Mercy is a sight that may induce sore eyes, a punishing experience for those with even the lowest of expectations, and appears destined to land among the dregs of the year. But, worst of all, this feels like an alarming glimpse into a world I want no part of — one where our entertainment isn't so much as created by AI, but explicitly tailored for those who no longer care enough to see the difference. On the bright side, 2026 can't get any worse than this ... right?

Happy Gilmore 2 is a poor excuse for nostalgic comedy, and you'd have more fun getting a colonoscopy with a rake.

We're expected to find the Weeknd's melancholy entertaining. It isn't. Nor is Hurry Up Tomorrow. It's just awful. 

Sanders' The Crow has nothing on its mind, and forgets why we should be sad and frustrated at the death and meaningless violence in the world.

In spite of the pedigree of White as writer (and yes, it is that Mike White, of "The White Lotus" and "School of Rock"), and Benjamin Renner as director (following up on his very sweet and tender 2014 animated film "Ernest & Celestine"), Migration rarely approaches a level of excitement or creativity that might be hoped for with a big-budget animated feature.

Though this film is well-intentioned, fleetly paced, and boasts a unique blend of animation, it's a desperate and sweaty attempt to revive the past glories of the studio.

Expend4bles may be the best of the series. This is not a compliment to Waugh's film, but a mere note on how badly this series of films has fared over the last 13 years. These are useless, badly written gimmick films whose gimmicks never bore fruit. As the title implies, the flick is expendable. Or perhaps expend4ble. Read More: https://www.slashfilm.com/1399641/expendables-4-review/

Next Goal Wins feels like it's made by a director out of ideas — it's a film made up of lazy, visually vacant, and soulless filmmaking.

This movie isn't even worth glancing at when you scroll through your Netflix profile.

There is such a thing as a propulsive, intelligently crafted, no-holds-barred, violent action masterpiece centered around a seemingly unkillable man whose mastery of weapons is endless. That, of course, is the "John Wick" series. This cannot hope to compete.

The Blackening is content to make a couple of easy observations and move on from the idea. It cuts itself off from actually maximizing what a great idea it is. If a meta-horror comedy can't nail its commentary, horror, or comedy, then it sadly isn't doing much.

On paper, Chris Evans and Ana de Armas would seem like a perfect romantic-comedy couple, but their chemistry in this film is nonexistent.

"Blood and Honey" will disappoint fans of Pooh, fans of irony, and fans of horror. Don't bother.

This is just another run-of-the-mill, dramatically limp music biopic meant to be pure brand management. There are so many scenes of Naomi Ackie lip-synching full performances of these songs, and all you can say is, "Yeah, Whitney Houston was such a great singer." I don't need this movie to know that. I can just stay home and listen to her, which is an infinitely more rewarding experience.

No one ever captured the hearts and minds of children without taking some big swings. Francis Lawrence doesn't make incompetent movies, but his work rarely feels inspired. "Slumberland" is no different. Uninspired. And when your film is about dreams, uninspired is the last thing you want to be.

If the entire function of "Black Adam" is to set up a fight between Adam and Superman, as Johnson has said in public, perhaps skip a "Black Adam" movie and make only a 50-minute-long fight sequence. "Black Adam" is so hard to watch, it might make us want to skip the pretense that these are meant to be real movies.

What a baffling, misguided film.

Confess, Fletch, based on Mcdonald's second novel in the series, entirely misjudges the comedic appeal of its predecessor, transforming a setup of one sardonic man at the center of a hardboiled mystery into a barrage of eccentricities and bits that just sit dead on the screen.

One of the best things I can say about the movie is that it likely won't be one that your child will want to watch over and over, which means you won't have to, either.

Whether talking to himself or talking at his audience as if delivering wisdom deserving of an inscription on stone tablets, Iñárritu has nothing new or interesting to say. He's established he can move a camera with astonishing fluidity as well as blur fantasy and reality seamlessly. Now what? "Bardo" is a film high on its own supply yet low on any sense of actual intrigue or intuition.

Every joke in Easter Sunday lands with a thud, every emotional beat falls flat. It has the sense of humor of a bad TikTok video, and the emotional resonance of that TikTok commercial playing right now where wide-eyed people declare, "I learned it from TikTok!" Visually, it looks like a network TV reject or that one Netflix movie that you put on in the background while doing laundry.

There's just so much ineptitude running (or rather, leisurely walking) through They/Them — from a lack of fright, not a single interesting character, wooden performances, and no discernable plot — that one would assume this project came from a first-time writer-director.

The Man From Toronto struggles throughout the entire film to establish a consistent tone.

Cheaper by the Dozen, every time it tries to walk down a thornier path, seems to be guided away by executive fiat to ensure that nothing gets too dicey. There was potential here, but it goes unrealized.

It gets lost while trying to offend, and then comes to an abrupt end when it seems like the Guit brothers ran out of ideas. But maybe that's for the best.

It's hard to know whether the challenges of making a rough-and-tumble action movie with Liam Neeson at the helm now stem from age or from making a movie like this during the pandemic. Whatever the explanation is, the result is that Blacklight is a bland way to pass 100 minutes.

An aggressively misguided, strangely dour affair that starts off bad and only gets worse.

A better director would have improved its flaws, or maybe pushed Sorkin to go through some of the elements and refashion them. "Being the Ricardos" needed a different voice; the one here profoundly, obstinately refuses to grasp the inner workings of the comic mind.