A pointless exercise in "shocking" behavior.

What a strange, confused, unpleasant movie this is. Two theories have clustered around it: (1) It is anti-Mormon propaganda to muddy the waters around the presidential campaign of Mitt Romney, or (2) it is not about Mormons at all, but an allegory about the 9/11/01 terrorists. Take your choice. The problem with allegories is that you can plug them in anywhere. No doubt the film would have great impact in Darfur.

Slides too easily into its sentimentality; the characters should have put up more of a struggle.

The movie offers brainless high-tech action without interesting dialogue, characters, motivation or texture.

The movie was executive produced by Quentin Tarantino. Shame on him. He intends it no doubt as another homage to grindhouse pictures, but I've seen a lot of them, and they were nowhere near this bad. "Hell's Angels on Wheels," for example: pretty good.

For years there have been reports of the death of the Western. Now comes American Outlaws, proof that even the B Western is dead.

My problem was that I didn't care who killed Mona Dearly, or why, and didn't want to know anyone in town except for Chief Rash and his daughter.

Made me want to spray the screen with Lysol. This movie is shameless. It's not merely a tearjerker. It extracts tears individually by liposuction, without anesthesia.

One element of Sorority Boys is undeniably good, and that is the title. Pause by the poster on the way into the theater. That will be your high point.

A garage sale of gay issues, harnessed to a plot as exhausted as a junkman's horse.

A terrible movie, sappy and dead in the water.

It has no edge, no hunger to be better than it is. It ambles pleasantly through its inanity, like a guest happy to be at a boring party.

Jason X sucks on the levels of storytelling, character development, suspense, special effects, originality, punctuation, neatness and aptness of thought. Only its title works.

It is a "thriller" without thrills, constructed in a meaningless jumble of flashbacks and flash-forwards and subtitles and mottos and messages and scenes that are deconstructed, reconstructed and self-destructed. I wanted to signal the projectionist to put a gun to it.

I realized there was no hope for the movie because the plot and characters had alienated me beyond repair. If an audience is going to be entertained by a film, first they have to be able to stand it.

The plot, in short, is underwhelming. It merely follows the reporters as the screenplay serves them the solution to their case on a silver platter. Yet curiously, Deadline flows right along.

It's surprising to see a director like Michael Apted and an actress like Jennifer Lopez associated with such tacky material.

It makes little sense, fails as often as it succeeds, and yet is not hateful and is sometimes quite cheerfully original.

Bad movie. Ugly movie.

A Sound of Thunder may not be a success, but it loves its audience and wants us to have a great time.

A fog of gloom lowers over The Whole Ten Yards, as actors who know they're in a turkey try their best to prevail.

So ludicrous in so many different ways it achieves a kind of forlorn grandeur.

There's no chemistry between Deeds and Babe, but then how could there be, considering that their characters have no existence, except as the puppets in scenes of plot manipulation.

If he wants a future in the movies, Andrew Dice Clay is going to have to play somebody other than himself.

Bride Wars is pretty thin soup. The characters have no depth or personality, no quirks or complications, no conversation.

Predictable to its very core, and in a funny way the predictability is part of the fun. The movie is in on the joke of its own recycling.

Movies like this demonstrate that when it comes to stupidity and vulgarity, only the best will do for our children.

As for Shaquille O'Neal, given his own three wishes the next time, he should go for a script, a director and an interesting character.

It's a thriller, a bad thriller, completely lacking in psychological or emotional truth.

Hollow Man can think of nothing more interesting to do than spy on his girlfriend and assault his neighbor.Too bad. Really too bad, because the movie is supported by some of the most intriguing special effects I've seen.

Myers has made some funny movies, but this film could have been written on toilet walls by callow adolescents.

An idiotic ode to macho horseshite (to employ an ancient Irish word). It is however distinguished by superb cinematography.

If it does nothing else, Another 48 HRS reminds us that Murphy is a big, genuine talent. Now it's time for him to make a good movie.

Speaking in my official capacity as a Pulitzer Prize winner, Mr. Schneider, your movie sucks.

Among the better things in the movie, I count Vaughn's well-timed and smart dialogue.

