This could be the year's smartest romantic comedy.

It's simply an awful, awful film.

The Ringer is appalling.

Turteltaub has a workmanlike touch and an easy sense of humor here, and he and his team do a better-than-expected job of keeping you interested in the story, despite it being yet another Tale of a Reluctant Young Man With A Supernatural Hero's Calling.

The slightly overdone feeling of the photography, the archly evocative acting and Cliff Martinez's music also impart a sly sense of the absurd. Kafka recalls the old joke that reminds us that even paranoids have enemies. [12 Feb. 1992, p.C07]

A comedy that's only kind of funny some of the time.

A misfire, but a misfire from von Trier is still more interesting than a blandly successful Hollywood product.

It's a heap of contradictions that will leave your head spinning.

Unfortunately, the movie is the worst sort of liar: an unfunny one. Its gormless, assertion-free protagonist offends as a role model for idio youths, and, even worse, offends as drama.

There's an all-the-scenery-you-can-eat appearance by the deliciously mad Eva Green, too, who spends most of the movie even more naked (and nuttier) than she was in "300: Rise of an Empire." The ever-wry Joseph Gordon-Levitt also shows up as a cocky gambler, while a simian Josh Brolin takes over from Clive Owen as Dwight.

With a self-plagiarizing premise, lifeless performances and a clunky-to-say-the-least screenplay, this star-studded flop is one of 2010's most egregious wastes of cinematic talent.

An action film without a completely empty head, and these days, that's as rare as Excalibur itself.

A decent second chapter in the tourist horror saga.

The movie's biggest flaw, from a local perspective, is its unconvincing use of Vancouver, B.C., to represent Portland, Oregon.

It is a brisk and sometimes bizarre comedy; funny, yet able to accommodate several sudden deaths comfortably.

"The only thing that matters is the ending," says Rainey toward the end of the movie. He's talking about the writers' craft. Koepp, despite the best efforts of his cast, sends this comment soaring into the ether of irony.

This will personally go down as the flick that really made me realize how much I hate CGI stunts.

It's meant to be funny, but I couldn't help thinking they were figuring out where to plant the pipe bombs.

The movie isn't a complete disaster -- it's got a strong performance at its core from Dakota Johnson, and it looks sleek and modern, like a Beyonce video or a Calvin Klein commercial -- but it's an unpleasant experience with a sleazy stench that sticks in a way that E.L. James' novel doesn't.

It adds up to a chatty film of genuine visual interest and occasionally sharp acting but no visceral appeal or satisfaction. It's a movie that plays like a book -- that is, watching it is more like reading than a thriller should ever be.

Noisy, random and hard on the eyes.

Like his (Carrey) early work, it's not a particularly good film -- insipidly staged, inanely plotted, too weak to withstand the weight of any inquiries into logic or continuity -- but Carrey's energetic mugging, particularly early on, makes it relatively painless.

It has all the raw materials for greatness -- a brilliant concept, a sharp cast, the jokes -- and still doesn't come together. You could do a lot worse than Hollywood Ending, but you could also do better.

What makes Saw so awful is that it starts with a clever premise and then completely blows it.

It's awful. Awful. That's all. Keep walking. For the love of all that's holy. Keep. Walking.

An effective, low-budget horror movie is lurking at the edges of Horns but never gets a chance to reveal itself.

The actors make the trauma in Another Happy Day feel real. But it's too often undercut by directorial fussiness that feels more academic than personal.

It's fun-dumb and definitely not everyone's cup of tea -- I don't want to oversell it -- but Broken Lizard keeps it interesting by refusing to color inside the lines, creating their own silly little universe.