Has no intention of taking a more sophisticated path to make its point.

As movies about relic sex machines go, this one lacks mojo.

Another "Exorcist" bastard -- one with a chick-flick pedigree.

SORRY, SALLY. I didn't like it. I really didn't like it.

Quickly degenerates into a grueling piece of unpleasantness.

Miserable as it crawls for two eternal hours toward being "life-affirming."

Mildly satisfying.

Breaks new ground both as an abominable enterprise in guy-talk and as no-budget hackwork.

Wesley Snipes runs around a lot shooting people in plotless film.

It's mesmerizing nonetheless for its flagrant disregard for narrative, character, pacing, performance and good lighting.

Like two hours of outtakes in search of a studio audience.

A terribly bad movie, one of the worst of its kind in recent years.

Wields its Middle America values and moralistic flogging of idiosyncratic lifestyle choices like a flipped bird.

Too dumb to realize that the senselessness is viral.

Highfalutin swill determined to pass itself off as a jazzy caper.

There are episodes of "Rugrats" with stronger sexual suspense.

An undernourished exercise in pop critique.

Moore can't help but be rotten. She has no grace and little nuance, which is why she's always best as a hard-ass in movies.

It's downright boring.

It's a movie so foul even the folks at the NAACP Image Awards would have to look the other way.

If filmmaking has ever been less thrilling and more disengaging, I'd like to see it.

It is a traffic jam of broken hearts, fluxing racial identities and deplorable outfits that has everything but a salsa overhaul of "I Will Survive."

A depressing show of how truly, madly, deeply outmoded Hollywood can be.

A particularly egregious array of Kodak moments.

One of those truly biodegradable experiences.

Most of American Psycho just sits there, looking at trouble, rather than looking for it - complacent, overjoyed in fact to exist at all.

A wildly dull, predictable script whose holes seem to be courtesy of random sniper fire.

Ideological disaster!

Brainless thriller.

Between fights, the film can't even rely on the luxury of Lindo, Isaiah Washington, Russell Wong, Rottweiler rapper DMX or the scary Henry O as Han's father to make it watchable - the dialogue is wreaking more havoc than Li.

Trouble is, it's too close-up.

Stupid.

It's an experience as frustrating as watching Jeff Gordon drive a stock car through a bowl of oatmeal.

Ludicrously written and appallingly directed by ex-film critic Rod Lurie, seems to pride itself on the fact that it never (ever) leaves the greasy-spoon milieu in which the president and his staff are trapped by heavy snowfall.

It's too cryptic and unfulfilled to serve as a tool for anything beyond its own obfuscation.

There are enough mullets to win this movie a Stanley Cup.

The best-looking bad movie in years.

The sudden cranking of the volume that makes us jump, even if we're just watching a cow chew on its cud.

Too screwy to be really funny.

When Annabel Chong sits in front of Gough Lewis' camera and complains about her need to have one of those normal everyday lives, you want to tell her that having intercourse on camera with more than 200 men is probably not the way to get to normal.

Second-banana material.

The single worst movie David Lynch never made.

A football epic on performance enhancers that may be more flagrantly flawed, more shockingly predictable and just plain cornier than its rickety predecessors.

The jokes run hot, cold and tepid.

The movie equivalent of the fruitcake you get every year from the folks back home. It's brick-heavy and full of nasty bits you don't want to put in your mouth, lovingly wrapped in pink cellophane.

Flawless is what happens when a filmmaker has no sense of naturalism, no sense of realism and no real natural sense.

Spoof both of P.I.s and independent filmmakers is languidly paced and not very funny.

Painfully unfunny.

If your name's on the marquee, chances are your agent's already dead.

Overlong, naggingly pretentious, more absurd than absurdist and a cruel, cruel bore.

A dimwitted, fill-in-the-blanks horror opus that slanders a fine and useful mammal.

This is the most-off-the-mark adaptation of a novel since Brian DePalma's what-was-that "Bonfire of the Vanities."

Ineptly written and shot like a fashion mag, rings hollow throughout. It's a long, long way from "Jules and Jim."

There's gangsta rap with funnier insights into the opposite sex.

Just another in a long line of blue-collar-kid-at-prep-school movies, and it may be the worst of the lot. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is original in this movie.

In tackling 1000 A.D., (McTiernan)'s suddenly an unwieldy, clunky filmmaker.

Stinks from the Earth to the moon.

