Bound to disappoint diehard Winters fans while leaving the uninitiated baffled, Certifiably Jonathan doesn't begin to fully suggest the range of the comedian's brilliance and lasting influence.

Won't likely disappoint fans of men-in-drag comedy but doesn't offer much that's original or funny.

Director Will Cannon keeps the energy level cranked but over-amplifies the dramatics to shrill effect, resulting in an unfortunate tone that undermines the serious-minded intent.

Levesque, soon to be seen in an action movie, "Inside Out," that is probably more suited to his talents, is a reasonably engaging and likeable screen presence.

Squanders its timely illegal alien theme with a predictable and unconvincing story line that makes "Green Card" seem a classic by comparison.

For all the digitally enhanced Smurfness, the results are remarkably mirthless.

An appealing cast and well-executed mood of foreboding would seem to hold some promise commercially, but the script grows silly in the third act, letting the picture down.

Michael Dowse's aggressively unfunny film which seeks the lowest common denominator in nearly every scene.

This time, tedium sets in early and never loosens its grip. The gags are obvious, predictable and dull.

With a homicidal tire as the main character, the film isn't scary enough to qualify as horror and not nearly as amusing as a black comedy should be.

Even as she is the center of attention here in a double role, the jury is still out on Gomez's bigscreen potential; she's not very appealing or magnetic here, nor does she display any particular comic gifts for this sort of broad fare.

Although one would never have expected to find her in a film like this, Dawson, by dint of enthusiasm, is the only actor who rises above the material with her dignity intact.

The Change-Up bravely attempts to revive the dormant subgenre but it's a lame effort that grows increasingly frantic and foul-mouthed as the realization sets in that the gimmick isn't working.

Fleischer stages one chase scene with a bit of comic flair but otherwise never locates that mix of macabre action and comedy that at least made "Zombieland" amusing.

3D swashbuckler wields a disappointingly blunt sword.

Despite the A-list talent involved, this haunted house tale is a thrill-deprived, inert misfire.

Immortals is not only entirely without humor, but is dominated by a lot of huffing and puffing, thunderous self-importance and windy Socratic quotations about the immortality and divinity of men's souls. You just have to roll your eyes after a while.

Singleton's action thriller has a decent sense of propulsion but, after a faintly intriguing start, the convoluted plot mechanics overwhelm everything else, making you feel you're watching a detailed blueprint for a movie, and an increasingly far-fetched one in the bargain.

This sophomore feature is a stumble backwards in terms of maturity.

Sporadically funny though less effective at selling its melancholy undercurrents.

On any number of levels, "Devil" is troublesome at best, offensive at worst.

Monogamy doesn't manage to find anything particularly new to say, and says it very, very slowly.

British writer-director Roland Joffé dips a toe into explosive material - the Spanish Civil War, betrayal, sainthood, Opus Dei - but all these big themes and characters slip from his grasp.

Even the most desperately deprived secret-agent devotee will find little to cheer in this yawn-tastic 007 send-up.

A water-treading sequel offering just enough kooky color to keep less-discerning funnybook fans occupied, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance nudges its obscure hero's mythology forward a bit without seeming to care much how it gets there.

Last Night is a sex tease, but that makes it sound more exciting than it ever becomes.

The film is smart enough not to wear out its welcome. But that's the only sign of true intelligence in this juvenile caper.

He (Shankman) succeeds in draining most of the fun from a vehicle that was all about the winking humor of its flagrant cheesiness.

While the overall theme is potentially rich, filmmaker Griffin merely bores us.

The supporting players are either nondescript or overact to the point of exhaustion.

This is a relentlessly mechanical piece of work that will not or cannot take the imaginative leaps to yield even fleeting moments of awe, wonder or charm.

If the degree of laughter at the wrong moments and the number of walkouts at the Toronto International Film Festival are any indication, the film will appeal only to the most fondly indulgent.

There's just not enough going on behind actor Freddie Highmore's eyes to convince us this kid's existential angst is real.

The project suffers badly from being largely improvised as the pair fall back on familiar impressions and old jokes. Lazy and indulgent, it smacks of being what the British call a "jolly," that is a freebie with no obligation to turn in work afterward.

The formulaic script by Steve Koren doesn't manage to exploit the absurd premise with any discernible wit or invention, and the star is left floundering.

Charlie Hunnam and Terrence Howard put enough actors' oomph into these ledge mates to make them authentic characters even though the film fails to achieve anything like the same level of authenticity.

A limp piece of fan fiction about a fictional rock band's heyday and decline.

Lebanon, Pa. is a few strong moments of storytelling lost in a sea of indie cliche.

