What is most beguiling about The Libertine is that it allows Wilmot to self-destruct without ever giving us cause to care or relate.

It is a grand-looking, grandly empty pageant.

If only someone had recognized the inherent vileness of the premise, we might not have been subjected to this hideous Rumor at all.

If Annapolis is not the worst movie to date of this still-young year, it is certainly the most hackneyed, as well as the most depressing.

After a while, hearing Martin say ''Zee area eez zecure!'' doesn't cut it any longer, and that's pretty much all The Pink Panther has to offer.

This noisy, formulaic film turns out to be immediately forgettable, except for the parts that are so ridiculous they leave you shaking your head in wonder hours later.

Few expected Basic Instinct 2 to be very good, but no one expected it to be this boring.

Janeane Garofalo is all wrong as the giraffe, whom the animators contort into all manner of weird positions so she can share the frame with pint-size love interest Benny the squirrel (Jim Belushi).

Just My Luck is way too long for such a slight premise, and Lohan, so appealing in Mean Girls, is years too young for the part.

One of those blessedly rare films based on a self-help book, is remarkable in one sense: It prevents "The Lake House" and its magical mailbox from being the most ridiculous concept on screen this summer.

Like its predecessors, Tokyo Drift suffers from a terminal lack of levity.

Loud, sophomoric and stunningly crude.

Sober, this kind of material is an acquired taste at best and downright unbearable in stretches. And yet, the movie has the makings of an instant cult classic, sure to grow funnier among its devoted fans with each successive viewing.

A handsome, sincere, well-meaning bore.

If watching people having their faces cut off, getting their legs amputated and having their throats tenderly slit is your idea of a horrific good time, you'll certainly get your money's worth here.

A star rises in the east. A savior is born. Two thousand years later, a surprisingly dull film is made.

The movie is less painful than having your kidneys removed, but Turistas doesn't offer a trip entertaining enough to take.

The hyper-stylized violence, for instance, isn't nearly as senseless as the narrative bits in between. And the ''twist'' employs the same sleight-of-hand as "The Usual Suspects."

The search for true love is the backbone of romantic comedy as well as the lifeblood of match.com, but this film's clumsy, completely inauthentic portrayal of it is handled in a shockingly tedious fashion.

For the first time in the film series, Harris wrote the screenplay himself, which means the movie is practically identical to the book. In other words, they both stink.

Inherently laughable, but in all the wrong ways.

Full of It's message is directed straight at 9-year-olds -- lying is bad! -- and yet there's plenty of sexual content. Unfortunately there isn't much else.

Too small to be a spectacle, too humorless to take seriously and too stupid to pass muster at a middle school writing workshop.

Georgia Rule is so artificial, it feels like more of a flow chart than a slice of life.

Illegal Tender is the sort of crime movie in which nothing, not one detail, has been observed from real life; it's composed entirely of fantasies and falsehoods lifted from bad movies and hip-hop videos.

Sarandon blends into the background, having practically nothing to do except stand around and wring her hands as the two men in her life battle it out in a passive-aggressive war. It's enough to make her want to run off with Thelma.

Most certainly a personal work -- so personal, in fact, that I can't imagine anyone but Coppola being able to sit through it.

The problem with Revolver is that it is Ritchie's first attempt at a ''serious'' look at the underworld, but the result is so pretentious and muddled it's almost a little embarrassing.

It's not quite true to say that death is preferable to sitting through Over HerDead Body, but it's a safe bet that if you struggle through this witless romantic comedy the lure of being six feet under will cross your mind.

The best stuff in Jumper comes early, while the movie is still busy explaining its scenario. It's only when all the pieces are in place and the story actually kicks in that things start to fall apart, and quickly.

This is easily one of the silliest, most preposterous thrillers ever made, and the only reason it didn't go straight to video has to be that it stars Pacino.

Don't waste your money.

Such a dull, clunky, joyless mess, it's hard to believe the people who made it understand much about movies.

Insulting to anyone with a healthy sense of humor and the simple desire to laugh.

