Everything about this movie feels both tired and tiring. Yes, it does a great job setting up a sense of deep unease but that quickly evaporates when it becomes apparent the movie isn’t going anywhere worthwhile or interesting, and the ending is downright silly.

The result is a film that runs far too long and rarely generates enough tension or genuine horror to justify its runtime—or, indeed, its very existence.

I like Steve Buscemi. I really do, which is why it's such an disagreeable task to write a review that condemns his directorial debut as a waste of film. I'm not talking about a good idea gone awry, I'm referring to something that's rotten to the core.

From narrative to character development to staging, every frame of Mistress America drips with artifice. It's a playground for unpleasant, self-absorbed characters - an excursion into the lifestyles of people most of us would prefer to bypass. If there's an antonym for self-awareness, it applies to nearly everyone populating this misfire.

As a satire on the media's infatuation with violence and murderers, Natural Born Killers hits the bullseye. The problem is, this is a one-note movie. It repeatedly hammers home the same point until the audience is bludgeoned into senselessness.

The problem with Bones and All isn’t that it’s disgusting or shocking or transgressive; it’s that it’s a tedious slog.

Breakdown is the latest in a seemingly endless traffic jam of thrillers that opens strong but finishes abominably.

This movie works best as a sleep tonic. Somewhere isn't just frustratingly slow-moving; it's inert.

Three adjectives spring to mind when describing Marie Antoinette: odd, irritating, and tedious.

If I wanted to be kind, I’d call Luca Guadagnino’s Suspiria remake “visually striking” and “stylish.” If I wanted to be brutally honest, I’d call it “tedious”, “pretentious”, and even “painful” (although not in a good way).

An inferior product. It is not well written, well acted, or well directed.

Regardless of whatever ephemeral entertainment this production may offer to some, it is not by any reasonable definition a good movie. It is badly written, inexpertly directed, poorly acted, erratically paced, and features music of dubious worth.

Unimaginative horror movies are a dime a dozen, but overlong, boring, unimaginative horror movies? Those are rare. However, in Split, that’s what writer/director M. Night Shyamalan has provided the early 2017 movie-going populace.

It doesn't take long for the The Signal's promising beginning to fade into a haze that leaves the viewer exhausted and irritated.

The Matrix Resurrections is a waste of time and money. For fans of the series, it’s a betrayal that deserves to be ignored and forgotten as soon as possible.

Sluggish. Torpid. Boring. Those three words (and more) can describe The Yellow Handkerchief, a stultifying road trip movie whose inept screenplay is only partially counterbalanced by a trio of nice performances.

The level of humor is sit-com-ish at best and the film's dramatic elements are bland and uninvolving.

It's the most disappointing thing to come from the brothers in years.

In truth, this feels more like a half-baked comedy sketch stretched far beyond its breaking point—until even the last traces of humor have leaked out like the gooey innards of a Stretch Armstrong toy that’s been tortured by a sadistic kid.

One could easily argue that, like many Ed Wood-type bad movies, The Faculty might be headed for the cult classic shelf in the video store. Unfortunately, it's not campy enough, and, worse, it seems to think it's being hip when it's just being dumb.

"Magic Mike" was self-contained, made with no expectation of a second chapter - and they prove unable to surmount it. Too many elements that made the first film an enjoyable experience are missing.

Louder, flashier, and more hollow than anything else out there.

Nothing short of a disaster -– easily one of the worst movies of the year.

Unless you're a fan of Slater or Tomei, or hopelessly addicted to sappy, ineptly-handled love stories, there's no reason whatsoever to subject yourself to this movie.

Unfortunately, although there are a few nasty thorns here and there, The First Wives Club is a largely uninspired (and unfunny) comedy that collapses completely in the final fifteen minutes.

Alien 3 is, simply put, a mess. The writers have no idea how to tell a coherent, entertaining story. With the exception of a surprise or two, there isn't much worthwhile here.

An insult to anyone who has tragically and unexpectedly lost a loved-one in a similar manner.

The new Ivan Reitman/Arnold Schwarzenegger comedy is a one-joke affair, and it takes surprisingly little time for the potential humor in the situation to wear thin.

It's the kind of thing that Shakespeare might have written if he had undergone a frontal lobotomy.

Sometimes, even a little gratuitous nudity can't save a movie. This is one of those occasions. Cosmopolis easily trumps "To Rome with Love" as the biggest disappointment of 2012 from an established director.

Very little of what made the written version so enjoyable has been successfully translated to the screen, and what we're left with instead is an overly-long (two hours and thirty-four minutes, to be exact), pedantic thriller.

The follow-up proves not only to be creatively bankrupt but a disappointment on all levels and thereby tarnishes the perception of its predecessor.

Those who don't understand what it means for an actor to "sleepwalk" through a performance need only watch Men in Black III; there's no shortage of examples.

This is the kind of tearjerker that will cause audience members to cry, but only because they paid hard-earned money to see it.

Could it be argued that the movie is “so bad that it’s good”? I suppose, especially if you’re a connoisseur of cinematic guano. For me, Death Race is merely bad. I wouldn’t worry about finding a way to append the word “good” to anything associated with this film.

