No one seems to be having any fun, including the normally masterful Van Sant, whose direction is unstructured, confusing, and lackadaisical.

The film is really little more than an array of sometimes imaginative images.

The most shocking thing about this ludicrous serial-killer shocker, released the week troubled 21-year-old former child star Lindsay Lohan was arrested on DUI and cocaine-possession charges, is that it's the kind of film actresses generally make when their careers are well and truly on the skids.

Proof that the US has no monopoly on white-trash humor.

This ersatz jungle adventure is really a thinly disguised Sunday School lesson in faith, charity and the savagery of life without Christ.

Nielsen's schtick is getting pretty threadbare by now -- his movies used to wring laughs from assaults on his silver-haired dignity, but after years of screen buffoonery, he has no dignity left to assault.

John Gulager's directing debut is horror at its most reductive and least resonant.

Benigni's artfully composed images are as empty as his political convictions.

The action has more to do with digital effects than true martial artistry, and is targeted squarely at adolescent boys too young to rent porn and gamers too lazy to yank their own joysticks.

The films of writer/director Francis Veber are a bracing reminder that French comedies can be every bit as broad, unsophisticated and cliched as their American counterparts.

There's a fine line between subversively transgressive and just plain gross, and this coming-of-age-movies parody from Todd Stephens, who wrote and directed the charming and underrated "Gypsy 83," crashes right over it.

A slack combination of faith-based inspiration and broad 'hood comedy.

There's no meat on this film's borrowed bones: They're polished to an exquisitely tasteful shine, but efforts to class up exploitation are pointless.

For all its crudeness, Phillips' tale of men behaving badly is remarkably toothless.

The outtakes that accompany the end credits suggest that making the movie was a blast; it's a shame the same can't be said for watching it.

Too elliptical to be convincing.

Herman fails to journey beyond the surface-level realities of his central perspective, which makes his film feel half-developed and poorly conceived, and drives it into sensationalism.

Insipid, formulaic and suitable for the dumbed-down sensibilities of lowest-common-denominator couch potatoes.

This teen drama may be filled with some great-looking dancing, but its hackneyed, predictable script is a giant step in the wrong direction.

Bean carves out his own modest variations on the theme of John Ryder-on-the-storm, but Bush and Knighton are so blandly forgettable that it's hard to believe that they're the protagonists and not Victims 1 and 2.

Plummer's fearlessness is awesome -- just try to imagine another actress willing to bare so much bony flesh wrapped in clanking chains -- but her character is nevertheless a ranting bore.

A dreary, downbeat "Field of Dreams."

So overwrought that it quickly crosses the line into unintentionally funny and never recovers.

This cliche-riddled picture was the directorial debut of veteran cinematographer Michael Chapman, who took no risks in his first time out.

Like everything else about this insulting romantic comedy, the Jessica Alba/Dane Cook love match is degraded by vile jokes, a boorish attitude toward women and a smutty tackiness not seen since those stupid nudie-cuties of the 1960s.

Mixed Nuts is a relentlessly hectic, poorly structured farce that falls embarrassingly flat. All the comedy here comes at the expense of the characters, reflecting a pronounced cruel streak in Ephron's work for the screen.

Like Doom itself, the movie is rich in backstory, but sparse in actual story.

It's a forgotten piece of history worth recounting. One only regrets it wasn't better recounted than it is here.