Indeed, I'd say Undiscovered belongs on the WB, but that would be gravely unfair to the channel, which looks like the BBC in comparison.

Rarely has an act of such cinematic cruelty as Tideland been perpetrated on filmgoers.

An offensive, comedy-free comedy.

A special place in purgatory must be reserved for John Leguizamo, who produced and stars in The Babysitters, a loathsome slice of exploitation at its most cynical and crass.

After all the bloated lines are delivered, and dozens of women are debased, and Bishop has attitudinized the story line into incomprehensibility, audience members will be asking themselves how they got on this Hell Ride and what they did to deserve it.

The movie suffers most of all from a feeling of creeping irrelevance, as if it's being delivered well after its sell-by date.

The yuck factor spins off the charts in Splice, a thoroughly repulsive science fiction-horror flick that slicks up its B-movie tawdriness with high-gloss production values and two otherwise classy stars.

So predictable it could have been written by a chimp who's watched too much TV, the huge movie is as dumb as it is loud, and it's way too loud.

If it were the last videotape available in the only video store in the remotest corner of Alaska, I'd take one last slug of Jack Daniels and start walking directly into the howling snows.

The dialogue is fast but bad, the acting is loud but awful and the morality is chaste but unromantic. As for the food, it looks vulgar.

Tells us nothing we didn't already know, and it tells it over and over and over.

Here's what I really like about The Mod Squad: Nobody in it gives a damn.

A gruesome tale of obsessive love and mutilation, it's less a work of art, however, than a luridly stylish expression of female self-loathing...A prettied-up snuff movie.

A twentysomething comedy with a brain-dead script, unflattering lighting and 16 performers in search of a scriptwriter...[It] feels like one-sixth of an idea stretched to the breaking point.

Sheer torture, the very definition of unfunniness itself.

It's all too silly to bother. Without style and attitude, nothing gets old faster than horror.

It does wonders to a critic to know that [Britney] could be a continuing font of teen and post-teen kitsch for years to come.

In terms of actual social conscience, the movie gets a demagogic, rabble-rousing F. It also gets a failed grade for honest writing.

As a child, I thought pure hell meant eternal agony in the flames of Satan. Now I know it's looking down at your watch and realizing Serving Sara isn't even halfway through.

See critic run. Oh, for the days of Smell-a-Vision.

Go expecting the very worst. Just don't expect to laugh.

I suggest you think of this movie as another bad sausage from the Warner Bros. meat-packing factory. And you should think of this review as a government health warning. Eat this thing at your peril.

About as awful and shamelessly pandering as a fanzine movie could dare to be.

There's no escaping the hackneyed plot or Mayfield's conventional hand. So don't go.

Someone definitely inhaled too much before making this one.

Stinks like a cat box that hasn't been changed in a hundred years.

It's sickeningly violent!

So stupefyingly hideous that after watching it, you'll need to bathe in 10 gallons of disinfectant, get a full-body scrub and shampoo with vinegar to remove the scummy residue that remains.

Can a script exploring some truly deep questions about human sexuality and emotions be any shoddier and wooden?

Don't hold your breath waiting for The Punisher to be original, not for one second of its torturous two hours.

Enervated, torpid, slack, dreary and, oh yes, nasty, brutish and long.

If there is a Hell, Not Another Teen Movie will be playing for all eternity on every screen there.

One thing the makers of Saving Silverman do not have to worry about: Hannibal Lecter will never visit them to eat their brains. That is because they have no brains.

The overall effect is like wading through hospital waste. Verhoeven, who also directed the maliciously stylistic "Robocop," disappoints with this appalling onslaught of blood and boredom.

This is supposed to be funny? It was so depressing I almost started to cry.

An animated King and I? Now there's torture, especially in this wretched, lurid, absurd concoction which seems to have been conceived to annoy adults and bore children.

Stars Samuel L. Jackson in the worst role of his career -- one hopes.

A stupid and violent delicacy, congealed nachos and Mountain Dew for the Beavis-and-Butt-head set.

A particularly loathsome piece of cultural detritus, a trashy, crass piece of work that panders to the anxieties and desires of adolescents without a scintilla of sympathy or coherence.

A million monkeys with a million crayons would be hard-pressed in a million years to create anything as cretinous as Battlefield Earth.

