It’s an egregiously transparent endeavor modeled after the finest swindle-y works of David Mamet, but boasting none of those predecessors’ cleverness, surprise or precision.

It repeats the same joke over and over (and over again). And just when you think Wolfs might be interested in moving onto fresh new material, it attempts the same punchline again, in its 400th variation.

Unfortunately the film is both overlong and underdeveloped.

On a comedic level, The Gutter is too quiet to be slapstick but too random to actually have an intelligent sense of humor.

Plays like a torturous tone-deaf joke that won’t end.

With very rare exceptions, it’s less entertaining than a year’s worth of marriage counseling.

Strives to scrutinize mother-daughter relations through a darkly comedic lens and only comes up with grating incoherence.

Eliciting exasperated laughs at its every manipulation, it may be the most ridiculously corny movie of all time.

To call the proceedings one-note is to oversell their depth; the sheer dearth of ideas in this fiasco is almost impressively profound.

Less than halfway into its already brief runtime, Landscape starts to fall apart at the seams. The film bungles its promise with a confused mixture of half-baked ideas that miss their mark entirely, all while it struggles to probe the concept of humor with a cold, alien touch.

A B-movie with a C+ premise and D-minus execution, the last of which largely falls at the feet of director Robert Rodriguez.

Arguably the least inspired film in the actor’s canon, if not all of movie history.

Cabrini is a respectful biopic designed to shed light on a forgotten woman whose charitable acts deserve recognition. It’s also so stultifyingly dutiful you may find yourself missing Sound of Freedom’s tawdry watchability.

Offsetting its naughtier impulses with feel-good schmaltz, it employs a tired formula to losing results.

The biggest problem with Horizon is that, even with its lengthy running time, Costner has only scratched the surface of the “saga” he’s trying to tell. There is no arc to what happens, just the seemingly unending introduction of characters.

Just as readers will likely get lost in its gobbledygook subtitle, so too does Rudd get swallowed up by the consuming CGI insanity of his latest comic book extravaganza.

Just as busy, corny, and predictable as its 2003 iteration—as well as destined to swiftly pass into the cinematic afterlife that is both convenience store bargain bins and cluttered streaming platform libraries.

Heed its title’s advice and just don’t.

Irish Wish is bland, woefully flat, and entirely devoid of laughs, and is a vacuum of charisma when its star isn’t in the frame.

Fails to locate a humorous rhythm or coherently develop its collection of characters. It’s the skeleton of a promising idea rather than a full-fledged movie.

A dismal misfire that strains to meld Meet the Parents-style comedy with The Exorcist-grade horror.

Its characters may be desperate to remember the things they’ve willfully suppressed, but as this dud confirms, some things are best left forgotten.

Dismally lazy nonsense whose only redeeming element is that its credits roll a good 10 minutes before the conclusion of its stated runtime.

It’s the safe and simplistic course correction that—neutered of the very absurdist immensity that was this franchise’s calling card, if not its sole reason for existing—lands with a crashing thud.

By choosing to reside in abstraction, it imparts only generic and empty truths.

Its phoniness epitomized by Emma Mackey’s lead turn, it’s the biggest dud of the artist’s career, and the holiday season’s most egregious misfire.

A B-movie of unholy bombast and absurdity.

Instead of weaving any thoughtful critique into the film’s subtext, Atlas grounds its assessment of artificial intelligence into a powder so fine that it’s near translucent.