This is the same old safe, sappy movie that shows up on TBS every weekend.

It goes off the rails early and often. You almost have to give it props for how resolutely batshit it is. Almost.

Give this literally and figuratively bloodless spooker a pass.

Whether it's Caplan and Webber trading goofy dance moves or Brie being perkily OCD-ridden, Date works best as a collection of winsome, unconnected vignettes; its ideal distribution model would be piece by piece on YouTube.

It's too bad V/H/S starts off on such a high note. Mainly, the omnibus film feels undercooked, even on the grounds of its forced technological setup.

The result is a well-meaning bore, which isn't sure whether to play it for laughs or to make a serious point, and ends up missing out on both fronts.

A committed Denzel Washington is wasted in a legal drama that never gets around to making closing arguments.

Clapton has led a fascinating life, and is a contradictory and inspiring figure. Save for a few moments, this film just doesn’t serve him well enough.

Dean Morgan’s cheeky-chappy act is grating indeed, while his tight-lipped rival’s so utterly stolidly Firthian we could easily be watching his Madame Tussaud’s mannequin. Painless anodyne fare, though genuine laughs are few, apart from comfort-eating Firth’s illicit ‘naughty choccy’.

The big question isn’t whether middle-aged romance will bloom, but rather, how much sub-Jarmusch deadpan humor and pathos can you take?

A bizarre, conflicted mess, horrifying when it’s trying to be funny, oddly appealing when it turns the screws.

At an overlong two-hours-plus, Ambulance is Bay at his most masturbatory.

For Pixar, which must surely have a Woody western in mind, it’s a wake-up call. Let’s hope they’re soon back on more fertile ground, because Lightyear feels like that horrible moment when you broke a much-loved toy.

For all its freedom to reimagine her life and rescue her from cultural victimhood, Blonde is just a bit too willing to chuck her overboard and watch her flounder.

Perhaps the director is trying to show her socialites’ path to finding themselves, but her point ends up as lost as the film’s aimless hedonists; like its characters, Lotus Eaters is a visual treat—and emotionally vapid.

The movie meanders like its dissatisfied, part-time pothead protagonist, not wisely but too well.

The film blows up a minor aspect of the New Wave to foolishly apocalyptic proportions, substituting gossip for gospel.

The keenest irony is that Imogene’s fake suicide note is the most convincing thing she’s ever written — which makes perverse sense since Girl Most Likely is DOA.

Because both dialogue and direction are none too exciting, one's tired eyes wander endlessly over the space base sets, where there has been an overuse of that potent sci-fi movie convention which conveys 'realism' by showing that life on the outer limits will be as dingy and badly lit as a suburban subway, with all the usual vices.

For a movie with a critique of mediocrity well within its grasp, this one settles for an embrace of it, barely breaking a sweat.

The whole movie feels like a case of the sweats, putting you in desperate need of the chicken soup of recognizable human behavior.

Madagscar 3 is less interested in plucking the last bit of meat off the series's bones than with simply picking the lowest-hanging fruit.

Essentially an overlong, off-brand episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

If you loved the first one, you’ll happily sit through this one. It’s just not quite as good.

Bong is so concerned with whodunit that his creaky genre mechanics diminish Kim's determined performance.

Ultimately, the silly material overwhelms the style, particularly in a final act involving magical hillbillies living in them thar hills — during which the movie attempts to make a serious point about the importance of faith in the midst of a lot of bad teeth, worse wigs and cheap jolts. Right.

A soundtrack of churning rock songs by the Kills is as close as this misfire gets to authentic grrrl power, borrowed as it is.

Whatever possessed Bell & Co. to turn a slow-burning creepfest into a frenzied freak show of multiple exorcisms (including one in a moving car), the devil only knows.