If your film is as downbeat and deflated as this one, you had better be leading up to a more interesting insight than, "The older I get, the more I know that I don't know anyone."

I was kind of rough on "Apocalypto," which in retrospect seems like a minor classic compared to 10,000 BC.

Dirk Shafer's feature doesn't offer much in terms of plot or acting. But it does have oodles of hunky male bodies. The choice is yours.

The Will Smith weepie Collateral Beauty couldn’t be more calculated and manipulative if it slapped you on the back, shoved a giant lollipop into your mouth and immediately tried to sell you a time share in Tampa.

This movie's heart is in the right place, which is one way of saying it's terrible.

With Philomena, British producer-writer-star Steve Coogan and director Stephen Frears hit double blackjack, finding a true-life tale that would enable them to simultaneously attack Catholics and Republicans. There’s no other purpose to the movie, so if 90 minutes of organized hate brings you joy, go and buy your ticket now.

Tedious left-wing documentary.

As expected, director Sam Taylor-Johnson’s woeful film “Back to Black” doesn’t play as the gripping battle of musical genius vs. personal demons it fancies itself to be. Instead it’s all sadness, songs and sensationalism.

A movie bursting with nothingness.

Directed by Guy Nattiv, the sluggish film caves to the worst tendencies of forgettable biopics. Mirren is ensconced in prosthetics and a gray wig in hopes that a lookalike transformation can distract from bad writing and a total lack of insight.

Catwoman is pretty well summed up by Hedare: “This is a disaster. It’s a total bloody disaster.”

A backstage drama that has all the sizzle of a glass of water resting on the windowsill, Olivier Assayas’ Clouds of Sils Maria mistakes lack of dramatic imagination for smoldering subtlety.

Quite a slog, with most of the acting strictly amateurish save the veteran Ed Lauter as a fish and game inspector.

Mansome is basically a reality-TV episode, with similar production values and precisely the same depth of perception.

A flat, would-be thriller pausing briefly on its journey to video stores.

The seventh movie in the franchise, Transformers: Rise of the Beasts, is a predictable return to rock-em-sock-em stupidity with nothing to add except Michelle Yeoh as a talking aluminum falcon.

All the tedium of an endless trans-Atlantic flight gets packed into the 105 minutes of Non-Stop.

A circle of lowlifes gradually kill one another off to no great effect in the dull and woebegone comic noir Kill Me Three Times.

Rarely has a documentary been so pleased with itself - with so little justification.

A clueless Mundhra tackles the subject with a heavy hand and a contrived script. The result is a daytime soap mixed with a second-rate women-behind-bars flick.

Loud and unfunny, this cheesy-looking farce is mostly an excuse for a series of plugs.

An instant candidate for worst movie of the year.

An assembly-line high-school comedy that flunks miserably in all three subjects.

In The Runner, the latest Nicolas Cage film to roll off his one-man assembly line of shoddy cinema, the star looks almost as tired of acting as I am of watching his acting.

How bad could the boneyard be compared to sitting through this execrable piece of non-entertainment? Better dead than RED 2.

A deadly dull, by-the-numbers rendition of the Nativity story.

There isn’t a moment of I’m Not Here that didn’t have me fervently wishing I wasn’t here.

It’s unspeakably depressing to see Anna Paquin playing the mom (of a teenager!), but the pointlessness and mediocrity of the Paquin-produced Free Ride is even more depressing.