A maudlin hack-job.

Code 46 is like "Solaris" without the psychological depth and strong acting. The movie is flat, boring, pointless, and nonsensical.

Taken as a whole, it’s excruciating in ways that few would consider enjoyable.

For all its attempts to weave a spell on the audience, Hearts and Souls displays an incredible lack of subtlety. Nevertheless, if you are prone to sigh rapturously at the thought of a happy ending, this may be the movie for you. It doesn't just have one of these, but five, each more cloying than the one before -- a rare treat for those who don't mind sugar shock.

Tracey Ullman is a bright spot in an otherwise sordid, murky production.

No amount of youthful charisma can alter the fact that, in the light of "Dangerous Liaisons", Cruel Intentions is a feeble and dissatisfying shadow.

This is the sort of movie that gives "chick flicks" a bad name. It's a cross between inept melodrama and a bad sit-com.

There’s a tiny problem, though: Clementine is neither erotic nor a thriller.

The resulting hodgepodge of unfunny, sophomoric humor and PG-13 T&A, frosted by a sheen of appallingly nauseous "drama," makes for such a noxious brew that it's amazing viewers stay in their seats for the entire production.

It's either a failed experiment or a movie that was rushed through production so Allen could fulfill his one project-per-year commitment.

Watching Imagine That, I was beset by a feeling of intense depression. Is this what Eddie Murphy has become?

The only worthwhile portion of Twin Dragons is the climactic action sequence, but, to get to that, it's necessary to endure more than an hour of unfunny physical comedy and excruciating verbal interaction.

This is a vile and reprehensible motion picture.

This unexceptional and uninteresting story of a self-pitying borderline-personality teenager verges on being unwatchable as a result of McDonald's decision to bombard the audience with extraneous images in lieu of telling the story.

We’re here for the nasty kills, the clever eviscerations, and the M3GAN vs. AMELIA rumble. And we get very little of any of those things.

In The Beekeeper, as has been the case with pretty much anything Statham has done in the past half-decade, the actor is on hand to collect a paycheck in exchange for bringing a recognizable name to the proceedings.

The result is an unappealing mess, made less bearable by uniformly lackluster performances and the cheesy special effects.

With Rookie of the Year, Daniel Stern has struck out.

A misfire in far too many meaningful aspects, The Book Thief is so bad that it's tough to decide whether it's better used as a sleep aid or watched while under the influence as an object of derision.

I can’t say that Annabelle Comes Home, the third feature focused on the creepy girl doll, is the worst (because it has plenty of competition) but it’s easily among the dumbest.

A shallow, transparent satire/social commentary, Palindromes lives and dies on a gimmick.

I don't often use the words "godawful" and "abomination" to describe a movie, preferring to reserve such terminology for extreme instances when I feel duped and mortally offended. Case in point: Bachelorette.

A fully disengaged brain is probably the key to enjoying Final Score. Employing even basic logic engenders a recognition of how truly stupid this screenplay is, especially when it comes to the resolution.

Love Me isn’t bad in the sense that it is poorly assembled or incompetently shot. On a craft and technical level, it’s above average. But the narrative is incoherent and the philosophical meanderings lack depth and intelligence.

Unfortunately, stiff acting, an increasingly hard-to-swallow storyline, and an atrociously bad ending torpedo Eli Horowitz’s Gone in the Night, making it unworthy of even a streamed view. When the movie started, I wanted to like it. 90 minutes later, I just wanted it to end.

Trap is a house of cards built on a bed of sand in the middle of a hurricane. It flies apart and collapses almost immediately and the various plot threads are so thoroughly ripped to shreds that there’s nothing left at the end but the wreckage of a movie and the recognition that 105 precious minutes have been stolen.

With its canned, predictable action sequences and mirthless attempts at humor, it displays an ineptitude that is frankly shocking considering the talent involved.

I have come to the conclusion that it's impossible for a Steven Segal movie to be anything better than mediocre, and this particular travesty may be his worst yet. The title Under Siege is supposed to represent the situation faced by Segal's character, but it's equally appropriate in describing the experience of the poor viewer who sits through this film.

Horror fans will be so bored by the first 90 minutes that they will have either walked out or fallen into a coma by the time the blood starts flowing.

A horrifically bad romantic comedy that serves as a celebration of entitlement, consumerism, and shallow behavior.

“Hollow cash grab” is one way to describe The Grinch. Equally appropriate would be “soulless abomination.”

This is film noir for the MTV generation: fast-paced, slick, flashy, gleefully mindless, and hollow to the core.

For those looking for something positive, this is the only movie I can recall that features music from both ABBA ("Does Your Mother Know") and Handel ("Zadok the Priest"). Let's hear it for musical diversity!

Despite a committed performance from lead actress Mackenzie Davis and a promising opening, the film quickly corkscrews into a death spiral of trite dialogue meant to obfuscate the lack of a coherent or meaningful narrative.

