The resulting effort proves so exploitative that its end credits' dedication to the victims and first responders feels tawdry. 9/11 represents a cheapo disaster movie wrapping itself in the piety of one of the nation’s most tragic events.

Over-the-top -- and ultimately tiresome -- female mud-wrestling, kick-boxing and cat fights in a parody of old exploitation movies.

This is a film so bad that not only was it not screened in advance for critics, it's publicists wouldn't even provide background information. It might as well have been entered into the Witness Protection Program.

The film earns a few laughs thanks to the energetic efforts of its hardworking cast, but they’re decidedly of the hit-or-miss variety.

Emerges as a lackluster and nearly charmless affair.

Grillo uncharacteristically displays no charisma, although considering the material he's working with, it's not surprising that he looks like he simply gave up. Speaking of giving up, Willis, who provides a few sparks to the otherwise lamentable Death Wish remake, here reverts to his by now usual phoning it in.

Nick Cannon, playing an L.A. cop who goes undercover as a prep school student, provides the few sparks this wan action-comedy can muster.

Insipid, predictable, broad comedy mixed with Disney Family Values makes for one exasperating sit.

Long on mood but short on just about everything else, this would-be thriller directed by David Jacobson is as boring as it is baffling.

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.

The filmmakers are clearly most interested in re-creating the murders in a gruesome and repugnant fashion. It's a shame the film is so exploitative, because Howell and especially Turturro deliver chilling, all too convincing performances.

Throughout, gags are cartoonishly broad and afforded so little time for setup and delivery we seem to be watching less a story than a catalog of tossed-out material.

Cavemen has absolutely nothing fresh to say about its subject, and its tired genre conventions wouldn’t pass muster on a Fox sitcom.

For the most part, the proceedings are slow, solemn and tedious.

Replicas manages to be perversely entertaining for its fast-paced first half, if only because of the sheer absurdity of its storyline. But it eventually devolves into tedious thriller tropes.

The good news is that it will be a good 15 years before we're forced to encounter the character again in Spring. Maybe by then he'll be less of a downer.

This second feature based on a best-selling book by Jim Stovall is mainly repetitive in its themes and suffers from a melodramatic plotline and hamfisted execution.

Wit is in short supply, but director Miller at least keeps things moving briskly throughout the relatively brief running time.

Ralph Ziman's Kite repackages an assortment of genre tropes into an instantly forgettable Luc Besson-aping slog that would be unneeded even if Besson hadn't just returned to big action flicks himself.

Scurfield's directing debut is marred by all manner of clunkiness, from the embarrassing performance of Kellan Lutz (playing Lansky's chip-on-shoulder nephew, who winds up Aronoff's nemesis) to the tissue-thin montages that try to sell us on Aronoff's second career as a racer and maker of speedboats.

The Swedish video and commercial director seeks artistic adventure but winds up with pointless self-indulgence.

A lame comic premise, a tiresome-bordering-on-obnoxious protagonist and a script devoid of humor is a lot to overcome for any movie, and Surviving Christmas is not the one to do it.

Polar is pure trash, but the generousness — and, in the final stretch, the poignancy — with which Mikkelsen approaches even the most lurid of the film's conceits at least pushes it toward the top of the garbage heap.

Attention, Ben Kingsley (I mean, Sir Ben Kingsley): It's officially time to turn in your Oscar.

The film lazily directed by Warren P. Sonoda barely manages to squeeze a single laugh into its interminable 112-minute running time.

The latest entry in the "This film is so bad we're not screening it for critics" genre.

The film lacks a controlling point of view to guide an audience through so improbable a tale. Nothing in the movie is funny -- aside from giggles provoked by misfired jokes -- or romantic or dramatic.

While the precociously talented Sidney, played by Logan Lerman, is not an uninteresting character, the artificially constructed nature of the narrative gives the supposedly shocking revelations way too much importance, essentially subjugating any sense of character development and flaws to its mystery-type structure.

Ultimately this is utterly forgettable stuff, not even managing to fulfill its mandate of mindless summer fun.

A clumsy high-school sex comedy which tries too hard to be both shocking and endearing, falling short on both counts.

As Finley, Hopkins displays his usual magnetism, even taking the opportunity to play one of his own musical compositions on piano.

