Still, if it gets little else right, at least Epic Movie is accurately titled: It may be only 86 minutes long, but it feels as if it lasts forever.

It's hard to know who is the intended audience for this misguided mess.

At heart, "BSM" is no different from the midnight movies of the '60s and '70s that reveled in a head-spinning blend of blatant exploitation, provocative racial commentary and overwrought performances.

On the whole, this is an awfully long slog through very arid terrain, in which generic soldiers track, fight and try to escape from generic villains (you'd be surprised at how uninteresting mutant flesh-eaters can be). I can't speak for the hills, but I spent most of the movie just trying to keep my eyes open.

Misguided at best and repellent at worst, the movie has, ironically enough, a single asset: Lohan's performance as a rebellious, uncontrollable teen.

If you're looking for a modern-day "Meatballs" - or, for that matter, "Meatballs 4" - you're out of luck.

You've got to admire Hilton's complete conviction in herself as the center of all that is beautiful and good. And maybe such unwavering self-regard is actually kind of hot. Or not.

Cheesy horror flick that feels like straight-to-video material.

Since there's no suspense whatsoever, we're simply stuck with awful people doing awful things to each other.

Mystifyingly bad given the talent involved, Southlander is an in-jokey, hipster escapade that appears to have been made on a drunken weekend because there was nothing better to do.

The most bizarre cinematic experience of 2002. So misguided as to be utterly mystifying, this shameless vanity project is almost surreal enough to be entertaining. Almost.

Dev Anand's unintentionally hilarious Bollywood romance would be considered terrible by any artistic standard, but it serves as proof that sometimes the worst films make for the most fun.

You've got to give Norm Macdonald credit. When he cheats his audience, he warns them first.

Whether he's the victim of poor directing or misguided ambition, Bass is almost entirely charisma-free.

A mediocre movie that will be wiped from its stars' résumés with head-spinning speed.

Adam Rifkin's dank, relentless drama puts you savagely through the wringer without bothering to enlighten or entertain.

It's hard to say what's most disappointing about She Hate Me, Spike Lee's absurdly - and arrogantly overlong comedic drama. But there are plenty of options to choose from.

Here's what's missing from Casey La Scala's film: Likable characters, a comprehensible script and any semblance of a good time.

Turns out, subtitles don't make soft-core any classier.

An almost comically unsuitable title. There's absolutely nothing singular or special about this slapdash sci-fi film featuring martial-arts megastar Jet Li.

There are a couple of nominal insights here, but honestly, you'll find more intellectual edification (or whatever else you're looking for) flipping through Richards' photo shoot in the current "Playboy."

Given a plot and dialogue that ring entirely false, we're left with a bunch of unpleasant characters who do unpleasant things for no apparent reason. Enjoy.

Seemingly made while writer-director-star Cevin Soling was heavily under the influence, this generally witless ode to illegal substances is apparently meant to be viewed that way, as well.

The movie's a botch, but at least it'll make you feel good about your own daily drudgery.

The movie even has the nerve to start with a montage of moments from his better films, a bad idea that sets off an escalating tumble downhill.

On the plus side, the Irish landscape is gorgeous, and Scott and John Lithgow are amusing in small roles. But Goode barely makes an effort, so Adams' frantic exertions feel especially disheartening

Travolta, who delivers an impressively enthusiastic performance, seems to have no idea that he's stuck in one of the year's worst movies. The perpetually pained expression on Williams' face, however, suggests he knows otherwise.

The filmmakers were too busy throwing together potential blockbuster material to notice all the loose ends and gaping holes in logic. Which may, ultimately, explain why Willis looks so confused throughout. Maybe he, too, is straining to locate some intelligence amid all the machinery.

The Box is its own kind of awful, a disconnected mess that never finds its reason for being.

Unfortunately, Vardalos has no one else to blame for a shockingly amateurish effort that goes from bad (her oddly insincere performance) to worse (consistently sloppy camera work) to make-it-stop (it would be an insult to television to call the script sitcomish).