The plot is easily summarized: "Dumb and Dumber Meet Dumbbell."

A fourth-rate "Pulp Fiction" with accents you can't understand.

It's a movie with so many inconsistencies, improbabilities, unanswered questions and unfinished characters that we have to suspend not only disbelief but also intelligence.

Movies like this embrace goofiness with an almost sensual pleasure.

It goes through the motions of an action thriller, but there is a deadness at its center, a feeling that no one connected with it loved what they were doing.

Heaven help the unsuspecting families who wander into Adam Sandler's Eight Crazy Nights expecting a jolly animated holiday funfest.

Why, oh, why, was this movie necessary?

I seem to be developing a rule about talking animals: They can talk if they're cartoons or Muppets, but not if they're real.

Desperately unfunny.

So bad in so many different ways that perhaps you should see it, as an example of the lowest slopes of the bell-shaped curve.

The result is not a movie that is very good, exactly, but it's entertaining and funny.

A slick production of a lame script, which kills time for most of its middle half-hour. If anyone in the plot had the slightest intelligence, the story would implode.

New Year's Eve is a dreary plod through the sands of time until finally the last grain has trickled through the hourglass of cinematic sludge. How is it possible to assemble more than two dozen stars in a movie and find nothing interesting for any of them to do?

The actors cannot be faulted. They bring more to the story than it really deserves.

Doesn't have anything wrong with it that couldn't be fixed by adding Ebenezer Scrooge and Bad Santa to the cast. It's a holiday movie of stunning awfulness that gets even worse when it turns gooey at the end.

It's a shaky-cam meander through an unconvincing relationship, with detours considering the process of making the film. At 91 minutes, it seems very long.

Well, you can't fault the actors. That must mean it's the fault of the writer and director. Take is a monotonous slog through dirgeland, telling a story that seems strung out beyond all reason, with flashbacks upon flashbacks delaying interminably the underwhelming climax.

The movie doesn't understand that embarrassment comes in a sudden painful flush of realization; drag it out, and it's not embarrassment anymore, but public humiliation, which is a different condition, and not funny.

House of the Sleeping Beauties has missed its ideal release window by about 40 years. It might -- might -- have found an audience in that transitional period between soft- and hard-core.

Assembles the building blocks of idiot-proof slasher movies: Stings, Snicker-Snacks, false alarms and point-of-view baits-and-switches.

These actors, alas, are at the service of a submoronic script and special effects that look like a video game writ large.

Here's a movie without an ounce of human kindness, a sour and mean-spirited enterprise so desperate to please, it tries to be a yukky comedy and a hard-boiled action picture at the same time.

If The Informers doesn't sound to you like a pleasant time at the movies, you are right. To repeat: dread, despair and doom. It is often however repulsively fascinating and has been directed by Gregor Jordan as a soap opera from hell, with good sets and costumes.

What we basically have here is a license for the filmmakers to do whatever they want to do with the special effects, while the plot, like Wile E. Coyote, keeps running into the wall.

The Last Airbender is an agonizing experience in every category I can think of and others still waiting to be invented.

It involves teenagers who have never existed, doing things no teenager has ever done, for reasons no teenager would understand. Of course, it's aimed at the teenage market.

Joe Dirt is so obviously a construction that it is impossible to find anything human about him; he is a concept, not a person.

A dead zone of comedy. The concept is exhausted, the ideas are tired, the physical gags are routine, the story is labored, the actors look like they can barely contain their doubts about the project.

It's another overwrought clunker like "How the Grinch Stole Christmas," all effects and stunts and CGI and prosthetics, with no room for lightness and joy.

"Deep Rising" was one of the worst movies of 1998. Virus is easily worse.

A perfectly good idea for a comedy, but it just plain doesn't work. It's dead in the water. I can imagine it working well in a different time, with a different cast, in black and white instead of color--but I can't imagine it working like this.

An inept assembly of ill-matched plot points, meandering through a production that has attractive art direction (despite the immobile mouths).

Underclassman doesn't even try to be good. It knows that it doesn't have to be. It stars Nick Cannon, who has a popular MTV show, and it's a combo cop movie, romance, thriller and high school comedy. That makes the TV ads a slam dunk; they'll generate a Pavlovian response in viewers conditioned to react to their sales triggers (smartass young cop, basketball, sexy babes, fast cars, mockery of adults).