While Travolta may believe he's seriously engaging with the character, following thesps like Dustin Hoffman and Sean Penn into the always-dicey enterprise of mimicking disability, his performance is all shtick and no heart.

An alien invasion flick that evidently expects dramatic shots of a depopulated Red Square to make up for a flatlining screenplay and the absence of even a single compelling character.

The humor, both physical and verbal, is extremely weak. Aimed at suburban mall hoards, it might connect with young children. But no one else except maybe the filmmakers' friends and bums at all-night theaters will sit this one out. [11 Oct 1993]

Fails to live up to even the feeble potential of its premise.

Never gets off the ground, trotting out the same predictable twisting heads and psycho-babble without a whiff of originality or discernible visual flair. As a result, the would-be thriller proves as scary and unsettling as a slab of devil's food cake - only considerably less satisfying.

Despite the dizzying array of talent involved both in front of and behind the camera, this godawful exercise is so painfully unfunny, so screamingly bad that it immediately qualifies as one of the worst films of all time.

With one senseless set piece after another, the film's eponymous forward movement should carry it out of theaters quickly, notwithstanding the brief presence of a slumming Morgan Freeman in a role that might well have been shot in half a day.

Generic and too self-indulgent, if energetic and occasionally funny, the film’s greatest attribute is by far co-star Crispin Glover, who steals the show as a deranged French-speaking assassin named Luc Chaltier.

No one emerges especially worse for wear because the entire production is wholly apathetic to everything from a compelling story to sharp comic timing.

The main performers do a reasonably good job of parodying the "Twilight" leads, with Proske particularly effective in subtly lampooning Kristen Stewart's moody mannerisms.

Lincoln's script has no knack for the pacing of cinematic exorcisms, and the truncated climax he does offer is short on action and scares.

Mother’s Day is bad from the start, and it doesn't get better.

Although the movie was clearly made on the cheap, cinematography, sets and costumes belie the modest budget. No one will be thunderstruck by the insights buried in "Valentine's Day," but couples seeking romantic fluff probably will find just enough humor and heart to satisfy them.

Neither impressive enough to prove inspiring or campy enough to be entertaining, Samson is as underwhelming as its title character if he went bald.

This ridiculous thriller would be hard-pressed to last much longer than its title in theaters before doing time on DVD, as is already the case in many overseas territories.

This witless found-footage comedy — doesn’t so much satirize its chosen genre as shamelessly rip it off.

Even by the low standards of the genre it represents, this female teen comedy represents a new nadir.

It ultimately devolves into yet another rote horror film that in this case lives up to its name by also being seriously underlit.

Director Andrzej Bartkowiak ("Romeo Must Die") works hard to supply the appropriate grittiness, but other than a few reasonably well-staged fight sequences, the proceedings are dull and visually uninspired. Justin Marks' solemn screenplay lacks any trace of wit.

Without the gore, this old school slasher rehash is one anemic bore.

Whatever gothic originality the first Human Centipede possessed is altogether lacking in this sorry follow-up.

Demented absurdist comedy that doesn’t just push the envelope in terms of offensive and disgusting content, it folds it neatly and uses it for toilet paper. Desperately striving for cult status that it will never achieve, Assholes could be described as forgettable. Except, sadly, it isn’t.

A viewer is challenged to guess what the filmmakers thought they were doing. A 1930s screwball comedy with a modern sensibility? A misguided valentine to those who march to the beat of a different drummer?

The film might amuse some, especially fans of Alfred Hitchcock, but is likely to annoy almost everyone else.

The outcome is usually fairly tiresome, but on occasion reaches levels of moderate originality.

The hilariously dirty insult comic Lisa Lampanelli shows up all too briefly as Engvall's shrewish wife.

This witlessly antic sex farce about a yuppie substance abuser coping with myriad personal issues during a stint in a rehab facility pretty much fails on every level, other than providing big-screen exposure for a passel of veteran older actors.

A monumentally unfunny time-waster.

From the opening credits -- an animated sequence so crude a junior-high art student would be ashamed of it -- to a climax in which Kate's dog is taken hostage with a crossbow, there's not an ounce of mirth in this parade of ghastly accents, tin-eared romantic montages and dime-store knavery.

