Our Family Wedding should embarrass Whitaker and each of his co-stars, perhaps except Carlos Mencia, whose chief attribute as an actor is that he's a so-so standup comedian.

None of these complaints would matter if The Bounty Hunter possessed even a smidgen of inspired comedy. It doesn't.

Nearly everything about Just Wright is just wrong.

As far as unnecessary movies go, Predators is a pip.

A sitcom pilot idea stretched to feature length boredom.

If only one character in Stone reacted as someone in his position would to the preposterous situation at hand, the movie would be 15 minutes long.

A smarter-than-average bear becomes a dumber-than-usual kiddie flick with Yogi Bear, the lone Christmas release specifically aimed at children, so it automatically qualifies as their lump of coal.

Billed as an action comedy, The Green Hornet isn't funny, and the action is often too frenetic to make any impression.

Country Strong is a country music melodrama, but I'm not sure which country.

Yes, there is a hell, and this movie is showing at its local multiplex.

Hop is harmless, which is the worst best thing to be said for any movie. It never decides whether to be a kiddie flick or a grownup lark and winds up as neither. As Roger might say: "Puh-puh-puh-puhleeze, don't waste your time."

Your Highness is drive-by directing at its laziest, linking late-night sketch ideas in a quest for comedy as difficult to locate as the Holy Grail.

Something Borrowed is a romantic comedy in which absolutely no one deserves to end up happy.

Breaking Dawn Part 1 confirms suspicions that all four books could've made a heck of a single movie.

Can we please get over the notion that every superhero in a skintight suit deserves a movie? Green Lantern is the latest wallet drainer emptying the comic book bench, more thudding than "Thor" and sorely incoherent.

A timid new take on the old fairy tale, and it's pretty grim.

30 Minutes or Less merely puts together actors with only one funny talent each, making them do it over and over again.

This Thing is purely for the gorehounds, and they aren't likely to leave impressed.

By the time Melancholia finally crawls to its conclusion, his (von Trier) round orb in the sky isn't as depressing as the rectangular screen.

Through it all, Marshall sticks to his rose-colored principles: You gotta have hope, listen to your heart and take leaps of faith. Plus a new one: Parker should never make it through a movie without at least one pair of fabulous shoes.

I wouldn't even DVR What's Your Number? if under house arrest and starved for entertainment. I've got this movie's number, and it's zero.

Two flesh-and-blood performers stand out among the machinery. One is pop singer Rhianna, looking lovely as usual despite the military gear and quite comfortable with high-powered artillery. The other is Gregory D. Gadson, an Army veteran who lost his legs to a roadside bomb in Baghdad.

Jack the Giant Slayer is merely cable TV fodder waiting to happen and not worth a hill of beans, magic or otherwise.

Other than its campy title, not much about Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is fun.

The Art of Getting By is enough to drive a movie critic to drink. The next round's on the kid in the overcoat.

This movie never realizes how ridiculous anything it does truly is, right up to the last-second promise of another sequel.

An amoral mosaic of carnage and carnality.

Machine Gun Preacher comes alive only when Sam is pulling a trigger, which is most of the second hour. You can find the same thrill from watching a grindhouse descendant like "The Expendables" on cable TV.

The word "sappy" comes to mind, constantly. So often that I wanted to make like a tree and leaf. Frankly I'm stumped, wondering exactly who the audience is for such a drab slab of saccharine uplift.

Carnahan didn't make a movie unfit for mankind but it certainly isn't worth mankind's money.

Move along, guys. Nothing to see in The Lucky One, unless you're in the doghouse at home and need to make nice.

Alex Cross is slipshod cinema hoping to capitalize on a star out of his orbit here.

Cloud Atlas, surely the most incoherent waste of time and money on screen this year.

Everybody's cyber-pal Ashton Kutcher is perfect casting for Killers, since the screenplay is shallow as a Tweet and the movie appears to have been shot with a Nikon point-and-click camera he plugs on TV.

Niccol fashioned an uninspired and downright dull sci-fi gimmick and doesn't even explain how it happened.

For the love of movies, stay away.

Most annoying is John Carter's scarcity of action. This much buck should buy more bang.

The Last Airbender makes the cartoon version with its ratchet-jawed characters and clunky animation seem like a Pixar classic.

A comedy abomination, tasteless and useless to a stunning degree, with storied actors smugly collecting paychecks for sullying their careers.

I'm Still Here is amateurishly shot and edited, as if ineptness equaled some higher level of veracity. Ironically, it's the only Joaquin Phoenix movie anyone has cared about in years.

It's all megalomaniacal junk from Snyder, but that isn't his most offensive move.

The Change-Up is the "Human Centipede" of gag-me comedies.

This messy mix of sci-fi horror and post-Superbad raunchiness didn't make me laugh once. Not a single snicker, chortle or smile.

Save the money you might spend for a ticket to see For a Good Time, Call... and just read a dive bar's restroom wall for free. That's the sub-level of comedy here, with a litany of crude sexual euphemisms and phallic images passed off as jokes.