An infuriatingly indulgent piffle of adolescent wish-fulfillment.

Unsalvageable B-movie junk.

A downright dumb movie that, with its breathless pace, lack of character development and uninventive gags, might be torture for even the kids to sit through.

It should be renamed "Drop Dead Ghetto" and hauled off to the "Jerry Springer" hall of shame.

A slick, supercharged popcorn flick of the erstwhile Bruckheimer-Simpson brigade in which the only thing more shameful than the proceedings is a very well-paid male star assigned to make you less aware of that sucking sound.

It's a tale of two missused Academy Award winners trying to justify their participation in a moribund, noisome redux of any disposable prison movie you care to remember by lobbing Oscar clips at each other.

An hour into the picture, Spade offers a pretty funny imitation of belter Neil Diamond, but it's a long 60 minutes for such a pitiful payoff.

Lacks genuine magic.

While it may be true that in space no one can hear you scream, groaning should be a perfectly audible way of saying the intergalactic alien-buster Wing Commander sucks.

Maybe there's a real use for Carrie 2 after all. Stand it up against the original, and you have a pretty good lesson in what's happened to the movies in the last couple of decades.

Not much of a plot, but the trouble is that Shana Larsen's script, as directed by Risa Bramon Garcia, isn't very deep. Worse, none of the self-absorbed characters are that likable nor are they funny.

About a moron - oxy and otherwise.

So it's hard to know who gets the blame for Payback. I say we cut Mel some slack and put the hex on Helgeland.

And once, just once, I'd love to see a teen flick that doesn't send out a message to young girls that to be acceptable, you have to conform. I liked the artist girl much better before.

What a cast! What a waste!

Half-comedy, half-coming-of-age movie with another half or so of sports film and maybe another quarter of soundtrack that adds up to 175 percent of a bad movie.

You may have surmised that Americans have held the copyright on turning out awful movies about serious musicians (especially musicians with physical or mental afflictions), but along comes the high-gloss weepie.

The best that can be said about this film is that it's watchable, and that's not the way it could or should be.

A loathsome, quite unterrifying and mercifully brief entry in the ongoing series about that homicidal doll, is the best argument I could cite for planned puppethood.

It's also troublesome that Murphy, a generally charismatic actor, is downright dull here. He and Goldblum are curiously flat in their line readings; they don't seem convinced by the story they're asked to act out, and with good reason.

A scary example of bad movies happening to good people.

It's simply terrible.

An amusement park special, screaming from start to finish with no brakes, no plot and no acting to speak of.

Offers nothing new, and a lot less. It's a hollow shell of a film, rife with plot twists that go nowhere.

If only it wasn't such bloody nonsense.

Dead Man on Campus, a supposed black comedy produced by MTV, is simply awful.

The movie is a dismal and misguided special-effects romp featuring two of the deadest performances recorded this year so far.

Unfortunately, the contemporary horror movie has ceased being an individual work full of surprises and fresh manifestations of the Gothic imagination - it has, instead, been reduced to the level of an inflexible, repetitious, ritualistic event.

Crude, stupid and unfunny.

The movie is an ill-advised work of egomania by someone who clearly has some talent, but not as much as he seems to think.

I HATE to whine, but if Michael Douglas is half as tired of playing yuppie scum as I am of watching him do it, then he must be napping on a regular basis by now.

One long offensive treatise on just how vile two human beings can be.

When a movie is nothing but relentless action, there's little chance for dramatic tension to develop.

The boredom of the temporary office workers of the title was nothing compared to the boredom I experienced as this movie dribbled on before my eyes.

What we get are quirky characters who are such cartoons that they undermine the effectiveness of the scare scenes (Brad Dourif's turn as the weird doctor is an example) and well-composed camera angles that mean nothing.

Underscores everything that was utterly wrong-headed about the original material.

Hush, which is an absurdly bad mixture of "Rosemary's Baby" and any Bette Davis movie from the 1960s, seems to be a classic case of a grasping mother trying to possess her beloved son.

Godawful.

No amount of excellent period costuming and brilliant set decoration can substitute for a good story and decent acting.

One of the most self-in-dulgent, muddled, badly written, vague and pointless exercises in filmmaking I have ever had to sit through.

What keeps coming to mind throughout The Jackal is that for what it cost to make this movie you could probably pay some nice hit man to eliminate everyone at Universal who thought making the movie would be a good idea, and still have enough left over to throw one of those hit man parties and have a really great time.