Admittedly, I’m far from a fan of Korine’s “Gummo,’’ “Julien Donkey-Boy’’ and the absymal “Trash Humpers.’’ But that he is proud of making intentionally sloppy and tedious movies doesn’t make them any easier to watch. Or all that much fun, for that matter.

Steve Carell is fatally miscast as an arrogant, flamboyant third-rate magician in The Incredible Burt Wonderstone, which by all rights should have been a second-rate Will Ferrell vehicle.

Love and Honor may be politically clueless, but Hemsworth and the student journalist he hooks up with (fellow Aussie Teresa Palmer of “Warm Bodies’’) do make an undeniably attractive couple.

The only darkness here — besides the dingy-looking images dimmed by 3-D glasses — is the murky plot, which is as silly as it is arbitrary.

This is less a documentary than a wholly uncritical celebration.

Grows tiresome rather quickly.

Should you get Carter? Sure - but make it the Michael Caine classic Warner Bros. is releasing on video next week.

A triumph of misguided moviemaking, starting with a grotesquely miscast Mira Sorvino, who arguably gives the worst performance ever by an Oscar winner.

Painfully stupid.

This low-caliber Gun Shy has singularly ugly cinematography by Tom Richmond that at one point shows off Bullock's facial hair.

Elaborate vanity production.

Rates an "E" for effort -- and a "B" for boring.

Ryan, the bodacious Seven of Nine on "Star Trek Voyager," is the only excuse to suffer through writer-director Harry Ralston's feeble comedy.

Things rapidly go downhill in this pinch-penny production.

Another mean-spirited black comedy from Todd Solondz, tries even harder than the director's two earlier films to shock and outrage -- but the overall effect of his sophomoric excess is tiresome and dull, like watching someone else's 2-year-old act out for the 50th time.

A hapless family film that's too scary for little kids and too boring for everyone else.

Exploitation curiosity.

With awkward acting, plotting and direction, this is no "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," "Jungle Fever" or "One Potato, Two Potato."

More "it stinks" than *NSYNC.

Isn't particularly funny, romantic or well-acted. It drags on endlessly.

Annoying.

The often difficult-to-follow plot is sort of "Traffic" for nitwits.

Charles Busch's spoof of beach-party movies and psychological thrillers, an off-Broadway hit 13 years ago, stubbornly refuses to entertain in this unrelentingly dull film version.

A baffling mixed platter of gritty realism and magic realism with a hard-to-swallow premise.

Antonio Banderas is unintentionally hilarious as Father Matt Gutierrez, a sort of Jesuit James Bond.

The lackadaisical pace of CD3 is a disappointing surprise.

It's loaded with -- scenery-chewing melodrama, cornball pidgin dialogue and syrupy music.

Abysmal performances, limp direction (Will Gould) and a heavy-handed script drive a stake through a semi-interesting idea about the persecution of gay werewolves in a remote English village.

Might have made a tolerable five-minute "mockumentary," but it's apparently meant seriously.

Indulges in some of the crudest Jewish stereotypes seen in a recent movie, right down to the crack about every Jewish girl having a nose job.

A moribund attempt to exhume the Jack Ryan techno-thriller franchise with a severely miscast Ben Affleck, is truly the 20-megaton bomb among this summer's blockbusters.

It's not surprising to learn that the story -- which the press notes assert is loosely based on fact -- has been kicking around Hollywood for 15 years. It's that bad.

A lame teen comedy.

To describe Love, Honor and Obey as a cross between "Duets" and "Snatch" doesn't begin to suggest how desperately unfunny this musical gangster comedy is.

The leaden pacing, somnambulant performances and incessant symbolism in nearly every shot will soon have you thinking that The Three Marias is three too many.

Overlong and not well-acted.

Should have gone straight to video. It'll be there soon enough.

Arguably the most insipid movie released so far this century.

An instant candidate for worst movie of the year.

Co-star Christina Applegate, who's much more at home in this down and dirty milieu, wipes the floor (in one scene, literally, in a ludicrous cat fight) with the erstwhile Oscar winner.

