apart from a heart-tugging plot twist, some lesson learning and more random football talk ("no more buttonhooks in the kitchen"), that's about it. Oh, except for the scene in which Kyra Sedgwick - who plays Joe's agent - farts. Be sure to update your résumé, Kyra.

Dull and creaky soap opera.

Desperately unfunny.

A jaw-droppingly terrible animated musical that mismatches George Lucas’ inane story about a pair of fairy princesses to an oddball selection of the “Star Wars’’ creator’s favorite pop tunes.

Would the Mayans have predicted the end of the world in 2012 if they'd known it would inspire not only "The Tree of Life'' and "Melancholia'' but an endless supply of more dreary depictions of end-times like this one?

Mostly ludicrous, but occasionally effective.

A dull, by-the-numbers psych-ward horror thriller that's sadly a lot closer in quality to "Sucker Punch" than "Shutter Island."

Might have made a tolerable five-minute "mockumentary," but it's apparently meant seriously.

The setting for "17 Girls" is a French seaside town with a gorgeous beach. Aside from that, what you have here are the ingredi-ents for a Maury Povich show.

The sloppily shot, crudely edited Head of State fails as satire, for starters, because of its utter disconnect from any kind of reality.

Unintended laughs far, far outnumber intended thrills.

Having Damon Wayans in the cast might attract viewers to Harlem Aria, but they're bound to be disappointed by the amateurish drama.

She also doesn’t satisfy. At all. After experiencing Meg, you’ll crack open your Little Shark Book and call up Jaws.

During an endless, maudlin last act, it becomes more and more difficult not to laugh -- or barf -- as the protagonists tearfully come to terms with their issues.

You have to sit through 90 minutes that feel like three hours.

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.

Juliette Binoche, as Claudel, is occasionally touching, but as soon as interest flares, the movie suffocates it via endless takes of her suffering through daily chores.