It all feels so rote and old-school, especially during such an exciting era for the genre (thanks to Jennifer Kent, Ari Aster, Jordan Peele, Rose Glass and co). Never mind the fact its once-sturdy beats have been spoofed, homaged and riffed a thousand times. In the era of Netflix’s Fear Street and The Haunting of Hill House, big-screen horror surely has to work harder than this.

Valiantly hypocritical, uninflected movie.

The movie’s story is limp, its romances are flightless and — despite the talented cast — its performances are toothless.

His closing dedication—“For my daughter”—turns this into something actively creepy, as opposed to merely brainless, boring and inept.

A standard extremist farce, lazily written and fumblingly directed.

Numbingly simplistic in concept and execution.

For the most part, The Forgotten Space treats its subjects and settings as exploitable commodities in service to a lot of facile rise-working-man! muckraking. The ism trumps all.

The laughs, meanwhile, are delivered by cross-dressing Perry’s sassy grandma Madea, whose wild threats of violence to children and adults alike are the only things that sporadically lighten up this narratively and grammatically dim redemption pap.

An experience so vacuous it's almost frightening.

The only saving grace of this wannabe Looney Tune? The animals don’t talk.

The uniformly awful performances seem beamed in from Planet Ed Wood, while the script is filled with mock-macho zingers (“If I wanted to hear from an a**hole, I’d rip you a new one!”) that would give former Governor Schwarzenegger pause.

Can a single guitar riff tell you everything you need to know about a movie? The dreadful Kill Me Three Times, which has nothing to offer beyond some aerial looks at the white-and-turquoise beaches of Western Australia, opens with a power chord so cheesy and generic that it immediately identifies this story of amateur criminals as the charmless ’90s throwback that it is.

A lame sequel to Connor's earlier Edgar Rice Burroughs adaptation, The Land That Time Forgot, which was at least occasionally lively.

Endless? It's interminable...As excruciating as the Diana Ross/Lionel Richie title tune.

Charmless and histrionic, this mean-spirited movie takes place in the toyscape of McG (Charlie's Angels), a monomonikered director who makes Michael Bay seem thoughtful.

What, exactly, is the payoff for suffering through such painfully bad filmmaking for 93 minutes? Forget about getting "A Few Good Men"–style military melodramatics; this movie quickly proves that even a few good performances, lines of dialogue or music cues are a pipe dream. Your loyalty will not be rewarded.

This haphazard "exposé" only proves that hackery plus hot air [time] does not equal skillful muckraking.

They've taken an intriguing story about female neuroses with gothic overtones and turned it into a graceless, butt-ugly attempt at Twilight-lite.

Stuffed with lifeless gags, this cringeworthy puppet provocation is too pleased with its own naughtiness.

This frenetic horror-comedy from "Bubba Ho Tep's" Don Coscarelli is of the make-it-up-as-you-go-along school of storytelling.

The whole sorry enterprise leaves you feeling, well, shafted.

Wish Upon claims to be based on the classic 1902 supernatural short story "The Monkey's Paw." In reality, it’s a mix of "Mean Girls," "Final Destination" and the "Insidious" franchise, the latter on which director John R. Leonetti worked as a cinematographer. You'll be wishing you were watching any of those other films.

Their movie is a tedious slog filled with pinging bullets, show-offy long takes ripped out of the Children of Men playbook and zero humor.

Christopher Isherwood’s seminal queer novel deserves a film adaptation that captures both its sense of place and its activist spirit. Cowriter-director Tom Ford settles for the glossy ephemera of a Vanity Fair cover spread.

The question remains: Exploitative films are a dime a dozen, but how low will two-faced art-film distributor IFC go?

An old-fashioned and numbingly predicable problem pic of the kind that he used to do rather better (The Blackboard Jungle, for instance).

Utterly ridiculous, the dialogue exquisitely dumb, the acting soooo bad, it's one for cheap laughs.

Time to fire up the critical Black & Decker: Somebody-there are six credited screenwriters-really wasn't clear on the concept.