A bigger-louder-dumber take on that good ol' CBS hillbilly hit, the movie version of "The Dukes of Hazzard" starts off on the wrong foot and keeps heading, appropriately, south.

A psychological thriller without bothering much with psychology. Come to think of it, the thrills are pretty much missing, as well.

Its release calculated to coincide with the X Games, Supercross: The Movie is advertainment to the extreme.

A plucky little bird that just won't fly.

This Divided State will become yet one more largely forgotten cinematic footnote to an election notable for its divisiveness.

Unfortunately, the screenplay contains little real wit, with the result that the various plot machinations have a strained quality that tends to reduce the proceedings of their intended giddiness. On the other hand, the performers are attractive; there's plenty of nudity; the setting is scenic, and the musical numbers -- well, they're pretty bad.

Aims for whimsy and poignancy and mostly comes up empty.

When under water, the action-adventure Into the Blue has genuine thrills. Above water or on dry land, this is one dead fish.

Does a fairly good job of laying out the basic political motives behind Islamic terrorism. Unfortunately, as a drama, it has its narrative peak in the middle and quickly runs out of story afterward.

Though the concept serves as a soul-stirring showcase for contemporary inspirational performers, the writing and direction (both attributed to Rob Hardy) commit a multitude of sins.

Doesn't serve up enough laughs to build a theatrical following but could find life on video as a takeout item.

Director Rupert Wainwright fails to bring any style to the material, not producing a fraction of the suspense or wit generated by Carpenter in the original even while working with a far lesser budget.

There's really not much of an audience for this picture. The movie demands that its viewers put the fragmented images and information together like an intellectual jigsaw puzzle, but it never gives those viewers a good reason to do so.

Well-meaning but woefully unconvincing.

A textbook example of how not to mess with success, Cheaper by the Dozen 2 is every bit as forced, synthetic, banal and mawkish as the first edition.

Hoodwinked occupies some considerably shaky turf situated uncomfortably between "Shrek" and dreck.

Ice-bound black comedy boasts strong cast for an indie but can't quite decide what it wants to be.

The film doesn't have much in the way of genuine laughs despite a plethora of attempted gags, but it does have a geniality that makes it hard to entirely dislike.

Unfortunately, there's little wit or genuine suspense to elevate the proceedings above the level of a cheesy comic book.

If state-of-the-art cross-gender fat suits and drunken Chihuahuas were the stuff of comic genius, Big Momma's House 2 still wouldn't be very funny.

Nothing von Trier presents here, whether real or imagined, is fresh or new.

Alternately tedious and bombastic, the film never achieves a consistent tone, and the characters and situations, while seemingly played on a realistic level, are neither remotely credible nor satisfyingly surreal.

Even with the inspired choice of Steve Martin in the Clouseau role, this "Panther" picture is more bumbling and fumbling than the blissfully oblivious, accident-prone Inspector.

Everything today's young audiences are conditioned to want: incessant noise, jumpy editing, torrential music, shallow, overblown characters and sheer emptiness at its core. Imagine yourself trapped inside a two-hour video game, and you've got the Night Watch experience.

Strictly for the small-fry set, lacking the visual style, wit or imagination necessary to entice adult viewers.

A romantic and philosophical muddle.

Has an impressive visual style that reveals its director's music-video experience. Unfortunately, that's about all it has going for it because its sluggish pacing and confusing story line will prevent it from appealing to all but the most rabid J-horror fans.

Few films have ever ended on such a low, anti-climatic note as The Zodiac.

A well-meaning but hopelessly stilted melodrama, Hate Crime sacrifices good intentions with its mediocrity of execution.

A painfully earnest but dramatically inert film.

Morrissey gives a stiff, awkward performance, while Stone moves dangerously close to overplaying the femme fatale. There is little if any intrigue in the story or the characters. Even the murders don't even seem to matter much.

The film is a relentlessly loud and ultimately exhausting exercise only partially leavened by the usual heavy doses of wisecracking humor and visual gags.