Stupefying dimwitted.

Here is the dirty movie of the year, slimy and scummy, and among its casualties is poor Jessica Alba, who is a cutie and shouldn't have been let out to play with these boys.

In asking us to believe David Spade as a romantic lead, it miscalculates beyond all reason.

It is a real film. Not a slick exploitation exercise with all the trappings of depravity but none of the consequences.

The movie is a chaotic mess, overloaded with special effects and explosions, light on continuity, sanity and coherence.

It's an arch, awkward, ill-timed, forced political comedy set in 1959 and seemingly stranded there.

Lopez and Affleck are sweet and appealing in their performances; the buzz said they didn't have chemistry, but the buzz was wrong. What they don't have is conviction.

A deserted island movie during which I desperately wished the characters had chosen one movie to take along if they were stranded on a deserted island, and were showing it to us instead of this one.

The kind of movie where you walk in, watch the first 10 minutes, know exactly where it's going, and hope devoutly that you're wrong.

Not that the film is outrageous. That would be asking too much. It is dim-witted, unfunny, too shallow to be offensive.

From what dark night of the soul emerged the wretched idea for The Nutcracker in 3D? Who considered it even remotely a plausible idea for a movie?

Very seriously confused in its objectives.

The movie is set up as a valentine to Vardalos. She should try sending herself flowers.

Staying Alive is a big disappointment.

The film is reprehensible, dismaying, ugly, artless and an affront to any notion, however remote, of human decency.

The screenplay by Kim Barker requires Bullock to behave in an essentially disturbing way that began to wear on me. It begins as merely peculiar, moves on to miscalculation and becomes seriously annoying.

Has an intriguing cast, a director who knows how to use his camera and a lot of sly humor. Shame about the story. When you see this many of the right elements in a lame movie, you wonder how close they came to making a better one.

Possesses the art and craft of a good movie, but not the story.

Has slick production credits and performances that are quite adequate given the (narrow) opportunities of the genre.

If the plot and screenplay are juvenile, the production values are first-rate, and the lead performance by newcomer Elizabeth Berkley has a fierce energy that's always interesting.

Strange, how good feardotcom is, and how bad. The screenplay is a mess, and yet the visuals are so creative this is one of the rare bad films you might actually want to see.

People may go to see Eddie Murphy once, twice, three or even six times in disposable movies like Harlem Nights, but if he wants to realize his potential he needs to work with a better writer and director than himself.

There is a bright spot. He (Poirier) used up all his doggy-do-do ideas in the first picture "See Spot Run."

It's a muddled, sometimes-atmospheric effort.

Pesci has a lot of scenes that strike just the right note.

Maybe there's too much talent. Every character shines with such dazzling intensity and such inexhaustible comic invention that the movie becomes tiresome, like too many clowns.

An incoherent mess, a jumble of footage in search of plot, meaning, rhythm and sense.

Dungeons & Dragons looks like they threw away the game and photographed the box it came in.

And above all, the film is lacking in joy. It never seems like it's fun to be Billie Frank.

Fair Game works as a thriller for anyone who lives entirely in the present.

This movie doesn't scrape the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn't the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn't below the bottom of the barrel. This movie doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence with barrels.

The more you think about what really happens in Cocktail, the more you realize how empty and fabricated it really is.

A dirty movie. Not a sexy, erotic, steamy or even smutty movie, but a just plain dirty movie. It made me feel unclean, and I'm the guy who liked "There's Something About Mary" and both "American Pie" movies.

Pants and wheezes and hurls itself exhausted across the finish line after barely 65 minutes of movie, and then follows it with 15 minutes of end credits in an attempt to clock in as a feature film.

Awful in so many different ways.

Dirty Love wasn't written and directed, it was committed. Here is a film so pitiful, it doesn't rise to the level of badness. It is hopelessly incompetent.

Bad films are easy to make, but a film as unpleasant as Baby Geniuses' achieves a kind of grandeur.

This movie should have been struck by a lightning bolt.