Director Uwe Boll and the actors provide scant reason to care in this crude '70s throwback.

Slow-moving, yawn-inducing remake.

In execution, this clever idea is far less funny than the original, "Killers From Space," which was directed by W. Lee Wilder, the vastly less talented brother of the great Billy.

We began this dismal movie season with one lethally bad World War II romance -- "Pearl Harbor" -- and now we're wrapping up with another howling dog.

The only pro involved in this amateurish labor of love is veteran character actor Arthur Nascarella, cast as Jack's florist father.

Pierre is at best competent as the star, director and writer of this good-natured compendium of ghetto movie clichés, which doesn't have an awful lot to offer in the way of laughs, pacing or originality.

Boring and desperately unfunny.

Shapeless, sloppy, badly paced mess.

Goes from being tediously terrible to downright gigglesome.

More "the mild one" than "The Wild One."

It's so incoherent that at first you wonder if the reels are being shown out of order.

Desperately unfunny and unexciting.

A slow-moving, dirt-dull narrative crammed with clunky expository dialogue and obscure Biblical references.

A low-rent, slow-witted horror flick notable chiefly for its hilariously unsuccessful attempt to pass off Luxembourg City as New York City.

This mess was directed with no skill whatsoever by Jesse Dylan, whose father, Bob, once urged us all to get stoned.

Amply demonstrates how even a movie with wall-to-wall action can be a crashing bore.

A toothless, dated Seventh Avenue satire with shaky script, direction and acting - is the movie equivalent of something you'd find on the deep-markdown rack at Daffy's.

Loud and unfunny, this cheesy-looking farce is mostly an excuse for a series of plugs.

Hollywood's Thanksgiving turkey arrives today - 27 days early - in the gobbling guise of the heavily hyped, brain-dead comedy, I Spy.

A truly repulsive piece of trash that says far more about the absence of values from contemporary filmmaking than the waywardness of teens.

Toothless, unbelievable and not particularly funny, New Suit is no threat to "The Player," "Swimming With Sharks" or "The Big Picture," to name but three more interesting pictures in this inside-baseball genre.

You'd be better off renting Demi Moore's "Striptease."

The dreary, direct-to-video quality of the script, acting and cinematography in this latest entry seemed to inspire more yawns than screams, and not a few titters.

Not especially scary or funny, this lame comedy-thriller wastes a decent cast in a plodding tale.

It's a shame, because the actors are so much better than the threadbare material.

If you stay awake, you'll certainly feel more than a little ground down after watching perhaps 15 minutes of skateboard footage padded out with nearly 90 minutes of strenuously unfunny toilet humor - all cheaply filmed on a budget that looks as if it would scarcely cover the catering bill for "Gigli."

The only prize this shamelessly derivative schlock is likely to be in the running for is the year's dullest thriller.

The sloppily shot, crudely edited Head of State fails as satire, for starters, because of its utter disconnect from any kind of reality.

The "Prinze" of terrible movies is back - in what might charitably be called "Rear Window" for morons.

The effects are cheesy, the photography is murky, the sets look like leftovers from a Las Vegas stage spectacular -- and the flick appears to have been edited with a roulette wheel.

Dull and creaky soap opera.

This excruciating adaptation of the innocuous '70s cartoon show makes the film version of "Josie and the Pussycats" look sophisticated by comparison.

A boring, wincingly cute and nauseatingly politically correct cartoon guaranteed to drive anyone much over age 4 screaming from the theater.

An assembly-line high-school comedy that flunks miserably in all three subjects.

So nasty, hysterical and long-winded -- and unintentionally makes capital punishment foes look so twisted -- you wish someone had administered a lethal injection to this dreck in its planning stages.

Desperately unfunny.

Essentially a weird series of nonsequiturs. I'd rather be watching a sequel to the much-maligned "Little Nicky" -- a Sandler film that was at least trying to do something interesting -- than this failed experiment in fusing high and low culture.

Without any believable characters or situations, Reindeer Games is about as appealing as leftover Christmas fruitcake.