Indian Summer is a mish-mash of mediocre formulas. Although there are several good comedy sequences, this uneven humor is unable to camouflage the essential weakness of the storyline. The script, which relies heavily on conflict, doesn't present us with any believable characters. Reunion stories have been done so often that for one to make an impression, it needs a new angle (Peter's Friends, Kenneth Branagh's recent film, fell into the same trap). Indian Summer doesn't even attempt to strike out towards new ground. It finds a comfortable, cliche-filled groove and sits there.

Stay away from Birth not because of what goes on (or doesn't) in a bathtub, but because this is not a very good movie.

Labeling The Call as "relentlessly dumb" would be an overestimation of its intelligence. This is as brain-dead as a movie can be and it assumes the audience will have the I.Q. of a rutabaga.

The Brown Bunny is one long, self-indulgent bore topped off with a hard-core porn scene featuring Gallo and co-star Chloë Sevigny.

Humor is subjective, but this movie made me feel as if I had been subjected to something unpleasant.

Life with Mikey is a subpar piece of film making for which the producers' intentions are all-too- apparent. In slapping together a formula-riddled picture, they hope to cash in on the early-summer family-oriented audience (those that are questing for something to see before the re-release of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves). Considering the creative limitations of this project, such blatant marketing is patently offensive. Those with a yen to see something for the whole family can find hundreds of better offerings on video, and fans of Michael J. Fox would do better to peruse old episodes of Family Ties. At least back then, he appeared to care about what he was doing.

If I knew definitively what the plural was for the term deus ex machina, I’d apply it here. Rarely can I remember a movie filled with so many miraculous rescues and associated contrivances.

The entire affair is so badly bungled that there isn’t even a briefly satisfying moment of catharsis. The obvious next act for these Horsemen is to vanish—and never come back.

Instead of offering engaging storytelling, it give us flashes, bangs, bad dialogue, and a mountain of fakery (a reminder that things that work in comic books don’t always translate to the silver screen). It’s sound and fury signifying nothing except to expose another chink in the once-impervious armor of the MCU.

Even children, who will be enthralled by all the puppies, may have a hard time not fidgeting for protracted portions of the running time.

A slow, meandering misfire of a movie.

A muddle of a film - an overlong bore that either mistakenly thinks it's something more than a humdrum romance or has incorporated a variety of pretentions as window-dressing.

A Perfect Murder has inexplicably managed to eliminate almost everything that was worthwhile about "Dial M for Murder," leaving behind the nearly-unwatchable wreckage of a would-be '90s thriller.

Demolition founders and its overt symbolism feels forced instead of organic. The production is uncomfortable and artificial, lacking internal logic and tonal consistency.

Perhaps the strangest thing about 2012 is that the bad parts of the film are among the most enjoyable, because they're so over-the-top ridiculous that it's impossible not to break out laughing.

Although there are a few amusing instances when the film goes over-the-top with gore, those don’t save what’s ultimately a bad zombie apocalypse film with the undead replaced by robots.

If there's one thing this motion picture proves, it's that "The Naked Gun 33 1/3" wasn't the final insult from a founding ZAZ (Zucker/Abrams/Zucker) member; this is.

The comedy is embarrassingly unfunny, the attempts at drama are badly acted and sometimes cringe-worthy, and the copious amounts of blood during the fight sequences fall short of being amusing while sabotaging any hope of taking them seriously.

Good entertainment stretched to three times its natural length is rarely three times better, but bad entertainment dragged out that long will typically be three times worse. In the case of Demon Knight -- which probably doesn't have ten minutes of worthwhile material -- such a statement could be regarded as infinitely kind.

Although Child’s Play is only 90 minutes long, it’s one of those movies where you check your watch so often you think it has stopped.

Lockout is painful. Not painful in the way Uwe Boll or "Sex and the City" movies are painful. But painful enough that I kept waiting for Nicolas Cage to show up. Or Katherine Heigl. Or, god forbid, both.

Of course, the problem with Angels & Demons is that to get to the final 40 minutes, it's necessary to endure the first 90, and that would be defined as cruel and unusual punishment.

For a strangely-titled, female-oriented drama about mothers and daughters bonding, try "The Joy Luck Club" and leave Ya-Ya as a phrase uttered by one-year olds who have yet to learn how to talk.

Although there are a number of problems with the production, the most glaring is the screenplay. The flaws of the final act are so flagrant that nothing short of a rewrite would have solved them.

The way in which I Feel Pretty presents its message is one of the film’s biggest problems. If there’s something less subtle than a sledgehammer, it applies here.

"Mindless" applies, and Book of Secrets is more like a tame, endlessly repetitive amusement park ride than a motion picture.

Regardless of whether you're a fan of the 1950s series or not, it's doubtful you'll get more than a few halfhearted chuckles out of this lifeless retread.

Devoid of life, intelligence, humor, and anything else that could entertain even the most undemanding viewer, this film is a perfect example of something that should have been shipped to landfills, not multiplexes.

Jennifer's Body mixes, matches, and crosses three popular genres: horror, comedy, and teen angst. Unfortunately, it fails at all of them - and "fails" might be too kind a term.