Here's a comedy of punishing tedium that pretends to be hip when it's so five minutes ago.

Gordon, who died shortly after the first Arthur, never had to see the luckless 1988 sequel that made his beloved characters seem like strangers. The new Arthur, insipid when it should be infectious, leaves the same deadly impression.

Critics and audiences should unite to KO this loser.

Guy flicks can be just as galling as the chick variety. Here's Exhibit A in how to lose an audience in ten minutes.

Crossing "A Beautiful Mind" with "Sex Kittens Go to College," first-time director Stephen Gaghan (he wrote Traffic) causes a head-on collision.

It's a little early for self-parody in the career of Vin Diesel. But he's a calamitous cliché in A Man Apart.

I laughed once or twice during this flat and fatuous farce, mainly because director and co-writer Greg Coolidge lifted a lot of it from "Office Space."

Stephen Rodrick's New York Times article about the making of The Canyons had humor, suspense and propulsion. They should have made that movie. What we have here is dead on arrival.

An exercise anchored to a likable LeBron charmfest, melding multiple forms of animation, recycled cartoon jokes, and the basic plot of the original Space Jam, but with a twist that updates the original for our new, streaming content century.

There's no thrill in Gone because you can see every surprise coming. It lies there flapping like a dying fish. Skip it.

Trash.

Joe Wright's origin story of Peter and the lost boys has to be the dimmest, deadliest take ever on J.M. Barrie's Pan myth.

Righteous Kill, a.k.a. The Al and Bob Show, is a cop flick with all the drama of "Law and Order: AARP." This movie defines drag-ass.

By showing signs of intelligent life in a universe of diseased, digital drivel, Assassin's Creed stands above the herd of movies based on video games by default.

You leave Lady thinking there are still voices in Shyamalan's head well worth a listen.

The compensation comes in the three lead actors, all way too good for the material dished out by writer-director Tom Gormican.

Audiences forced to endure the 109 coma-inducing minutes of Serena should bring an e-book or a soft pillow.

Feels fake, forced and indigestible.

The actors hit the jackpot, but only in terms of their paychecks. The audience gets a tension-free, tight-assed, "Casino" ripoff that leaves them thoroughly fleeced.

Spade goes sweet and gooey. This is nucking futs.

It’s always a downer when talented artists pour everything they’ve got into a film that stubbornly refuses to come to life. That’s the case with Lucy in the Sky.

Then there's the movie itself, which should be crazy, stupid fun but settles for just stupid.

Apart from its relentless messaging, the movie is hobbled by a near-total absence of procedural logic.

A few primo bits sneak through.... But mostly we’re watching the bawdy life being drained out of a once subversive franchise. Action Point is the first Jackass-related movie to play it safe. Now that is truly painful.

The bad news isn’t that Carrey and Daniels got old, it's that the jokes did. The spirit is still willing in Peter and Bobby Farrelly, the original writer-directors, but the sagging flesh is weak from prolonged repetition.

If you don't see where this is going, you've never seen a movie. Sorry it had to be this one.

Martin is a gifted physical comic. He deserves an original role tailored to his own talents. Watching something this borrowed just makes me blue.

The half-star rating goes to John Krasinski for heroically rising above this vile dung heap of a movie.

Cringingly earnest, totally unremarkable fable.

Does he (Hartley) succeed? Not with a movie this plodding, peevish and gimmicky. Is it fun to watch him try? Me, I'll take failed ambition over hack efficiency any day.

Helms, a master jester on The Office, seems to have forgotten everything he’s ever learned about comic timing to judge by fiasco. Since Coffee and Kareem also credits Helms as a producer, he has only himself to blame.

Branagh's take on the play comes right up to the edge of disaster but stubbornly refuses to leap in.

Nothing can match seeing Theron and Blunt try to out-camp each other, providing the only glimmer of entertainment in a film dedicated to being ponderous. No one sings "Let It Go," but my advice to audiences is to do just that before mistakenly buying a ticket.

Watching De Niro and Stallone piss all over their most iconic roles provides no pleasure. It made me feel – Sad. Sad. Sad.

This year gave us the best and most imaginative Marvel film in "Black Panther." Now we have the worst.

