"The Godfather" without Brando, "GoodFellas" without Scorsese, "The Sopranos" without Gandolfini - 10th & Wolf is all that, and less.

Trapped between edgy art flick and exploitation psychothriller, The Quiet manages to be neither, and manages to be pretty awful in the bargain.

A mix of "Alice in Wonderland" and William S. Burroughs, "Psycho" and the psychotic. It's pretty much a squirmy experience all around.

Tobey Maguire, terribly miscast and squeaky (that voice - it belongs to a kid!).

What a mess.

Art-directed within an inch of its life, Sleuth has the smirky gloss of a project that everyone involved with thinks is terribly good, and terribly clever. These people - Branagh, Pinter, Law and the usually great Caine (even in bad stuff) - are laboring under an epic misconception. Sleuth is just terrible.

Guy Ritchie's Revolver premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival two years ago September. That's 26 months on a shelf somewhere, depriving moviegoers the thrill of jaw-droppingly awful Ray Liotta line readings, of bloody shoot-outs, bags of money, cutaways to frosty babes sucking on lollipops, and even a bit of violent anime.

Like a grade-school version of an Indiana Jones adventure.

Drawing comparisons to "The Wire" may be unfair, but taken on its own, this anemic vehicle for Ice Cube and Tracy Morgan to mug and jive through is just weak, weak stuff.

88 Minutes proves itself to be a maddeningly mediocre, ineptly manipulative "real-time" thriller.

Maybe if there was something going with the dialogue - snappy Chandlerisms, say, or even just sentences that made sense - the fussy digital artifice of The Spirit wouldn't seem so, well, dispiriting.

An embarassingly unfunny, stumblebum adaptation of Toby Young's memoir.

Entertainingly goofy for about 30 minutes. And then, for the next two hours-plus, it's agony.

A stagy, arty, and uncompelling account of the Welsh writer and his menage-y relations.

Another tale of Tinseltown drugs, sex and excess - has transferred itself to the screen with mind-boggling, laugh-inciting horribleness.

The film quickly turns unintentionally, and unrelentingly, awkward.

Ostensibly a comedy, and a feeble and innocuous one at that, Post Grad is one of those what-were-they-thinking?

A pity-party of Hollywood narcissism.

It doesn't help any that Wahlberg, looking perpetually dumbstruck, is among the clunkiest line-readers working in movies today.

Struggles mightily to find its loony essence. But Bullock's apple-cheeked larkishness is all flailing limbs and bug-eyed reaction shots - there's no there there. Cooper's character is woefully underwritten, Church's is yet another vain anchorman-wannabe cartoon.

The Wolfman feels like a film reedited and reworked so many times it has lost all narrative rhythm and suspense.

A mercifully fleet and lamentably uninteresting adaptation of the DC Comic about a war-weary Confederate soldier.

Parents in a masochistic mood can compound the headache-inducing experience by paying extra for the 3-D version.

Murderously unfunny.

Cage appears as a knight of the Crusades, slogging across the continents, slaying infidels and unbelievers and anyone else who gets in his way. There isn't a minute when it looks like he's having fun.

What distinguishes The Dilemma in this genre is its resounding unfunnyness, its emotional dishonesty, and the general unlikability of its cast of characters.

Nostalgia for the '80s - big hair, Madonna, cocaine, big hair, Duran Duran, more cocaine - is all well and good. Unless it's practiced with the charmless ineptitude of Take Me Home Tonight.

Beastly offers a thoroughly dopey reread of the "Beauty and the Beast" fairy tale.

Hands-down the most nightmarishly awful film of the year.

Completely unappealing people.

This heavy-handed muddle of a cop thriller is just impossibly bad.

The greatest lacrosse movie of the 21st century - and, unless I'm mistaken, the only lacrosse movie of the 21st century.

Laughably bad adaptation of a Guy de Maupassant novel.

Hobbled by a laughably bad script and a uniformly uncharismatic cast.

The violence is plenty, and pointless.

The film has been directed in a murky, rhythmless fashion by Niels Arden Oplev.

Full of kerplunkingly unfunny jokes and ex-"Saturday Night Live" cast members turning up to do shtick.

What a stupefying thing it is.

I nodded off watching Just Visiting.

Connoisseurs of giant, gnarled chunks of charred flesh, rejoice! There's plenty of it -- or stuff resembling it -- in the slasher-fest convergence of two killer franchises.

8 1/2 Women is a collage-y, self-reflexive sort of film that is designed to shock but more often just annoys.

Long, lumbering and endlessly unfunny.

The thing about stoner comedy is that, well, it helps to be stoned.

The whole affair has a painfully self-conscious, self-referential air. Jokes land with a thud, and so, alas, does Rocky, who seems to have forgotten how to fly.

Totally lame.

I could make a joke here about the new Pokemon movie.

Contrived story lines and an altogether phony resolution erase whatever energy and wit the film displayed, leaving the viewer with an empty, disappointed feeling.

A syrup-thick New Age ghost story of the same sappy stripe and mawkishness as another Costner foray, "Message in a Bottle."

Maybe, you think, there is something daring and brilliant going on here: an excursion into the darkest territories of the human soul. But no. In the end -- or the beginning -- there is no point to all this. Or at least not a point worth making, and making us watch.

Affleck, for his part, behaves as if a Zero from "Pearl Harbor" dropped one too close to his noggin. He looks permanently shell-shocked.

A stale and stupid thriller.

Cross "Get Shorty" with "State and Main" - Hollywood hustlers, colorful crooks, crafty poseurs, and a production crew on location - and you have the stuff of The Last Shot. One other thing: eliminate anything funny.

A lethargic, lurching holiday-themed comedy.

Little kidniks with an appetite for zap-pow silliness might find this to their liking. Everyone else, beware.

A forced-march comedy.

The cast, especially The Game, does a fairly good job with this meager material, but it's like trying to make chateaubriand out of Spam.

Has to be one of the nuttiest, sappiest (literally), most unintentionally hilarious spectacles to come down the time-travel turnpike in eons.

No one is getting at anything in The Strangers, except the cheapest, ugliest kind of sadistic titillation.

About as not-funny as a comedy can get.

I'm ripping up my Lars Von Trier fan club card.

An astoundingly senseless thriller.

A lazy assemblage of sketch-comedy raunch, mock-schlock TV ads, and ideas that even the writers of "Mall Cop" and "Observe and Report" would have tossed.

Slackers is, well, consummately cheesy. Ugh.

Somnambulistic pacing, kerplunkingly unfunny jokes, and mugging thespians making fools of themselves. Truly torturous spectacle.

The movie heads in a disastrous direction: namely, a police academy ceremony... This lets-wrap-this-thing-up moment sucks the life and the honesty out of an otherwise compelling portrait of tainted lawmen, tainted law.

Reaches breathtaking lows of incoherence, sexism, racial stereotyping, and -- did I say incoherence?

Has to be among the worst movies ever made.