The longer the movie goes on, the more annoying Benigni's infantile behavior becomes.

Talk about toxic masculinity — Buddy Games leaves you feeling dead inside.

A loud, coarse and witless family comedy.

A crass, mechanical attempt at a thriller that should have gone straight to video.

With any luck, this’ll be the death knell of the idiot-savant rom-com.

Levy's innovative movie should appeal to mumblecore fans while perplexing mainstream audiences.

A woefully earnest indie about a crime and its aftermath.

A slow-moving, dirt-dull narrative crammed with clunky expository dialogue and obscure Biblical references.

This crowd-funded — and overcrowded — collection of interwoven stories, directed by John Herzfeld, plays like an amateur-acting exercise in which each participant picks a name and a couple of defining props.

Every possible film student visual cliché (plus quite a few from the world of music video) gets a thorough workout.

Shallow and blatantly manipulative variation on "Awakenings" in which every plot development is telegraphed.

Unfortunately, this version of the familiar formula lacks the inspiration, genuine wit and raunchy charm of 1998's outrageous "There's Something About Mary."

In his feature debut, Bormatov doesn't much bother with things like character development, relying instead on raw brutality, profanity and sex. It shouldn't be long before the Hollywood remake with Angelina Jolie.

Odd and not entirely uninteresting little docudrama.

The jovial, hyperverbal comic has played against type before, but his presence feels like epic miscasting in this underwritten dramedy.

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

Plays like a bad daytime soap opera. The acting is amateurish. Ditto the uninspired script (continuity? what's that?) and direction.

Thanks to the amateurish, spectacularly talent-free quality of its cinematography, direction, writing and acting, Emerald Cowboy is simply impossible to sit through.

Virtually unwatchable and laugh-free.

If I wasn't already convinced of this movie's obnoxiousness, its rendering of Graham's character sealed the deal.

Offensive and unwatchable.

It would be easy to dismiss House of the Sleeping Beauties as a lewd male fantasy, but that would be ignoring the German film's deeper purpose as - in the words of the director, Vadim Glowna - a meditation on "transition, remembrance, mourning, guilt, loneliness, sex and death, eroticism and dying."

Ryan Reynolds isn't around this time - and neither is most of the wit.

This is a cheap-looking lowbrow comedy that likely would have gone straight to home video.

With awkward acting, plotting and direction, this is no "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," "Jungle Fever" or "One Potato, Two Potato."

The screenplay is packed with so many hilariously bad lines (it's hard to believe that writer-director Helgeland won an Oscar for co-writing "L.A. Confidential") that the movie would be perfect material for a resurrected version of the TV spoof "Mystery Science Theater."

Wavers between extreme silliness and unbearable earnestness.

Summer Catch is the sludge at the bottom of the barrel.