The plot makes absolutely no sense.

Ellis' stamp is immediately apparent, from the absurdly vapid characters to the undercurrent of barely repressed anger.

The real culprit is first-time director Marcel Langenegger, who seems to have studied for his debut by watching nothing but Cinemax. The score hints at ominous activities that never happen, a rain machine provides the only atmosphere and the actors have to suffer through the silliest sex scenes in recent memory.

Miller clearly wanted to make an impression, and that he does. Maybe it's better to be remembered for one of the worst movies of the year than forgotten for a mediocre one.

Forgive us for being demanding, but shouldn't an animated kids movie like this one be, at the very least, fun? Cute? Watchable?

Why would you watch a bad movie about better movies, when you could just rent the originals instead?

As for that title, neither character is Italian, but each thinks the other is - a weak device designed purely to inspire a slew of stereotypes.

Is it an exaggeration to call The Women the worst movie of the year? Well, yeah, probably. But it may be the most disappointing, given all the effort that went into it.

Rarely has there been a movie as misguided as Hounddog, which self-righteously indulges in exploitation while loudly decrying it.

The story has more holes than a shot-up metal door, the acting feels bored at best, and the intermittent action, while passable, hardly makes up for the downtime.

This year's installment is as disappointing as a Halloween bag filled with nothing but raisins.

Hudson has, if nothing else, traded up: last winter she was stuck in "Fool's Gold."

A movie without a moment of truth to be found.

Unfortunately, this strained comedy relies entirely on clichés and contrivances to tell the story of Sherman.

Dano is a talented actor who needs to aim higher, and it should go without saying that Deschanel can do - and should know - better.

None of it makes any sense, but it is just nutty enough to provide a few (entirely unintended) laughs.

Glatzer's self-consciously quirky indie is misguided on every level.

The performances are dreadful, the direction shoddy and the final twist so idiotic, your mind can’t help but drift toward all the better scripts just waiting, sadly and silently, for the chance wasted here.

Yep, Hess wrote and directed "Dynamite," and here's proof we shouldn't have rewarded him. The hollow "Broncos" is even more cruelly disdainful, designed primarily to scorn the pathetic lives within.

Thirteen-year-old boys big enough to sneak into R-rated movies are presumably the prime audience for this witless comedy from the Broken Lizard troupe.

This synthetic comedy is instantly grating.

A tacky 'Fatal Attraction' for the lesbian set.

Charmless and derivative.

Don't blame Haley, though. Wesley Strick and Eric Heisserer's screenplay goes in the wrong direction entirely, dropping Freddy's sick sense of humor while turning him into a generic bogeyman.

The performances are expert, but can't make up for a flat script and direction. Unless you, like Claire, are a glutton for punishment, we suggest you choose nothing over something.

Ever fast-forward through a late-night cable romance just to get to the good parts? This amateurish relationship dramedy features all the stuff you'd skip, and nothing else.

Does John Leguizamo need a better manager, or does he just have terrible taste in scripts? Because aside from voicing the "Ice Age" movies, he wastes too much time on misfires like this one.

This Spanish sequel to a 2007 cult hit uses the way-overdone conceit of videotaped terror.

Both written and played in broad strokes, each character quickly devolves into the most simplistic of symbols. The results comes across more as an agenda than art.

Franchise morphs into generic slasher series without Jigsaw.

While all four leads deserve better, it's especially galling to see Burstyn - still so lovely - wasting her time and talents on a film with so little wisdom to share.

Stahl should have had a career similar to Sam Rockwell's, blending thoughtful indies with fun popcorn flicks. Instead, he's spinning his wheels in junk like this. Calamitous indeed.

Other than those related to cast and crew, it's difficult to imagine who else would sit through Ry Russo-Young's self-obsessed indie.

In this group, only Hemsworth stands out.