Hotel Transylvania checks in as an anemic example of pure concept over precious little content.

All the interest and good will built up by the sharply conceived preliminaries is washed away in a succession of scenes that feel crushingly routine and generic, not to mentioned guided by ideological urges.

It runs a little longer than two hours, but feels more like two tours of duty. And it has enough plot elements to fuel an armful of Tom Clancy novels but somehow manages to make none of them interesting.

A miscast James Franco and a lack of charm and humor doom Sam Raimi's prequel to the 1939 Hollywood classic. Oz the Wimpy and Weak would be more like it.

This is a good premise for a comedy, but somewhere along the way, it got diluted and turned into a sappy, feel-good story of family togetherness.

Cheesy reality shows monopolize the TV schedule, but must they infect our multiplexes as well? Love, Etc., Jill Andresevic's documentary depicting the romantic travails of various New Yorkers, is a disturbing example of a trend that is to be soundly discouraged.

Weakly spoofing, or at least deliberately tweaking, Southern Gothic conventions, writer-director Tully can't fully get his arms around this messy genre mashup.

Unlike the restrained 1974 film which cleverly relied mainly on suggestion, this version piles on the graphic, often CGI-enhanced gore.

If anything, the movie offers up the guilty pleasure of seeing Bridges and Moore duel it out in front of countless green screens and a few stunning Canadian backdrops – two great actors clawing at each other with magic staffs and fake fire, trying to survive in the netherworld of heroic kitsch.

Astin's endearingly game performance isn't enough to carry the film, which won't likely see a second week in theaters.

While this psychosexual twaddle will no doubt have its admirers, it seems a long shot to attract a significant following or herald the arrival of a director to watch.

Not the worst but is very far from the best film the star has made in his career.

A so-called black comedy that is more sort of dull, spotty and yucky.

Ben Stiller and Vince Vaughn play the guys they always play in this sci-fi comedy misfire.

A barely warm dish of Cold War leftovers that shows its hand too early, then works itself into an increasingly implausible tangle of knotty plot developments without ever mustering much intensity.

Comedies don't get much more unfunny than Father of Invention, a lame and somewhat preachy comic take on a father trying to get back into his daughter's good graces.

Ultimately the movie disappoints, falling between two stools and failing to convince either as spectacle or as a fable about religious obsession.

Neither its depiction of the world of squares nor its embrace of rule-flouting self-affirmation rings true, so the inevitable happy ending offers little joy.

With neither great insight nor any sign of wit, the film is not likely to capture interest outside France.

Moshe, who wrote and directed, creates a boldly Expressionistic alternate reality to background this heavy-on-the-action story, but neglects narrative and character beyond the most basic strokes.

Dennis Lee comes up empty. Kids, parents, siblings, an aunt and an estranged wife all bicker and yell, but the noise cancels itself out. The movie is one long argument, tiresome and repetitive, that produces more heat than light.

The disappointingly generic film, which strands a father and son on Earth a thousand years after a planet-wide evacuation, will leave genre audiences pining for the more Terra-centric conceits of "Oblivion," not to mention countless other future-set films that find novelty in making familiar surroundings threatening.

Abercrombie & Fitch model Guzman looks every bit the metrosexual romantic lead, but also makes a credible partner for So You Think You Can Dance star McCormick. Fortunately, neither is called upon to stretch too far in the acting department and both are able to get by with good looks and flashy moves.

Chan has not injected any of his playful charm or physical virtuosity into Wang Xingdong's and Chen Baoguang's insipid, poorly structured screenplay.

A grindhouse quality that makes Loosies almost fun in flashes. But flashes are all they are -- pleasures even more fleeting than an off-brand smoke bummed from strangers in an alley.

Allen the writer-director has gone tone-deaf this time around, somehow not realizing that the nonstop prattling of the less-than-scintillating characters almost never rings true.

A lame action-comedy that seems ready made for undiscerning late-night cable viewing.

Perfect Sense is dense: It's a very complex and intelligent story hybrid that, must have looked great on paper and sounded impressive in discussion, but as a movie, it splatters all over the screen in unsatisfying genetic mutations.

Silver Tongues isn't a film that ever tries to be especially palatable. Its cynicism is of an unusually bitter, even nihilistic flavor, in the vein of early Neil Labute. This leaves an intriguing, memorable but naggingly unpleasant aftertaste.

At isolated moments a tolerably amusing send-up of alien invasion disaster movies in which the attackers are video arcade-era renegades arrived to gobble up as many famous landmarks as possible, this one-note comedy runs out of gas within an hour (it is based on a short film) and should have been trimmed to a neat 90 minutes.

