It comes off as an unpleasant, unrealistic morality tale. Loaded with music and pretty bodies, the film has a chance to lasso a young, indiscriminate audience of Kutcher fans.

A dreary dramedy of a road film that starts off ploddingly and proceeds to only grow more so as it crawls along.

There's little to distinguish this from the rest of the entries coming down the horror film assembly line, though the presence of Carrie Fisher as a shotgun-toting housemother who taunts the killer by shouting "Come to mama!" offers some camp value.

Has little to offer besides unrelenting strangeness.

This is the perfect illustration of the banality of most scare movies.

Here, due in large measure to a highly derivative screenplay, the director allows several reckless, unprofessional cops drive the movie into utter nonsense.

The mishmash ends up as a thoroughly unfunny adult cartoon.

Manages the difficult feat of being simultaneously sordid and tedious at the same time and is ultimately surprisingly tame despite its unrated status.

The film ultimately fails to satisfy because of the limitations of both the format and subject.

The romantic comedy, is the weakest of the trio. It stands as something of an interlude, detailing the paranoid obsessions of Cecile and her husband.

This feature glimpse into the Bell Jar is an exercise in drudgery, with nothing particularly insightful or revealing to say about the charter member of the Suicidal Poets Society and the artistic endeavor in which she would make her indelible mark.

There is certainly talent on display here, but their work fails to come together into a coherent entertainment.

Ultimately too sluggish and disjointed to have much cumulative impact.

A bizarre exercise in perversion that will well test even the most jaded art house audiences' appetite for the offbeat.

At roughly the halfway point, the movie turns into a low-budget gangster picture, which sacrifices character and themes to the kind of action mayhem all too commonplace in studio thrillers.

In the depiction of this unlikely journey -- it is supposedly based on a real-life story -- the film awkwardly veers between naturalism and a striving for poetic myth.

Ultimately involves a highly contrived, melodramatic ending that wouldn't have been out of place in a '40s-era film noir.

Although cheap looking and amateurishly acted, Flesh for the Beast, which features a music score by the eccentric guitarist Buckethead, doesn't invite huge critical derision, if only for the palpable enthusiasm of both the cast and filmmaker for their gory shenanigans.

Legally bland.

Has the feel of a home movie of greater interest to its participants than to an audience.

Contributions of the accomplished cast notwithstanding, this period drama takes a few too many spins around the downward spiral, making it hard to believe as well as unpleasant.

Not only doesn't provide any real information, it barely manages to convey why we should care. It represents a true squandering of a potentially fascinating subject.

Ethnic and sexual stereotypes receive equally clumsy treatment in this Canadian comedy.

Unfortunately, Love Object, which uncomfortably totters from psychological suspense to black comedy to pull-out-the-stops horror, never quite lives up to its bizarre premise, and despite its audacious subject matter, it will even have difficulty attaining future cult status.

Unlike such similar efforts as "A Mighty Wind," this would-be satire isn't funny enough to be entertaining, nor is it clever enough to fool us.

Where the first film was something of a teen horror film, the follow-up, again from writer-director Stefan Ruzowitzky, is more of an unintentional comedy.

The story is flimsy, and when the dialogue touches on controversial issues regarding the SAT and its fairness, the slacker tone turns abruptly melodramatic.

Augurs well for dazzling visual work but struggles mightily on the storytelling front.