Brooks' shallow screenplay feels half-finished, and he never compensates with additional guidance or directorial flair. So all his actors are forced to flail about ineffectually. Apparently, none of them read the script in advance. Because surely then they'd have known to take a pass.

Jonathan, who was so great in "Roll Bounce," deserves better. It'd be overly generous, however, to say the same about anyone else involved.

Do not, in fact, go at all. Because aside from the actual nutcracker, most of the crucial elements are missing from Andrei Konchalovsky's bizarre miscalculation. Magic and joy top the list.

If I were to guess how Hollywood envisions the inside of a teenage boy's brain, it would look exactly like Zack Snyder'sSucker Punch."

On the bright side, Ivan Reitman's disappointing new comedy isn't just cheap and formulaic, but so forgettable few people will even remember she (Portman) was in it.

Perry's characters have always been drawn with broad strokes, as heroes or villains. In this case, all the villains are young women, and all the young women in this film-without exception--are monstrous.

Even if you've got a soft spot for silly rom-coms, know that this one is as empty-headed as it gets.

Anyone hoping to engage even a single brain cell, however, is out of luck. Which is too bad, since popcorn blockbusters don't actually have to be mind-numbingly stupid or soul-suckingly empty.

She's (Heigl) disastrously miscast as a character beloved by fans of novelist Janet Evanovich.

It almost seems unfair to mention that Carla Gugino shows up as a cop 80 minutes into these overlong proceedings; by then, viewers who walk out would never even have known that she was involved.

Though the central blowout is as epic as advertised, so is the movie's self-congratulatory obnoxiousness.

"War" is depressingly mean-spirited.

The one crime a B-movie should never commit is boring its audience. By even these low standards, Shark Night 3D is dead in the water.

It must be said that everyone - including Dominic West and Rosamund Pike -- works awfully hard to entertain us. But that just makes it all the more depressing when joke after joke falls painfully flat. Stay home and introduce your kids to Mr. Bean, instead.

What's most baffling is that such a canny actor is so unable to direct his own cast.

As it turns out, the only truly interesting element about this clichéd surfer flick is that it was made by celebrated directors Michael Apted and Curtis Hanson.

The only real reason to see this movie is to show unwavering loyalty to Cena. And even so, he'll never know if you wait to watch it on cable for free.

Unless your own horoscope recommended wasting two perfectly useful hours of your day, take a pass.

Albatross is the kind of movie that looks good, begins with promise, and then nosedives into deep disappointment.

The most charitable approach to this unfortunate diversion in Jackson's career would be to pretend it never happened. Now, who wants to go see "The Avengers" again?

Who could have predicted that one day we would long for the relative subtlety of “Twilight”? Richard LaGravenese’s Beautiful Creatures is so outrageously florid, Bella and Edward’s baroque courtship looks understated by comparison.

The biggest trouble with "Bliss" is the way it wastes a cast that deserves so much more.

How ironic (depressing? predictable?) that the week after we celebrate the best in movies, we are force-fed its very worst. 21 & Over is filmmaking by formula, and evidence of Hollywood’s assumption that appealing to viewers’ basest instincts will always pay off.

There probably is an interesting story in Van’s rags-to-riches tale. But all we get in this extended publicity stunt is clichéd filmmaking, stilted performances and a self-aggrandizing hero.

How does a comedy troupe even get from the frat-humor antics of "Beerfest" to the middle-class suburbanality of Babymakers? Well, everybody gets old eventually. Growing up, on the other hand, is optional.

It's bluntly written, poorly shot and edited, and cruel without being clever.

As generic and forgettable as its title, this half-hearted attempt at a teen comedy feels like a term paper you might buy online: poorly written and cribbed from a million other sources.

What's most notable about this aggressively cynical project is how much talent it wastes.

If only the movie could live up to its own potential. Instead, we're stuck with blandly unappealing costumed characters meandering through a boring quest to find some lost balloons.

While plenty of gross-out comedies have come and gone in the last two decades, Leslye Headland's Bachelorette may be the most vulgar of them all.