It's basically the longest (a butt-numbing 21/2 hours), the most expensive (a reportedly obscene $150 million), most vulgar and by far the stupidest episode of "Miami Vice" ever.

Pointless and mind-numbing.

An alarmingly unfunny French comedy where the two main characters are constantly yakking on a cell phone at an airport.

Duplex, a shoddily constructed and alarmingly unfunny dark comedy that squanders the talents of Ben Stiller and Drew Barrymore, is one real-estate deal you should walk away from.

Significantly more gruesome and noisy than its predecessor, and boasting more nasty-looking fluids than all the works of David Fincher combined, this version leaves few corpses unturned in its unstinting campaign to please gorehounds.

Soporific, shamelessly derivative and barely coherent by American standards.

It's hard to say what's more offensive about the out-of- tune Radio - Cuba Gooding Jr. trying to ingratiate himself by mugging up a storm as a mentally challenged man, or the mawkish narrative surrounding him like so much syrup.

The movie spins further and further into coincidence and incoherence.

This mostly laugh-and scare-free turkey offers an utterly bored -- and boring -- Eddie Murphy taking a back seat to special effects, elaborate sets and a wispy story slapped together by David Berenbaum (the overrated "Elf").

The script, attributed to Mark Schwahn, Marc Hyman and Jon Zack, is as confused as it is confusing, and the aimless direction by Brian Robbins doesn't help. It was apparently edited with a roulette wheel.

Cliched, amateurish and feeble.

A boring and violent French crime thriller, is the sort of routine potboiler that generally goes straight to video in this country, if it's seen at all.

Shlocky, sloppy and crass adolescent comedy.

Purposely amateurish.

It's hard to imagine hardened New Yorkers actually paying to see this totally uncritical, gee-whiz celebration of stock car racing, its fans and its history, breathlessly narrated by Kiefer Sutherland and perfunctorily directed by Simon Wincer.

A rare dud in the Shooting Gallery series.

A leaden retelling of the legend of Australia's Jesse James that has understandably been sitting on the shelf for a couple of years.

May not set back Danish-American relations, but it's amusing to imagine how this schlock would have turned out under Denmark's most famous director, the American-hating Lars von Trier.

This bomb, which premiered at last year's Sundance Film Festival, belongs in the same remainder bin as Spacey's "Pay It Forward," "K-Pax" and "The Life of David Gale."

There's no excuse for a thriller as lame, leaden and unthrilling as Godsend, which manages to take a potentially interesting subject - human cloning - and use it to put audiences to sleep.

So bad it's awful.

Might as well be called "Around the World in 80 Yawns."

Wastes some veteran performers in a slight, silly musical fantasy with two left feet.

None of this is remotely funny or interesting.

Catwoman is pretty well summed up by Hedare: “This is a disaster. It’s a total bloody disaster.”

It’s often hard to figure out who’s winning, much less care about it. One thing is certain: Nobody is going to be demanding a rematch.

The acting is serviceable at best, the direction unfocused - and the special effects and makeup cheesy-looking. This is surely the most dreary-looking film ever shot by the great Vittorio Storaro ("Apocalypse Now").

Spectacularly awful.

When Will I Be Loved would rate no stars except for Campbell's brave, totally committed performance -- which deserves a far better movie than this.

Directed without wit or energy.

Eric Schaeffer's rip-off -- er, homage -- to "Magnolia," is a marginally better movie than his previous self-absorbed atrocities like "My Life's in Turnaround" and "Wirey Spindell."

A shipwreck. They say a dead fish stinks from the head first - but the animated shipwreck Shark Tale arrives reeking all over.

Overlong, blandly soporific.

A real head-scratcher that somehow won the grand jury prize at this year's Sundance Film Festival.

The latest, and let's hope the last, in the raft of uninspired, quickie Bush-bashing documentaries churned out by producer Robert Greenwald

The low point of the new Shall We Dance comes when Miss Paulina finally confesses why she's so sad.

So over the top that it often plays like a parody.

This masturbatory exercise is the least revealing "documentary" since Jerry Seinfeld's "Comedian."