The plot for They Live is full of black holes, the acting is wretched, the effects are second-rate. In fact, the whole thing is so preposterous it makes "V" look like "Masterpiece Theatre." [5 Nov 1988]

A nonstop moronathon... Bio-Dome offers a pants-load of poop and masturbation jokes, deviant innuendo and simian sight gags destined to gross out and offend just about everyone.

There should be a special room in Hell where the makers of films like Patch Adams are sent.

The Devil's Own, which stars Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt, is so epically awful, it's practically homeric.

The kinetics aren't that good, the twaddle is off the charts and the characters seem written by monkeys on amphetamines with crayons.

Broken Arrow, a deafening, brain-deadening action thriller, takes a mighty blase approach to nuking Denver.

The movie's flexibility with its own rules would be less noticeable if it were busy thrilling us.

Lazy, boring, vile and tragically unfunny attempt at a horror-film spoof.

Definitely exceeds expectations, but in the worst way possible.

Tammy is a bummer, not least because McCarthy’s fans know she’s better than this.

Self/less bears not a trace of Singh’s signature visual richness, quickly devolving into a tiresome game of cat and mouse, padded with cliched fight scenes, car chases and shootouts.

Johnson and Wayans are both gifted comic performers but are given way too little to do in a film that wends its way from set piece to set piece, not with antic glee but desultory and-then-this-happens randomness.

Between its grating heroine, strident speechifying, derivative plot and draggy tone and tempo, it’s like the redheaded stepchild of “Mean Girls” and “Freaky Friday.”

Lazily written by Stiller and three collaborators (including Justin Theroux), this is the kind of lame, warmed-over movie that gives sequels a bad name. For “Zoolander” fans, however, it resembles a betrayal of public trust.

Love the Coopers is one of the most jumbled, tonally misguided holiday movies in recent memory. It is an insult to tidings of comfort as well as joy, and a complete waste of the time and talents of its ensemble cast.

D’Souza may wish to tilt the election, but he’ll be lucky if his fans can make it through his film without falling asleep.

Ultimately Dolittle is not just a weak story, badly told, but a puzzling waste of talent.

What follows is about as suspenseful as looking at your watch to see which minute will pop up next.

Adapted by Hooper, Stephen Brooks and Peter Welbeck from a King short story, The Mangler is ludicrous from start to finish: Its plot lines dangle, its effects fail to dazzle and the acting and directing are uniformly bad. The movie looks as if it's gone through its namesake, the five-ton, 40-foot-long Hadley Watson Model-6 Steam Ironer & Folder. Even the least demanding of genre fans will be hard-pressed to tremble in its presence.

Cro-Magnon-dumb...Less funny than your own funeral.

Heavy Metal is one of the worst ideas ever to be translated into a movie. [8 Aug 1981, p.C10]

A phenomenally atrocious movie—so bad, in fact, that you might actually manage to squeeze a few laughs out of it.

Atrocious. It's also pretentious, superfluous, superficial, shallow, dated and bilious. I'd pay money not to have seen this jumble of gooey special effects, sappy symbolism and out-of-it animation. [17 Sept 1982, p.13]

Someone must have told Sean Penn and Madonna that people would come to see them in anything -- and poor fools, they believed it. "Anything" in this case amounts to nothing: Shanghai Surprise, a quintessentially misbegotten fiasco even in the year of "Under the Cherry Moon." [24 Sept 1986, p.D2]

I doubt if I could stand to be in the same state as anyone who liked the new Anthony Michael Hall film "Johnny Be Good." If Chuck Berry were dead, he'd be spinning in his grave.

Nothing but Trouble, which distinguishes itself by being Dan Aykroyd's directorial debut and in no other way, certainly lives up to its name. But you could go far beyond that -- it's nothing but trouble and agony and pain and suffering and obnoxious, toxically unfunny bad taste. It's nothing but miserable.

Its toxic recipe consists of prurient exploitation steeped in dankly pretentious imagery. [01 Jun 1992, p.D4]

Madhouse is excruciating fluff for moviegoing masochists. It's what bad cinephiles can expect in the cineplexes of hell. No, it's probably already on video there.

Car 54, Where Are You? is a stupid movie. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid. If you pay money to see it, then you're stupid.