One of those factors must have settled upon the unlucky shoulders of Stephen Frears, who certainly has the pedigree to go all the way. And yet, he stumbles so badly with Lay the Favorite, his comic adaptation of Beth Raymer's memoir, that one is left wondering what could possibly have gone wrong.

It's hard to know whether Sebastian Gutierrez is imitating or satirizing the hard-boiled noirs of Hollywood's past, but either way it feels like a botched attempt.

Though Jaglom intends for us to be charmed by show folk, the amateurish performances and perennially misjudged direction wind up portraying them instead as boundlessly needy narcissists.

It would appear that for his first feature, Mikael Buch wanted to leave nothing to chance. So he threw in enough action for five movies, amped the comedy up to frenetic levels and encouraged his cast to play to the rafters.

It would be nice to say that Rourke, at least, offers a reason to see this junky thriller, about an American agent who gets involved in an Indonesian terrorist plot. But as entertaining as it is to watch him adopt a strange accent and swan around in sarongs as an eccentric jewel thief, it’s also a little depressing. The paycheck cannot possibly be worth it.

There’s no explaining the presence of Guy Pearce in Pauline Chan’s sappy, atonal family drama. But it’s easy enough to understand why he looks so uncomfortable throughout.

Dumber than the worst UPN sitcom.

Just because Dimension considered Greg McLean's nasty exploitation flick worthy of their time and money doesn't mean it deserves yours.

The humor is infantile at best (projectile vomiting and bathroom jokes) and meanspirited at worst (midgets and gays, look out).

Grim, bloody and relentless, without even a spark of fun or intelligence, Evil is barely good enough for late-night cable.

Well, it was bound to happen: The Wayans brothers have made a movie that's even more two-dimensional than a cartoon.

Every movie's gotta have a gimmick, and Crank's is that it has an excellent shot at ending 2006 as the worst film of the year.

The film is smugly hypocritical at every turn, loudly preaching the evils of sick voyeurism while encouraging its audience to cheer every gruesome death. It's not only morally bankrupt but, between the ludicrous script and Z-level acting, scrapes the bottom of the entertainment barrel, too.

As appealing as acid-washed jeans, Kickin' It Old Skool exists solely to provide employment for aggressively abrasive comic actor Jamie Kennedy.

The truth is, no review could really do justice to the monumental trashiness of this mess; it really has to be seen to be believed. Although if Lohan is lucky, no one will bother.

Less a movie than a very expensive display of Afro wigs and macrame wall hangings.

With its amateurish performances and sloppy script, Hey, Happy! has the homemade feel of a cult movie, but very little of the charm.

The cinematic equivalent of a gangsta rap song, State Property is little more than a marketing tool for Roc-A-Fella Records.

The result is a throwaway story hidden beneath a messy jumble of weird camera angles, worthless editing tricks and an ill-placed, obnoxious score.

Racist, misogynistic and breath­takingly cynical, Ernest Dickerson's clichéd crime drama Never Die Alone shamelessly exploits the degrada­tion of its irredeemable characters.

This desperate effort by ­professional frat boy Tucker Max may be the most dismal movie of the decade.

Where Boll's movies were once amusingly atrocious, Postal is so aggressively tasteless and knowingly idiotic, there's just no fun to be had.

If freshman film students were assigned to make a movie on race relations, this contrived attempt is probably what they'd come up with.

Both visually and emotionally ugly from start to finish, this empty crime thriller doesn't have a moment that's genuinely worth watching.

Lacking the requisite post-"Scream" irony, the film is simply a package of gougings, stabbings, drillings and guttings, all tied up with a "twist" ending that anyone with a still-functioning brain could figure out in a matter of minutes.

"If you don't want something," Twelve informs us, "you've got nothing." Well, I wanted to watch a good movie. But Joel Schumacher's shallow teen drama gave me nothing, instead.

Despite the filmmakers' desperate attempts to scandalize us, the only real shock is that a movie this disastrous ever managed to get made.