A loud, coarse and witless family comedy.

Crashing chandelier, crashing bore.

Lumpy, preachy and soporific.

No "Schindler's List," to put it mildly.

It's not a bad premise for a movie, but writer-director Omar Naim, a 26-year-old Lebanese native making his feature debut, proves equally inept at handling plotting, actors and pacing.

There's 80 minutes of mawkish, overacted melodrama - laced with gratuitous violence and profanity - before we get to anything more than the briefest snippet of a dance number.

The best thing about Some Body -- an amateurish, quasi-improvised acting exercise shot on ugly digital video -- is that it's all over in 80 minutes.

The talented cast doesn't stand much of a chance in this rambling, pointless narrative.

Poor Keaton, a capable actor who was absent from the screen for several years, is hamstrung by the material even more than in last year's dismal "First Daughter."

Deadly dull.

A vulgar, grating alleged "family" comedy.

The MPAA's rating explanation for this PG-13-rated snoozer misleadingly claims it contains "intense sequences of terror/violence"; it would be more accurate to state that Boogeyman contains "virtually every horror-movie cliché of the past 30 years."

Plays like an unwieldy mishmash of "Big Momma's House," "An Unmarried Woman" and "The Burning Bed," with lots of gospel music thrown in.

If the once red-hot Vin Diesel's overhyped career wasn't finished off by last summer's mega flop "The Chronicles of Riddick," the alleged family comedy The Pacifier ought to do the trick.

A flaccidly pretentious and snooze-inducing trilogy of allegedly racy tales.

A mockumentary that veers unsteadily between satire and an infomercial for Dash's Roc-A-Fella records.

A bland, dull and only occasionally funny waste of time that will very soon be gathering dust in the remainder bins.

Most of this movie is beyond lame. It almost makes "A Cinderella Story" -- the ever-mugging Duff's surprise hit of last summer -- look like a real movie by comparison.

Un-magical, unfunny and un-romantic alleged comedy.

A perfect storm of wooden acting, hackneyed direction, inane scripting and laughably cartoonish special effects produces a shapeless mess more wearyingly stupid than arch-villian Dr. Doom is evil.

The bottom line of Last Days seems to be, fame's a bitch. Yes, Gus - now start making movies again that tell stories, please.

A collection of product plugs masquerading as a movie en route to home video.

A schmaltz-laden soap opera from Saskatchewan.

A cheesy, often unintentionally funny, direct-to-video-caliber knockoff of "Aliens" that couldn't be more shallow.

The only hint of professionalism comes from Cheech Marin as Cannon's boss, who at times seems to be acting in a different movie.

A tediously self-absorbed variation on "The Big Chill" and "The Return of the Secaucus 7."

Liev Schreiber's film version of "Everything Is Illuminated" achieves the impossible — it's even more annoying than Jonathan Safran Foer's gratingly precocious novel.

This poorly acted, directed and written (but slick-looking) vanity project was produced by Andrew Lauren (Ralph's son also ineptly plays G's major-domo) and shot at least four years ago.

A painfully sincere indie drama that isn't content to evoke only the misery of 9/11 -- it has to reference TWA Flight 800 for extra grief.

Those endless end credits reveal that McKittrick previously worked at Steak & Ale, Roadhouse Grill and Friday's. He may well need to return to his line of work after a debut as dismal as this one.

Any way you slice it, A Tale of Two Pizzas is so ineptly written and directed that it's pretty soggy entertainment.

Excruciatingly bad.

A trite, incoherent and pretentious bomb.

Wal-Mart's home office in Bentonville, Ark., can rest easy: Greenwald, as usual, is hysterically preaching to the choir.

Hyperactive.

Painfully unfunny spoof.

THE mesmerizingly awful The Kid & I is a historic first: a comedy about the making of a vanity production that is ITSELF a vanity production.

A pathetic stoner comedy.

Painfully sincere. But it wrings almost no laughs or tears from this seemingly idiot-proof premise.

Another ridiculous anti-American screed by the minimalist Danish director Lars von Trier, who has never set foot in this country.