The biggest disappointment is the rigorously rote nature of the characters and story line in Geoff Rodkey's script

Da Vinci never rises to the level of a guilty pleasure. Too much guilt. Not enough pleasure.

Its deadly serious take on the subject may inspire more titters than anything else.

The film is filled with deeply unpleasant and stupid people whose vapid speech is largely incomprehensible due to thick regional accents.

The release date is the most original thing about it.

This less than subtly titled documentary by Mark Birnbaum and Jim Schermbeck will undoubtedly find few viewers.

While a huge hit in its native country, is neither arty nor truly thrilling enough to greatly impress American audiences.

This lifeless, talky, family-oriented feature never manages to rise to the occasion of its witty title.

About as subtle as its all too obvious title would suggest.

Audiences will have to seek out their own peculiar diversions in order to last the whole course of this demi-dud.

In this lukewarm climate of pointless remakes and uninspired sequels there's always welcome room for a film that wants to push the envelope, Shadowboxer merely crams it with a lot of nonsense.

Sour, joyless affair.

Lame and unconvincing teen comedy.

An essentially two-character drama that would have been far more effective onstage, Brett C. Leonard's Jailbait is ultimately as claustrophobic as its setting.

Shock to the System demonstrates that merely subverting genre conventions doesn't quite make for compelling entertainment.

A horror film dealing with the terrors lurking via our computers, cell phones and other electronic devices, Pulse isn't nearly as scary as watching your hard drive crash or having your BlackBerry conk out in the middle of a vital call.

This ludicrously plotted drama of incestuous sexual abuse is only partially redeemed by its strong performances.

It's the kind of sprawling ensemble piece that screams out for a Pedro Almodovar, but in the absence of an Almodovar it simply screams out -- in persistent, tedious intervals.

Unlikely to inspire a passionate following similar to the original, the film, which opened Friday without being screened for the press, ultimately induces more titters than dread.

Although Sutherland is an amiable and charismatic figure, his lack of emotional expressiveness doesn't help matters here. The film does, however, offer the spectacle of his getting a tattoo of the film's title (one of the band's songs) in Icelandic.

A lame and disappointing affair.

Fails to find the genuine drama in its story of love and intrigue.

To borrow a cliche from another medium, Santa might have jumped the shark.

You sense in every frame the strain to be lighthearted. Consequently, A Good Year is at times downright clumsy. You know what the filmmakers are trying to achieve and see the labor going into the attempt, but for them to fall so short is unsettling.

While Adam Sussman's screenplay can be admired for its emphasis on subtle atmospherics rather than cheap scares, it is a gimmicky slog of an affair that lacks narrative coherence or strong focus.

Jackman does everything required of him, and his range is quite admirable, while Weisz, who has nothing to prove, does looking gorgeous very nicely.

It all begins to fall apart around the midway point, before completely unraveling into a confused, murky mess.

The script is not without some perceptive observations about family dynamics, but the problematic tone keeps getting in the way. A little absurdist levity in these instances always helps to prevent things from becoming too maudlin, but in Stockman's hands, the played-for-laughs elements in this tragicomedy feel forced rather than organic, ultimately creating an emotional disconnect with the viewer.

Director Levy struggles to find a uniform pitch that would agreeably blend together the gags, the visual effects and the obligatory heart moments. In its absence, there's a stop-and-start hollowness that confuses noise and chaos for comic energy.

This implausible plot full of holes does pave the way for a series of Cedric the Entertainer skits and physical gags. None of these is very funny. A few are painfully unfunny. In either case, the movie comes to a standstill. It's a pity no one thought to screen old Bob Hope movies to see how to integrate comedy into genre filmmaking.

The lead performers certainly are highly attractive, making this one of the more sensual werewolf pictures in quite a while -- and to their credit, they do manage to keep a straight face throughout. But ultimately, the anemic Blood and Chocolate could have benefited from a little less chocolate and a lot more blood.

