An individual’s appreciation of Cats may rest on a previous love of the stage play; others are more likely to throw up a hairball than purr in contentment.

The film's heart is undoubtedly in the right place, but so what? Fine ideals don't mean much when they're couched in an inert, pointless storyline.

A turd of T-Rex proportions, Land of the Lost makes one remember last summer's "Speed Racer" fondly.

Although Sinister 2 continues the story begun in Scott Derrickson's creepily effective "Sinister," it feels more like an unnecessary retread than an organic extension of the original.

Few authors have been as badly victimized by Hollywood as King; this is just another title to add to the list.

The script isn't just "dumbed down," it's lobotomized.

Other than a high cuteness factor, there's not much here. This is a warmed-over, low-end recycling of director Rob Reiner's own "When Harry Met Sally."

Disgusting, offensive, and utterly without merit. And, on top of that, it's boring and pretentious.

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.

Aspen Extreme is a predictable, pointless melodrama -- a kind of Top Gun in the snow. Ski enthusiasts might be tempted to see the film based on subject matter alone, but, unless they're undiscriminating about the quality of their movies, I would caution against it. Even as vicarious entertainment, Aspen Extreme is feeble.

The moment Showtime begins to take itself even remotely seriously, it loses whatever edge it might have had -- and that occurs less than 15 minutes into the proceedings. The best time for Showtime is no time.

Part documentary, part parody, and part something indefinable, the film manages to succeed on its own terms and entertain on just about anyone's.

Unfinished Business is bad - not epically bad but bad enough. Little contained in this misfire of a film works and the few successful things are dragged out to the point where they die a lingering death.

Perhaps the biggest (and most noticeable) fall-off from the first film is the lack of chemistry between Reynolds and Jackson. The two never connect. Rarely have I seen the volcanic Jackson look so disinterested; this is the closest he’s ever come to phoning it in.

Chernobyl Diaries is afflicted with a fatal flaw that damages many horror films: after a better-than-average setup and a promising first half, everything falls apart.

One problem with Repo Men is that there's not enough material to sustain a 111-minute motion picture.

The film is too energetic, too jaw-droppingly campy, and too silly not to be enjoyed and celebrated on some level. "Cheesy" doesn't even begin to describe it, yet that's at the heart of its perverse charm. Now, that's entertainment!

Regardless of how low your expectations are regarding Fired Up!, it will still surprise you, and not in a good way.

The film provides ample opportunity to attack the MPAA's hypocrisy. Max Payne is a bloodbath, yet it manages a PG-13 rating by keeping the explicitness of the killings just a whisker shy of what would be necessary for an R.

When it comes to waterborne movies, Wolfgang Petersen’s "The Perfect Storm" (not a horror film) is more terrifying than Mary.

Delpy's injection of class into an otherwise classless production raises the specter of what this film could have been with a better script and a better cast surrounding her.

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.

Although there are numerous problems with Fifty Shades Freed, the third and final installment of E.L. James’ trilogy, the fundamental one is also the most obvious: the lack of a compelling story.

It packs in a few scary moments and offers a nicely ambiguous conclusion. In Silent Hill, atmosphere trumps storyline.

The Lazarus Effect begins with an intriguing premise then proceeds to squander all the early goodwill through a slow, inexorable descent into cheap horror gimmicks.

If there's the kernel of a good story buried somewhere deep in Cursed, it never pops. As werewolf movies go, this one is on par with "An American Werewolf in Paris," but at least that dud had plenty of gore and Julie Delpy's bare breasts to recommend it.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles doesn't so much provide brainless enjoyment as it pummels the viewer into submission. "Shell-shocked" is a reasonable description of the experience.

A movie so inane that it fails to rise to the level of "good trash."