Ineptly directed by Simon West, the scare-free When a Stranger Calls is the worst of the seminal horror movies from the late '70s and early '80s that have been getting the remake treatment lately.

Kirschner's excruciatingly earnest coming-of-age comedy, is about as fresh as year-old matzoh and plays like the unholy spawn of "Brighton Beach Memoirs" and "Fiddler on the Roof."

With Roth at the helm of a script attributed to Price, there is minimal suspense, audience involvement or coherent social commentary.

William H. Macy lends a little class as a snail, but Smith nails it in the closing-credit outtakes: "Don't expect Robin Williams-caliber work."

Who let this dog out?

Watchable in a train-wreck kind of way, but you'll probably want to take a shower afterwards.

Most of the interviews are as brief as they are obvious, and it doesn't help that none of those interviewees, including clergymen who served as technical advisers, are identified.

Scary Movie 4 concludes by satirizing Cruise's couch-jumping orgy on "Oprah." Funny, but nowhere near as hilarious as the real thing.

A great-looking but stupefyingly incoherent supernatural thriller adapted from a popular video game that ransacks the entire catalog of horror film tropes for more than two mind-numbing hours.

There are bachelor and bachelorette parties, as well as much misbehavior, in this glossy and unconvincing little flick, receiving a vanity booking on the way to video.

Arguably as effective as Ambien at inducing sleep, but possible side effects include uncontrollable laughter.

Sometimes there's a fine line between a labor of love and a vanity project, and The Lost City, Andy Garcia's heartfelt - but hackneyed and interminable - love letter to his native Cuba, repeatedly crosses it.

Looks great for a no-budget indie, but not a single moment rings true in this sluggish vanity project, which is sorely in need of Viagra.

Slow-witted and occasionally unintentionally hilarious.

Sexual and toilet humor plumb new depths in Keenen Ivory Wayans' Little Man, which will stink up theaters like several gross of dirty diapers.

Despite this seemingly surefire premise and cast of veteran comedians - there's even a cameo by Liza Minnelli as a masturbation coach - The OH in Ohio just lies there, without a single laugh.

A charmless, unscary, fatuous and largely incoherent fairy tale.

I wouldn't have thought it was possible to make a prison picture as utterly boring as Jailbait.

Pulse bears more than a slight resemblance to a 1994 American horror called "Ghost in the Machine." They didn't screen that stinker in advance for critics, either.

A repugnant little indie black comedy, poorly acted in hideous-looking digital video, guaranteed to send audiences fleeing for the nearest shower.

A strained, ultra-predictable and headache-inducing mockumentary.

The sort of lowbrow sports comedy best enjoyed on a 50-inch screen with a six-pack, a bucket of wings and a fast-forward button.

An excellent case for euthanizing the entire talking-animals genre.

Relentlessly grim.

Rarely has a documentary been so pleased with itself - with so little justification.

One of the year's worst movies.

A deadly dull, by-the-numbers rendition of the Nativity story.

The latest catastrophe from the Weinstein Co.

An ugly, unfunny, headache-inducing fairy-tale spoof.

Suspenselessly directed by Robby Henson, Thr3e commits the eighth deadly sin - boredom.

Thirty years after "Annie Hall," the beloved actress is scraping below the bottom of the barrel with this desperately unfunny farce, in which she mugs and pratfalls in the worst performance of her entire career.

It's nicely photographed but slow-moving, dull and utterly predictable.

While there are some scattered laughs, the flimsy and nonsensical script - combined with the sledgehammer direction by Brian Robbins, make the similarly themed "Big Momma's House" look like Noel Coward.

Rock appears to have edited I Think I Love My Wife with a roulette wheel.

Have you ever seen a movie without a single believable moment? Perfect Stranger, a convoluted and altogether risible thriller with Halle Berry and Bruce Willis, manages this difficult feat.

Despite solid contributions by vets such as Michael Lerner and Daniel Stern, Caleo isn't able to sell The Last Time - not the affair and especially not the ludicrous twist ending.

As much as we like Alec as an actor, it's hard to imagine that any amount of editing and reshooting under his supervision could salvage his complete ineptitude as a director.