In the end, the scariest thing about Boo 2! is the idea that A Madea Easter might be next.

At least a fright-wigged Joe Mantegna, delivering an execrable cameo as a whacked-out doctor, has a good excuse for his presence; the writer-director is one of his former film students.

There's a fresh candidate in the running for worst movie of 2007 honors.

No legitimate distributor would bother with a film "whose crackpot elements aren't even exploited in a way that will appeal to those watching solely to make fun of them."

Directed and scripted in boring, incoherent fashion by Francesco Cinquemani, Andron brings new meaning to the word "derivative."

Ironically, the most original aspect of Maximum Impact is its title. Somehow, it has never been used for an action movie before, despite sounding like every one ever made. And after this, it may never be used again.

[A] stunningly self-important but numbingly empty cocktail of romance and insulting refugee porn.

Wretched excuse for a film comedy. [12 July 1993]

Silent Hill is not a place you want to go, and that applies for moviegoers as well as this videogame adaptation's characters.

This derivative B movie is sure to disappoint fans of prior JCVD/Lundgren outings — which are an awfully low bar to hurdle.

So comprehensively does the film fail to represent the labyrinthian literary wonders of Amis’ book that it scarcely seems worthwhile to detail its universal shortcomings.

The film has entertaining moments, but these are clearly secondary to its proselytizing intentions.

A tediously unfunny comedy that is chiefly distinguished by the fact that it marks one of the last screen appearances by the late Dennis Farina who steals the film as a Tom Clancy-obsessed, would-be military thriller writer.

Judging by the number of Nagels listed in the film's credits, ClownTown would seem to be some sort of family project. A trip to Disneyland's Haunted Mansion would have been a better choice.

Director Patrick Lussier and co-screenwriter Todd Farmer were previously responsible for such enjoyable guilty pleasures as "My Bloody Valentine" and "Drive Angry." Unfortunately, their latest collaboration, Trick, is definitely no treat.

Someone else's vacation photos are never much fun to watch, and this beach party is a drag for onlookers.

A painfully unfunny, would-be comedy.

Not much to laugh at.

It's completely undone by its terrible screenplay, inept direction, oppressive musical score and muddy visual palette.

The sketchy characterizations, laughable dialogue and less-than-stellar performances by the formidable cast, all of whom have done far better work in the past, provide further reasons why Darkness should never have seen the light of day.

Has the crass look and feel of a 90-minute infomercial.

Barely qualifies as late-night cable television fodder.

An L.A. Minute simply recycles clichés in an unconvincing matter that smacks more of sitcom tropes than the big screen.

A poorly imagined crime flick that comes nowhere near justifying its 2.5-hour running time.

Real disaster movies have more laughs than this spoof.

A deeply unpromising debut horror flick by visual-effects veteran Robert Legato.

This low-rent frat house comedy is at once far more vulgar and decidedly less anarchic than its obvious inspiration and should flunk out of theaters before this year's crop of freshman students even finish unpacking their bags.

Here is one more dubious piece of agitprop that will delight the author’s fans and have very little impact on his opponents.

Laughable performances.

Whatever suspense that might have been generated by the violently gory goings-on is dissipated by the sheer visual incomprehensibility.

The problem is that if Callahan spent even a week writing this script, he wasted four good days. The dialogue, characters and situations are distressingly bad.

Featuring endless scenes that defy credibility..Any Day truly succumbs to mawkishness in its final act.

Not only does the film offer a superficial reading of all the famous movies that inspired it, but there’s also an incredibly bro-ish sentiment to the whole thing, as if Franco and Boone binge-watched half the Criterion Collection while slamming down brewskies on the couch.

An awkward mixture of melodrama and whimsical romantic comedy that should make the briefest of appearances in theaters before, like its main character, moving on to other planes. It might serve a valuable purpose if it at least prompts viewers to finally schedule those long delayed colonoscopies.

What it all adds up to is either laughably baffling or just plain laughable, depending on how much attention one has paid.

A cliched, talky variation on the 1936 Bogie classic "The Petrified Forest," with scant dramatic tension but gallons of spilled blood on the menu.

One of the most egregiously awful horror films in recent memory.

To call Don Peyote a mess would be putting too fine a point on it.