Fairly mild in tone and riffing -- if not quite ripping -- off a collection of horror classics that includes "The Shining," "Rosemary's Baby" and "Poltergeist," both the franchise's premise and its execution nevertheless remain rudimentary, with the narrative and character backstories representing more of a sketch than a fully realized vision of the supernatural world that Katie inhabits.

As with so many films of this ilk, plot holes and inconsistencies abound, with audiences likely to express in loudly vocal fashion their opinions about what the characters should or shouldn't be doing.

Director David Mackenzie's film about two rival band members handcuffed to each other takes too long to find its footing.

Suspenseless, uninvolving and underdeveloped, it wastes the talents of an almost entirely distaff cast that deserves much stronger material.

Neither the script's conspiracies nor Nicolas Cage's performance is weird enough to trump the film's generic feel.

By this time, cinematographer Fred Kelemen's mostly stationary camera has revealed about all there is to see in a fine array of textures in such things as the wooden table, the rough floors, the walls of stone, the ropes on the horse and the skin on the boiled potatoes. That does not, however, make up for the almost complete lack of information about the two characters, and so it is easy to become indifferent to their fate, whatever it is.

Audiences attuned to Tim & Eric's weird wavelength will find plenty of guffaws in the first half, but a plot this thin can't sustain comedy based on discomfort; the film is so much of a good thing one starts to wonder if the thing is good in the first place.

Presumably intended as an inspiring portrait of a private individual daring to live his dream of traveling in space, Man on a Mission instead comes across as a cautionary tale about having too much time and money on your hands.

You almost feel sorry for Tyler Perry, stepping out of his own universe for the first time to try to expand his range and finding himself in something as thoroughly dismal as Alex Cross.

Despite a talented cast lead by Halle Berry, director John Stockwell fails to take more than a bite out of this lackluster shark thriller.

Aesthetically, it's desultory. Talking-heads rants and ruminations are further stultified by the amateurish aesthetics. Visually, zooms, pans and filler moments enervate the message. Most annoying, the dour music grates throughout; its hollow grinding, we'd guess, is an attempt to impart profundity.

A flat-footed and seriously unsexy romantic dramedy.

A flavorless literary adaptation sunk by a lead actor, screenwriter and co-directors that are all out of their depth.

Battlefield America manages to pack every cliché imaginable into its overstuffed and overlong 106 minutes.

Benasra's documentary purports to be a sociological examination of the intimate relationship between women and their shoes. But God Save My Shoes also displays a creepily fetishistic feel.

Filmmaker Alan Govenar misses the mark in his attempt to document the historical French dwelling of once famous beatniks.

Young viewers looking for unbridled raunch will be sadly disappointed, and so will other moviegoers expecting more than a few wan chuckles. This picture is like a brightly colored balloon with all the comic air seeping out.

Despite the overstuffed assortment of vampires, werewolves, warlocks and demons of all shapes and sizes, The Mortal Instruments seldom feels like anything more than a shameless, soulless knockoff.

The result, Chronicling a Crisis, is an admittedly harrowing exercise in solipsism that will be of little interest to anyone besides the director's diehard fans and perhaps his therapist.

A damning account of institutional dysfunction whose ability to stoke indignation is undercut by its filmmakers' misguided comic antics.

Its low-rent cast and unappealing key art won't help at the box office, but viewers who stumble across it on cable may be pleasantly, if mildly, surprised.

An ineffective indie variation on the sort of generic romantic comedy that should be starring Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson.

After a strong run of films during the past decade, David Cronenberg blows a tire with Cosmopolis.

A coming-of-age story without any clear epiphany, Goats meanders rather aimlessly through 92 minutes of running time.

This middle portion of an intended trilogy will only play to the converted who have already seen Part I, and then only to the most gullible among them who will swallow mediocre filmmaking for the sake of ideology.

Need For Speed is a flat, sexless movie that seems not to understand why people like to sit in the driver’s seat and rev that big engine: Because of the transgressive rumble in your nethers.

The action sequences are strictly pro forma and -- despite the sleek killer's resemblance to the similarly lethal heroine of "La Femme Nikita" -- this dull effort lacks the excitement generated by any of its incarnations.

Unfortunately, the alternately melodramatic and comic Bringing Up Bobby fails to impress, despite a showy turn by Milla Jovovich in a sharp departure from her usual zombie butt-kicking in the Resident Evil series.

The comedy just isn't that funny and the enterprise never finds an exact tone.

If you could take the Shrek, Happy Feet and Smurfs movies, toss them in a blender and hit the pulse button a few times, the result would be a pretty reasonable approximation of Trolls, an admittedly vibrant-looking but awfully recognizable animated musical comedy concoction.