The Spanish Inquisition was better summed up in an eight-minute musical number by Mel Brooks than in the entirety of Goya's Ghosts, an across-the-board disaster from one of my favorite directors, Milos Forman.

Well, it smells, all right, but authentic isn't the word I'd use for this maudlin male weepie, a compendium of the worst clichés of sports and journalism movies.

In the fourth and by far the worst screen version of "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers," Nicole Kidman's character struggles to stay awake - as will the audience.

Mostly unfunny, extremely silly pingpong comedy.

A very belated and very silly follow-up to "Death Wish."

Featuring eyeball-rolling performances by Vivica A. Fox, Patti LaBelle, Clifton Davis and the singularly named Leon, Cover would be a candidate for the year's most unintentionally funny movie so far - if it weren't also the most homophobic.

You can see better stuff on TV any night of the week.

I've had root canals that were more enjoyable than Margot at the Wedding, Noah Baumbach's hugely pretentious, ugly and annoying follow-up to "The Squid and the Whale."

A protracted piece of schmaltz, P.S. I Love You looks like a hand-me-down from Sandra Bullock and Drew Barrymore.

Excruciatingly lame and laughless romantic comedy.

A totally ridiculous and incoherent sci-fi adventure.

I was kind of rough on "Apocalypto," which in retrospect seems like a minor classic compared to 10,000 BC.

Draggy and incoherent.

An overwrought and patently offensive anti- abortion drama from the director of the accomplished "House of Sand and Fog."

One of my critical brethren opined that this sort of dumbing-down and low comedy may be the only way to sell the public a movie about the Iraq war. If that's true, God help us.

Quickly devolves into a nonprescription alternative to Ambien.

Someone describes his writing as "snarky, bitter, witless." The last part pretty well sums up this movie.

A total disaster.

A slow-moving, ridiculous police thriller that would have been shipped straight to the remainder bin at Blockbuster if it starred anyone else.

Fanning gives a sensitive and fairly impressive performance. But like her over-the-top movie family, Hounddog is still trailer trash of the worst kind.

A good cast can't save The Lodger, the utterly wrongheaded fourth movie version of a 1910 novel inspired by Jack the Ripper.

Exceedingly lame.

The Caller qualifies as something of a Holocaust movie, with flashbacks to World War II France. Guess who the two boys we see grow up to be?

The stars look bored out of their minds when the fourth episode of the franchise stalls between racing sequences.

Dreamworks Animation's clunky and wildly unimaginative Monsters vs. Aliens really doesn't have a clue what to do with the [3-D] technique.

An exceedingly silly historical fantasy.

Seems to go on for several days and nights, though in fact it lasts just 105 minutes. I checked my watch. A lot.

Just to give you a taste of the movie's sophisticated idea of wit, it also makes fun of gay men.

The cowardly producers have banished the grit and darkness of Parker’s original.

After a slightly promising start, this great-looking but ultimately deeply confusing and unscary sci-fi/horror opus turns into a quite boring rehash of M. Night Shyamalan's post-"Signs" films.

A witless homage to "Shampoo" and "American Gigolo" that's brain-dead on arrival.

Barely watchable, despite the presence of such pros as Michael McKean and Jane Lynch.

When New York, I Love You was previewed in Toronto a year ago, there were two additional segments that have since been cut. So you'll have to wait for the DVD to see just how bad Scarlett Johansson's directing debut is.

Neither a concert film nor a documentary but a ghoulish “event” offered just in time for Halloween, This is It is sadly -- and reprehensively, if you ask me -- the movie equivalent to the National Enquirer’s infamous post-mortem shot of Elvis Presley.

A shrill farce that strains credibility even by the standards of black comedy.

Produced with the best of intentions by a California church and directed without distinction by first-timer Brian Baugh, To Save a Life would be bland and boring even as a half-hour after-school special.

Charmless and underdeveloped knockoff of "The Santa Clause."

Cisneros is an appealing actor, but he and Falling Awake get buried under a welter of clichés.

