In the end, watching Pain Hustlers is about as numbing an experience as being prescribed the drug Liza spent her career selling.

As charismatic as its stars are, and as refreshing as its period setting is, the wildly inconsistent tone and overstuffed runtime loses whatever was left of the shine of the first "Kingsman."

For the most part, Ricky Stanicky is an entertaining comedy with enough laughs to keep your attention, but ultimately, it tries too hard to pull at your heartstrings without enough authenticity to back it up.

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.

Whatever the flaws of the previous "Resident Evil" series, those films were never as dull as "Raccoon City." Roberts doesn't seem to know how to milk anything resembling genuine horror out of the material here.

And to cap it all off, Mortal Kombat commits the sin that so many recent Hollywood adaptations of existing properties make these days – it’s all set up. Everything that happens here can be written off as exposition laying the groundwork for a sequel, where the real kombat can begin. It’s a ruse; a come-on; a side-show with a very loud barker out front. “We can’t show you that stuff just yet, but come back next time and we might!” The thing is, we’re all suckers enough to probably fall for it.

No one will ever accuse Vin Diesel of having range, but he seems particularly lost here. There’s nothing remotely interesting about Ray, before and after he gets his robo-blood.

Ultimately, Night Swim is a bit of a contradiction in terms, a mostly generic horror film that impressively adds a few unique elements to the proceedings. It's a shame that McGuire doesn't follow Russell's lead and allow the movie to really go bonkers; perhaps they were intimidated by 2002's "Dark Water" or the "Jack Frost" films, which do more with the idea of "evil water" than is seen here. Still, "Night Swim" delivers the goods enough to be a fun time, and like a day in a backyard pool, it may not be super memorable but that doesn't mean it's not enjoyable.

Antebellum feels curiously unfinished. Rushed, even. You catch a glimpse of what the filmmakers are going for here, but never entirely buy it.

Ultimately, writer-director Sigal's issue lies within his script more so than his directorial eye.

The Strangers didn't need these horror tropes to become a sensation, so it's very odd to see them shoehorned into this new trilogy.

The film is a self-serious, but consciously aesthetically pleasing, adaptation of a, frankly, silly soap opera. It doesn't rock the boat, but it doesn't plunge into the depths of womanhood, poverty, and classism as much as it thinks it does.

It's not that big, it's hardly bold, and it's only beautiful on its surface. It could have been a journey.

Once upon a time, a movie of this ilk could be unremarkable but fun; sturdy and dependable; solid, even. Not this time, though. 

The scares are more textural than truly creepy, and they’re certainly overshadowed by what’s primarily a character piece, with each person’s fears and anxieties literally manifesting as part of the storyline.

The worst sin a martial arts movie can commit is not properly showing its action. The second sin is casting martial arts superstars and not letting them fight. On both counts, the extraordinarily limp G.I. Joe reboot Snake Eyes is guilty.

Anaconda taps into a sweet spot that's just edgy enough to make adults laugh and just family friendly enough to let kids have a good time with their parents too. It's hilarious, harmless, and puts a fun spin on a familiar formula, even if the snake still looks fake as hell.

Maybe if there wound up being a second animated film featuring Scooby and Shaggy, it might actually tell a story where they solve a supernatural mystery with their friends in the Mystery Machine. For now, all we have is this forgettable, lazy, pandering superhero film.

As a movie, Unfrosted is weak. As a delivery system for a barrage of funny, silly jokes, it's part of a nutritious breakfast.

If you're on the fence at all, there is a mid-credits sequence that truly leaves the mid-credits made mandatory by the Marvel Cinematic Universe dead in the dirt and is so damn good that it completely recontextualizes the tone of the movie that came before.

Keery turns in a good performance, insomuch as Kurt’s thirsty loser is a 180-degree turn from Steve Harrington on Stranger Things, but there’s nothing enjoyable about him slipping into the skin of this maniac, and very rarely anything enjoyable about the experience of watching the film itself.

There are bursts of inspiration here and there, such as when the plot shifts to Peru and suddenly takes on an "Indiana Jones" flavor (which, annoyingly, the characters can't help but comment upon) or when an early horror-tinged sequence puts a new spin on the famous "Raptors in the kitchen" scene from "Jurassic Park." But such joys don't arrive consistently enough to make this venture worthwhile.

When the plot gets going and we're on a road trip through fantastical locations, the movie becomes a fun ride. It's not as good as the original, but it is still one of the better superhero films of the year.

Rather than adding something fresh and new to give us a reason to reinvest in this universe, the end result is as by-the-numbers as it gets.

Ultimately, how you feel about "Opus" depends on what kind of movie lover you are — if you're the type who, like me, loves to go over films again and again with a fine-tooth comb to mine the layers of theme and subtext, then the movie could be surprisingly rewarding. If you're looking for a purely visceral and emotionally engaging experience, then "Opus" is unquestionably a letdown.

Guns Akimbo glides on the strength of Radcliffe’s work, which is equally committed to selling a self-deprecating verbal barb as it is to executing an extended bit of physical humor.

The problem with "Persuasion" is it doesn't know what it wants to be. Is it a bold, revisionist take on Austen with progressive colorblind casting and cutesy contemporary slang? Or is it a sentimental period romance that wants to get its audience's hearts fluttering as they sigh over the pining glances shared between Johnson's Anne and Cosmo Jarvis' (an endearingly awkward bright spot in the film) Wentworth? The result is a half-assed attempt at both, which only makes it all the more insulting.

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.