Talk about disappointing. Director Doug Liman exuded style and cool in "Swingers," "Go" and "The Bourne Identity." He lost his way in the star bloat of "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," and now his mojo is buried in this amped-up sci-fi chase flick.

Following "Derailed," this comic turd makes it two strikes for Jennifer Aniston. She looks great, but her acting is board-stiff.

There’s a deadening feeling you get watching all of this, as if Argylle’s real revelation is: We’ve cracked the code on how to take a handful of your favorite actors and a surefire ha-ha-bang-bang storyline and leech every single thing out that you usually like about these kinds of things.

They say it’s all in the timing, especially when it comes to funny business. But in The Hustle everyone’s inner comedic clock is calamitously off. The setups are flat, the jokes don’t land and the actors don’t — or won’t — connect.

Transformers 2 has a shot at the title Worst Movie of the Decade.

Get out your pooper-scoopers. Doo happens June 14th, warn the ads for Scooby-Doo. And they say there's no truth in Hollywood.

How can you recreate the first Ziggy concert in 1972 at Borough Assembly Hall, Aylesbury, and fail to evoke even an ounce of the moment’s dynamism even when you have the moves down? Does Stardust exist solely to make Bohemian Rhapsody seem better by comparison? Why are we still watching this?

A product that will delight car junkies and drive cinephiles to swear off film until fall.

The Host basically comes down to a vote for Team Jared or Team Ian. I voted myself into oblivion about half an hour in. Niccol, who once added mystery and suspense to the sci-fi of 1997's "Gattaca," is no match for the giant marshmallow that is The Host.

The Kitchen is deadly serious — and worse, deadly dull, even when it tries to act tough by laying on the violence and a heaping side of gore.

Here's a shrieking bore of a horror flick.

Certainly blunt, and since Anderson and Bach are veterans of the porn trade, there is no skimping on the sex.

If it’s not the worst of these films, it’s certainly the most anemic — and even die-hard fans are apt to feel completely drained by all of it.

Something vital definitely seems to have been lost in the translation, however, and what you’re left with is a retelling that feels deader than anything skulking around the shadows.

Then the aliens show up, chased by Morgan Freeman as a nut-job Army colonel, and the movie degenerates into a sorry, silly, gory, punishingly overlong creature feature.

Hit-and-mostly-miss.

The Expendables 3, trading on our affection for action stars of the past, has officially worn out its already shaky welcome.

It's the Bay touch you feel in the way actors register as body count, characters go undeveloped, and sensation trumps feeling. A nightmare, indeed.

Anselmo, basing his script on a true story, juggles more plots than a full season of "The O.C.," setting his cast adrift in a sea of soap-opera bubbles.

What you’re left with is something that wants the brand-name recognition of being a Spider-Man project by proxy, but also wants to give you an overly violent, extremely gory vigilante movie that, despite featuring Kraven fighting a weak-tea CGI version of another well-known Marvel villain, has nothing to do with those films. Congratulations on failing twice, we guess?

This seventh chapter just seems to be exploiting our affection for the Scream team’s history and thinking die-hards will simply go see anything with the name slapped on it.

Every paying audience member deserves their 12 bucks back.

On film, The Last Thing He Wanted settles for just being hollow. It’s the last thing any of us wanted.

The real evil in this flick isn't Blackheart (Wes Bentley), the devil's son, it's the soul-sucking devil of modern cinema: Hollywood formula.

What I can’t figure out is how director Peter Hyams can remake a 1956 movie from the great Fritz Lang and not learn anything about suspense, pacing and storytelling in the process. This movie is beyond boring. You could stay warm for two hours by striking a match to the wooden acting.

Turn away from your screens. Go for a walk. Start your own wheat-threshing collective. Anything but suffer through this.

Something lazy, slow, shallow, stupid, amateurish, unfunny, unsuspenseful, uninformed, unspeakably dull and witlessly written, directed and acted (the special effects suck, too).

There's no telling how the unflatteringly photographed Applegate delivers a comic line on the big screen, because Tara Ison and Neil Landau haven't written her any. And it's painful to see pros like Joanna Cassidy and John Getz stuck in this sewage. Director Stephen Herek does what you'd expect from the man who gave us Critters and Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, i.e., grinds out the film equivalent of processed cheese.

