As a streaming offering available as part of a subscription package, it might be considered an adequate way to pass 90 minutes but as a reason to venture out to a theater, it’s hard to imagine anyone willing to go to those lengths for something this forgettable.

The Holiday is no vacation. Sloppy writing, an overindulgent editor, and poor casting have taken an intriguing premise and transformed it into an uneven mess.

What a waste of a talented cast! There are times when it can be depressing to see so much acting potential wasted on a script unable to elicit the best from its stars, and this is one such occasion.

In short, although Blackbird is effective as a buzz-kill and features a few nicely choreographed scenes, too little about the film feels like real life and who wants a fantasy film that’s such a relentless downer?

The story told by Jackson's The Lovely Bones is the same as the one related by Sebold, but it lacks the complexity and empathy evident in the book.

While the idea sounds fertile, the execution is uneven, and the comedy sporadic at best.

The comedy is sporadically amusing but never laugh-aloud funny and the drama, which one might charitably argue is trying for a Toy Story-level emotional response, fails utterly. (However, I imagine most kids up to about pre-teen age will love it.)

One of those movies in which the principals talk a lot but don't say much.

A somewhat lackluster cop buddy movie that goes wrong in two big ways: (1) it fails to utilize Chan's full range of skills, relegating him to the role of a kickboxing action hero and virtually ignoring his comedic aptitude, and (2) it saddles him with a partner, played by the irritating Chris Tucker.

Aside from the inept "August Rush," there probably isn't a more clumsily manipulative motion picture out there this holiday season than P.S. I Love You.

The film, which has the ingredients for a thoughtful, tense thriller throws away a compelling first half so it can descend into silliness and clichés.

As coming of age stories go, Wah-Wah does little to distinguish itself.

By turns frustrating and tedious, this can sink even the most intriguing story.

Deliver us from directors who think that asking cast members to overact is the only way he can cover us the numerous ludicrous weaknesses of his screenplay.

A horror film that starts out creepy but ends up disjointed and borderline- incoherent. It's a shame that the final product isn't a little better packaged because, unlike many lame entries into the genre, this one actually contains a few interesting, philosophically titillating ideas.

The "Apatow formula" is pretty simple: raunchy comedy, likeable characters, and a dash of sweetness (but nothing too sweet). Drillbit Taylor fulfills the third characteristic but falls short in the other two.

The story's entire foundation is based upon a plot hole so gargantuan that anyone not suffering a brain cramp will identify it at once.

The movie ends up feeling superficial and mechanical. Warhol is a cut-and-dried villain rather than a complex individual.

This is not a good movie but, considering what Halloween has evolved into over the course of seven sequels, it's perhaps better than it has a right to be.

We’ve seen this kind of thing before but it’s done with sufficient schmaltz to work on its own terms. Damning with faint praise? You betcha, but that’s all I have.

Unfortunately, while director AJ Jankel (Super Mario Bros – yes, she’s the one responsible for that) captures aspects of the hostility toward lesbian relationships in that earlier era, she does it without nuance. Her framing of characters is black-and-white and the far-too-pat ending offers an unearned resolution.

There's no shortage of candidates for the fatal flaw: the artificial storyline; the presence of a ridiculously cliched character; the lack of chemistry between illicit lovers. Blaming one of these problems is probably unfair. The movie's failure is likely based on a fusion of all these, and perhaps a few others.

Some of the dialogue is astonishingly awful. Sex and relationships are constantly likened to animal interaction.

The story is so obvious that a viewer could leave the theater for fifteen minutes and not be even a little lost upon his return.

The occasional laughs provided aren't frequent enough or uproarious enough to warrant an investment of nearly two hours of a viewer's time.

The best way to sum up Freddy Vs. Jason is: good concept, mediocre execution.

A feature film adaptation of King’s best novel is deserving of something more epic than this throw-away production.

The Commuter falls into line with Neeson’s other high-octane, low-intelligence efforts and part of the reason it works (to the degree that it works) is because of the sincerity with which the actor attacks the part.