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.

[Its] sketchiness is second only to its inside-baseball humorlessness.

A far cry from [Stanton’s] Pixar gems Finding Nemo and WALL-E, both of which have infinitely more to say about the human condition than this schematic and bathetic bowl of chicken soup for the soul.

Its comic touch almost as heavy-handed as its slow-motion-drenched action is dull, it seems primarily designed to answer the question, “How many movie stars can one fiasco squander?

A corny and turgid saga that should bring to a close Sony’s live-action “Spider-Verse,” if not the faltering genre as a whole, it’s an unspectacular affair that melds Marvel, Tarzan, and John Wick to depressing and forgettable ends.

Worst of all, Scream 7 doesn’t concoct the sort of ludicrous denouement that has always been these movies’ signature, instead delivering perhaps the most deflating conclusion in the series’ three-decade history. That alone should indicate that Ghostface has lost his luster and should withdraw to the Horror Hall of Fame where he deserves to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Freddy, Jason, and the rest of the genre’s genuine icons.

Set to Tom Holkenborg’s bombastic score, Gregorian chanting, and endless pew-pew-pews, Rebel Moon—Part Two: The Scargiver roars and rampages, yet its drama can’t match its aesthetic pomposity.

Choose Love wants to be an exciting Choose Your Own Adventure special; but really, the film is too lazy to actually come up with any fun, creative storylines.

Featuring not a single convincing element or exchange, this fiasco plays like a wannabe-Knight and Day exercise in eliciting annoyed reactions.

A Yuletide misfire that lands like a lump of coal.

Designed in every way to make one bleary eyed, it’s the new year’s dreariest, and goofiest, film.

A lifeless hodgepodge of the hoariest clichés the genre has to offer.

To say that it’s a fourth-generation knock-off of myriad similar YA sagas that have come before it would be an understatement.

The main takeaway from this dreary dud, however, is that winning an Academy Award is no guarantee of continued big-screen success.

It’s not improbability that dooms this Al Pacino-headlined genre throwaway but a crushing lack of originality and a form that makes its clichés even harder to swallow.

This misbegotten attempt at creating a new out-of-this-world Snyderverse is merely a knockoff dressed up in its director’s stylistic signatures.

An odyssey that—weird characterizations notwithstanding—is tiresomely unexceptional.

The Garfield Movie fundamentally misunderstands the charm of Garfield.

Most notable for excessively straining for R-rated credibility at every turn.

Merely more of the same gung-ho corniness, delivered with a chintziness and wink-wink self-consciousness that undercuts its aggro appeal.

The Electric State" is just about as derivative as a modern blockbuster can be, and worse is that it skates along from one cacophonous and jokey set piece to another as if on rails.

A feature-length ego-stroke of monumental hubris that instantly assumes pole position in the race for year’s worst movie.

Conspiracies are everywhere in Poolman, although the greatest mystery might be how anyone involved was attracted to this tidal wave of dire kookiness.

A satire that’s neither sharp enough to make its industry skewering sting, nor sweet enough to compensate for its toothlessness.

A sequel that ups the ante in virtually every way—none of them good.

So drearily routine and slapdash that even an A.I. would deem it too plagiaristic.

On the basis of Madame Web, however, Sony’s Spider-Man Universe is now completely lifeless—and in no need of resuscitation.

[Its] sole imperative appears to be boring its audience to death.