Dear John is the sort of movie that gives tearjerkers a bad name.

A cringeworthy, unfunny example of a culture-clash romantic comedy.

Repo Men is a rare film where Toronto plays itself. It's also the first I've ever seen where a typewriter is used as a lethal weapon.

Quite a slog, with most of the acting strictly amateurish save the veteran Ed Lauter as a fish and game inspector.

Never rises much above yawn-worthy.

Excruciatingly unfunny.

This is a terminally whimsical vanity project that would probably have been a chore to sit through even in its original intended format, a 20-minute stage monologue.

Apprently novice filmmaker Angela Ismailos' definition of a Great Director is one who's willing to sit or walk with her while she lobs innocuous questions and gives herself lots of awed close-up reaction shots.

A maudlin and unintentionally hilarious romantic weepie.

The stars' utter failure to create sparks is only one of the problems with this Labor Day weekend dump job.

Milks the very real problem of "organ tourism" for all the melodrama and car chases it's worth.

A sloppy vanity project, this rambling and toothless Hollywood black comedy stars veteran filmmaker Henry Jaglom's girlfriend, Tanna Frederick.

A surprisingly unengaging and charmless fantasy from a director whose previous films ("Across the Universe," "Titus," "Frida") were, despite their other issues, never boring.

The only thing remotely scary about Monsters is that Magnolia is releasing this boring scare-, suspense- and gore-free horror movie (which reportedly cost less than $100,000) on Halloween weekend.

Despite much effort, neither Johnson nor director George Tillman Jr. ("Notorious") can make this preposterous tale, live up to its title.

The sort of misfire that Hollywood has long buried in January.

A labored romantic farce whose only asset is Carlos Leon, best known as the father of Madonna's daughter Lourdes.

A tediously unfunny comedy.

Aside from a relatively brief appearance by Joan Cusack's avatar as the kidnapped mother, there are no involving characters or situations.

Strands a good cast in a sea of stereotypes and clichés.

If I weren't already being paid to watch this movie, I'd feel entitled to compensation for having to sit through this many product plugs.

Except for Brolin as an unlikely born-again Jew, nobody fares well under Mulroney's ham-fisted direction.

There's still no good reason to suffer through a half-baked little movie that proves indies can be every bit as boringly formulaic and artistically bankrupt as their big-budget brethren.

A dull, by-the-numbers psych-ward horror thriller that's sadly a lot closer in quality to "Sucker Punch" than "Shutter Island."

You'd be better off renting "Eddie and the Cruisers" (1983) than slogging through this latest, far more dire recycling of the same rock clichés.

The latter is played by Parker Posey, who looks baffled throughout. As well she should.

A dispiriting rehash of dysfunctional family clichés that seems to last longer than Thanksgiving Day dinner.

Michael Brandt's soporific thriller is making a token stop in theaters before its January DVD debut. Miss it if you can.

Ineptly written and directed, the nihilistic The Son of No One flaunts an attitude best summed up by a cynical Pacino -- "A man has to live with s--t.'' Maybe so, Al, but audiences have the option of skipping this bomb.

About as artistically profound as those framed 3-D photos of the Twin Towers emblazoned with "Never Forget'' that are still for sale in Times Square a decade after 9/11.

It's sad to see Quaid in sloppily directed (by Martin Guigui) dreck like Beneath the Darkness less than a decade after the performance of his career as a closeted married man in "Far From Heaven.''

Would the Mayans have predicted the end of the world in 2012 if they'd known it would inspire not only "The Tree of Life'' and "Melancholia'' but an endless supply of more dreary depictions of end-times like this one?

Interminably long, dull and incomprehensible, John Carter evokes pretty much every sci-fi classic from the past 50 years without having any real personality of its own.

Completed four years ago, Seeking Justice is dutifully directed, with an absolute minimum of thrills, by Roger Donaldson, whose credits include the terrific "No Way Out" (1987)...That film's title is a pretty good description of where Cage's career seems to be headed.

Even an appearance by Alec Baldwin as Moretz's eventual - if highly unlikely - savior isn't enough to keep Hick from leaving a bad taste.

