Reduced to a teen girl empowerment vehicle that trots out every show business cliche about sacrificing your values for stardom, the film is a non-starter.

Viktor would be campy fun if it wasn't so relentlessly tedious.

Garishly unattractive to look at and lacking the spirit that made Wonder Woman, which came out five months ago, the most engaging of Warner Bros.' DC Comics-derived extravaganzas to date, this hodgepodge throws a bunch of superheroes into a mix that neither congeals nor particularly makes you want to see more of them in future. Plainly put, it's simply not fun.

Derivative and otherwise lacking in originality, the film which features enough gratuitous nudity and violence to satisfy the genre crowd is a strictly by-the-numbers affair that probably won't be filling the multiplexes in Salt Lake City.

Misses nary a single cliché in its visually disorienting and narratively confusing proceedings.

With its faux small-town values, faux countercultural ethos and faux personal struggles, Rita Merson’s debut feature skews closer to delusion than honesty.

Unfinished Business is the cinematic equivalent of sub-par fast food (think Carl’s Jr. or Jack in the Box); it’s cheap, easy and maybe even tasty for a second or two, but leaves you feeling queasy and undernourished.

In the end one would rather be back at one's own computer, tending to the tedious details of digital life, than watching this clique get pinged to death.

M. Night Shyamalan’s latest is well cast and strong on setting. But the dull thudding that resounds isn’t part of its effective aural design; it’s the ungainly landing of nearly every shock and joke.

Despite its laudable intentions and important social message, Black November is far too ineffective to have the desired impact.

No less noisy, obnoxious or just plain groan-inducing than the previous installments.

Alien Outpost doesn't even manage to do justice to its thematic conceits, failing to weave in its current day parallels in sufficiently thoughtful fashion.

Proceeding at a glacial pace, the film bearing no small resemblance to the far superior "Girl, Interrupted."

Making the most of its low budget with its necessarily claustrophobic setting, the film displays a technical competence at least. But the rote performances and uninspired screenplay by Mike Le will inevitably consign Dark Summer to VOD viewing by undiscriminating consumers.

This ersatz portrait of American big-top tent impresario P.T. Barnum is all smoke and mirrors, no substance. It hammers pedestrian themes of family, friendship and inclusivity while neglecting the fundaments of character and story.

Ponderously paced and mostly flat in its dramatic effect, this wooden period piece is slow going indeed.

Screenwriter Adam Chanzit and director Gabriel Cowan don’t have the same flair for eloquent dialogue or vivid character creation. Instead they offer a lot of turgid exchanges filled with regret and recrimination.

Starts out as a potentially interesting psychological thriller before devolving into familiar horror movie tropes.

The film contains numerous stylistic flourishes... But none of these elements advance the story, prompt a deeper emotional response or suggest something new about the characters, reducing them to meaningless window-dressing for what little story their is.

From its generic title to its familiar child in distress storyline to its hackneyed depiction of things going bump in the night, Out of the Dark is thoroughly forgettable.

Not even Douglas can redeem The Reach, the terminally silly and thoroughly disposable new thriller he stars in and produced.

Unfortunately, A Convenient Truth doesn’t manage to sustain its comic premise over the course of even its admittedly brief feature-length running time. The thin joke would seem more appropriate fodder for a brief sketch towards the end of a Saturday Night Live episode when time needs to be filled.

The film is essentially nothing but little and ineffectual bits of recycled shtick with no sense of freshness of invention. And the women never bond in even the most rote or superficial way that's expected in this sort of claptrap.

Despite its effort to double as a sincerely impassioned message about female empowerment, My Way mainly comes across as a relentlessly self-serving promotional vehicle.

Director Jonathan M. Gunn and screenwriters Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon are hard-pressed to provide the superfluous characters and situations sufficient depth, with the proceedings featuring enough melodramatic plot developments and homilies to fuel a religious soap opera.

Notable Bollywood producer-director Vidhu Vinod Chopra makes a highly uneasy transition to American films with this weirdly baroque modern-day Western that, while it boasts undeniably imaginative visual and plot flourishes, is far too absurd to take seriously.

While director Martin keeps the film moving, its implausibilities turn from holes into canyons.

Featuring enough stereotypical characterizations and situations to fuel a dozen artificial rom-coms, After the Ball pretty much drops the ball in every aspect.