What DePalma has never made is a dull movie. Until now.

Never comes as close as spitting distance to a laugh.

Film critics have been asked to say as little as possible about M. Night Shyamalan's new scare film about the perils of messing with Mother Nature. Fair enough. But I will say this: It's not happening.

This unholy mess shouldn't happen to a King, much less a paying customer.

It’s 94 minutes that you won’t remember seconds after its over. You could always just throw down the white flag before shots are fired and save yourself the trouble.

Big, loud and lurid, but no less entertaining for that.

It's not easy hanging talents like Ferrell and Hart out to dry. But Get Hard gets the job done. It's one limp noodle.

Jeez, did the "surprise" climax have to be this eye-rollingly stupid?

What When Harry Met Sally made clear is that the keys to a good romcom are a tight, witty script (RIP Nora Ephron) and likable leads that can make it sing. Ghosted, like so many modern-day romcoms, opts for the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach. Sometimes less is more, Hollywood.

Demolition Man is sleek and empty as well as brutal and pointless.

One look at the dreadful mess that is Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance will turn your whisper into a primal Cage scream: MAKE THIS MOVIE STOP!

Thunder Force is another of McCarthy’s collaborations with her partner, Ben Falcone (who has a small role), and bears all the effortless likability of a well-oiled machine, which cannot help but feel like a real limit on what McCarthy et. al. are capable of while also making a great case for how watchable these actors are when they lean in to being a little washed, a little lo-fi.

The script by Linda Woolverton stays surface faithful to the characters created by Lewis Carroll, but the film has lost its soul.

There's something pernicious about a toxic mix of sitcom and snickering sex jokes getting packaged and effectively sold as wholesome fun for the family.

For some reason — maybe it’s because the seminal, ’74 original holds such a special place in so many die-hards’ hearts (this one included), and still feels like such a potent example of channeling primal fear — this latest ransacking of a landmark title feels less like just another killer-versus-final-girl rerun and more like the final straw.

Just isn't enough.

Their (Travolta/Jackson) teamwork was classic. Basic breaks up the team. What's up with that?

What we have in the misbegotten mess called Kings is a film of countless good intentions – one that starts going bad in its first scene, gets worse form there and then dissolves into pure chaos.

Call it "Apocalypto" for pussies -- a PG-13 rating, puh-leese! -- or prehistory for peabrains. Just don’t call it friendo. 10,000 B.C. will take your money, rob your time and hit your brain like a shot of Novacaine.

Zoolander 2 sweats its silly ass off to please. The results are scattershot. But when it works — oh, baby. There's a bit with Justin Bieber and a selfie that, well, no spoilers.

Valentine's Day is a date movie from hell.

I hate Safe Haven. It's a terrible thing to do to your Valentine.

The fifth entry in the Ice Age series is a loud, lazy, laugh-starved cash grab that cynically exploits its target audience (I use the term advisedly) by serving them scraps and calling it yummy. Even two-year-olds can see through the hustle.

Witless.

Breathlessly boring.

It's a monster fail.

Leslie Mann and wild-card Chris Hemsworth, as her cock-flashing hubby, get the heartiest hoots. The rest is comic history warmed over.

Love may hurt, sure. But it’s not nearly as painful as being forced to watch a great actor stuck in a bad movie.

Jonah is fated to ride alone. Don't make the mistake of keeping him company.

Abort! Abort! It's that time of year when Hollywood releases movies it should never have made in the first place.

Isn't much of a movie, but it's worth a look just to see screen legend Kirk Douglas, Michael's eighty-three-year-old father, kick ass.

Slick-dick director Simon West, of "Con Air" and "The General's Daughter" infamy, continues to show no flair at all for blending action and character. Jolie and Lara deserved better. So did we.

If only their stuff had a spark of life it might be forgivable, but Allegiant plods along like a franchise on its last legs. Who remembers where we left off last time in Insurgent? My point exactly — no one.

Even the best actors – and this coming-of-age movie boasts a handful of them – can't fight this much tin-eared dialogue.

The shortage of wit and the excess of goo can be summed up in Sandler's line to these children of divorce: "I'm like the stink on your feet — I'll always be there."