Part war drama, part political thriller, part romance -- and wholly uninvolving.

Heavy-handedness prevails, with the schmaltzy original score as unconvincing as the script. An over-reliance on song, from pop to Puccini to Ellington to hip-hop, doesn't compensate for what's lacking in the storytelling.

The blues music in "Moan" is superfine, but my oh my, what to make of the ripe Southern cliches and this absurd story. The film is so jaw-dropping awful that it just might become a boxoffice hit.

In I Think I Love My Wife, Chris Rock does something entirely unexpected. He isn't funny.

The usually likable Bullock, obstructed by glaring continuity problems and often baffling character motivation, comes across as unsympathetically dazed and confused here, giving the viewer little reason to care about this desperate housewife's puzzling predicament.

The Hills Have Eyes 2 proves that even grisly, gory violence can be awfully boring.

Redline is the cinematic equivalent of a sports car ad in Maxim magazine.

Poker has proven itself a popular spectator sport on television -- at least in the short run -- but as scripted drama, where you can pretty much guess the winner of a given hand, it's dull, dull, dull.

The sort of cheesy thriller that would prove mildly diverting on late-night cable, Slow Burn at least features a terrific cast to enliven its familiar elements.

The drama never comes together in a smart, meaningful way; indeed, most revelations border on the banal.

Despite an outlandish premise, Next suffers from being too conventional.

Lacks any of the socio-economic or political concerns of "The Big Chill." Indeed its shallowness is reflected in one character's abiding concern with his receding hairline.

While the three actresses have an appealing grittiness, they aren't always up to the demands of the roles.

A cut below its predecessors.

The film feels sleazy and nasty --- but without the pulp kick of filmmakers who know how to do sleazy and nasty.

The latest example of J-horror to reach our shores, Takeshi Furusawa's Ghost Train demonstrates that the increasingly tired genre may be in need of a serious overhaul.

More dumb than funny.

Unfortunately, the gags start to wear thin shortly around the 15-minute mark, not to mention the fact that they pale in comparison to the real-life indignities endured by the members of the "Jackass" crew.

Lacking even the galvanizing action sequences that would have compensated for suffering through its formulaic plot, this is a thoroughly forgettable exploitationer that will not enhance its stars' resumes.

Lackluster and decidedly old-fashioned (in the worst way).

An obvious "Ocean's Eleven" knockoff, minus any of that franchise's hip sensibility.

While the CGI effects are undeniably impressive, the laughable story line, risible dialogue and cheap humor (most of it involving a hapless zoo security guard) seriously detract from the fun.

The script by Josh Stolberg has no fizz. It's possible to sit for half an hour without cracking a smile. Part of the problem is sheer repetitiveness; another problem is that Stu's leering remarks are repulsive rather than endearing.

Dramatically, the film is a shambles, with whiplash-inducing lurches in tone and pacing that make it seem as if portions were edited out of sequence.

Koechner tries hard, but ultimately scores few laughs except for when, like Ferrell, he bares his comically less than toned, fleshy body.

Paints itself into a corner, creating a static situation in which everyone is either stymied or wracked by indecision, leaving the movie free for its two male leads to wallow in self-pity, remorse and bad behavior.

The elegant looking, nostalgic film is undermined by inadequate character development, amateurish acting and sentimental self-regard.

Poor writing, an indifferent production and sincere but often wooden acting make "Season" one big strikeout.

The film isn't just not funny, it is off-putting.

If "This Christmas" served up a crowd-pleasing portion of yuletide "Soul Food," then The Perfect Holiday offers dried-out leftovers.

Lacking coherence and suspense, the picture is likely to attract a cult following while disappointing Coppola's fan base.

As writer, Allen offers lazy plotting, poor characterization, dull scenes and flat dialogue.

Improbable and generally unfunny comedy.

It plods along at a sluggard's pace through a weak premise with crude execution and even cruder characters to arrive at an unearned sentimental ending.

In short, No. 4 is one big snore.