This is an exhausting, eyeball-gougingly ugly 90-minute assault of non-stop action, with an all-star voice cast shouting witless lines and a wide variety of objects lobbed at the audience in the crudest 3-D fashion.

Gets sillier and sillier as it goes along.

I'd call Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days harmless if it weren't for some totally unnecessary gay-panic jokes that could actually encourage bullying.

Wavers between extreme silliness and unbearable earnestness.

The acting, script and direction - not to mention the syrupy score - conspire to make this a perfect storm of a hoot that will find its most appreciative audience among renters who have had a few glasses of wine beforehand.

The Oscar-winning director of "Rain Man" - whose last film, the abysmal documentary "PoliWood" never went much further than the Tribeca Film Festival - demonstrates he can make a shakycam found-footage horror movie every bit as fake-looking, clumsy and unscary as your average college student working on a $200 budget.

So feeble it fails even as train-wreck exploitation. I’d be unkind, but not entirely inaccurate, to label Coppola’s sophomoric, er, sophomore effort as a director an offer you can refuse.

Actually, Bruce, what stinks is the script — which is woefully lacking the kind of one-liners and memorable bad guys that helped make working-class hero McClane so iconic he’s still around after 25 years. Even the action sequences are pretty much by the numbers this time.

Save your money and wait for the new 3-D version of the 1939 classic that Warner Bros. has promised for later this year.

The joke is on arthouse audiences who show up for Funny Games, which is basically torture porn every bit as manipulative and reprehensible as "Hostel," even if it's tricked out with intellectual pretension.

A long, tedious and often unintentionally hilarious adaptation of Stephenie Meyer’s sci-fi follow-up.

Though it tries — with a much too heavy hand — the new Evil Dead is far less humorous than its predecessor.

As far as I’m concerned, death couldn’t arrive quickly enough for these eight stereotypically self-absorbed Los Angelenos gathered for Sunday brunch at which the hosts (Blaise Miller, Erinn Hayes) plan to announce the demise of their marriage.

A movie so pathetically lame that hopefully even Spears most ardent young fans will give this stinker a big thumbs down.

Epic waste of celluloid.

Don't even think of visiting this French fiasco.

A creepy, depressing and leering "comedy" that's a virtual collection of "What were they thinking?" moments.

One bad movie -- in the original sense of the word.

A skin-crawlingly unfunny riff on Woody Allen's "Bananas."

This would be a stultifyingly incestuous affair even if all the jokes about fertilization weren't so tiresomely lame and predictable.

This time out, Broomfield comes up with maybe enough halfway decent material for a 10-minute segment on a second-rate tabloid TV show.

Stinko movies often unwittingly critique themselves -- and the brain-dead romantic comedy Down to You (which Miramax understandably didn't screen in advance for critics) is no exception.

A low-end scam by Lions Gate Films -- whose recent "The Wash" was a masterpiece by comparison.

An unholy mess.

Beyond-lame satire.

Sandler's latest ode to projectile vomiting, passing gas, gay jokes and physical insults to the groin is basically a feeble cross between "The Revenge of the Nerds" and "The Bad News Bears."

An impressive supporting cast can't save this painfully unfunny, ham-fisted mockumentary poking fun at reality TV shows.

There isn't a remotely believable moment in the script here, and Kramer's leaden direction only helps strand a capable cast headed by Heather Graham in an hour and a half of virtual laugh-free tedium.

The movie has two modes - very loud and extremely loud - and all of the actors are encouraged to mug their hearts out. That even includes Cusack's real-life sister Joan, normally one of the most reliable performers in the business.

Even if it weren't three years too late to parody Moore (ineptly played by Kevin Farley), Moore's ridiculous tribute to Cuban health care in "Sicko" is far funnier than anything in this desperately laughless farce from David Zucker ("Scary Movie 3").

Will Ferrell's terminally stupid, sloppy, campy and cheesy -- and thoroughly unexciting and unfunny -- experiment in "family entertainment."

Misconceived, bloated and incredibly ugly fantasy epic.