Tomb is the kind of movie you sit through dreading the expository scenes, because the acting is so bad and the dialogue so pointedly written to make sure the little ones in the audience can keep up with the plot.

Much like the play within it, Hamlet 2 is lousy. The main difference is that the play is SUPPOSED to be awful. The movie about the play is supposed to be funny.

The whole thing is so listless and mechanical, watching it is a curiously dispiriting experience. You start hoping someone whips out a bear suit.

It's not every movie that makes you wish Vin Diesel would run in and start blowing up stuff.

Even a film as shabby and humdrum as Beverly Hills Chihuahua, which never musters up the wit and beauty of a single frame of "Lady and the Tramp," is not without its pleasures.

Four Christmases is sour to the point of curdling, a satirical look at the holidays a la "Bad Santa" that does exactly what that film avoided: come off as both off-puttingly misanthropic and gloppily sentimental.

An insipid comedy in which the women are shallow, acquisitive, backstabbing, selfish harridans.

There isn't a single scene in this story about a traveler from another planet (Jim Caviezel) who crash-lands on Earth during the Iron Age that doesn't remind you of another, better movie.

A curiously inert and talky action picture about good-looking mutants on the run from bad (but equally good-looking) ones, Push wastes a decent idea and stylish direction on a script that's much more Ingmar Bergman than Stan Lee.

The comedy is slapstick, the colors Day Glo, the outcome inevitable.

Here's what is bad: this movie.

Even Ben Stiller looks bored out of his mind in Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian, and he got paid several million dollars to star in it.

The new Fame is practically identical to Alan Parker's 1980 original -- I mean, it's the same damn movie -- except for all the parts with heart and humor and poignancy and soul and fun.

It is absolutely, inexcusably terrible.

An annoying, tedious little film.

How can a movie as overstuffed with funny people as The Goods: Live Hard, Sell Hard be so listless and leaden?

The more Shrink tries to get you invested in the emotional turmoil of its characters, the more you want to reach into the screen and shake them and tell them to get over themselves.

You don't go into a movie called Ninja Assassin expecting a hell of a lot, but this shockingly disjointed and relentlessly dull picture can't even deliver the martial-arts kick its title so plainly promises.

There is also a last-minute "Sixth Sense" twist, although it definitely won't make you sit through the movie again to see if the filmmakers cheated.

A thriller boasting Mel Gibson's first starring role in eight years, elicits a gigantic wow -- as in ``Wow, does this movie suck!''

Johnston fails to make a story set in 1891 England relevant to contemporary audiences.

Rich in cliché and brimming with the sort of potent idiocy that can only be found in January-release romantic comedies, Leap Year manages to do every possible thing wrong.

Everything about this excruciatingly dull, talky film screams made-for-network-TV: The I'm-only-here-for-a-paycheck performances by famous actors; the Crate and Barrel catalog mise-en-scene; the syrupy, heartwarming score that lays the pathos on so thickly you gag on it.

Tale is anything but spellbinding.

A soulless, witless, landfill contraption that Smith once would have mocked mercilessly.

Yes, it's every bit as brainless as the trailers suggest.

The Last Song, yet another maudlin remake of a Nicholas Sparks bestseller.

A movie as annoying as its oddly punctuated title, After.Life is a misguided and empty-headed attempt at psychological horror that succeeds only at talking the viewer to death.

The Back-up Plan is about as much fun as 36 hours of labor, only you don't get to go home with a baby at the end. Instead, you leave with a throbbing headache and a lot of questions about why anybody still thinks Jennifer Lopez can anchor a movie.

Too bad, though, that whenever the characters stand still to talk, Knight and Day induces stupor in the viewer.

Shyamalan takes the beloved Nickelodeon anime series -- the full title was Avatar: The Last Airbender -- and turns it into 103 minutes of overproduced, stilted nonsense.

Raises a few questions -- like just what were they thinking?

The film suffers from a severe lack of urgency and emotional engagement. You can't get involved in a movie in which the characters all seem to be harboring double identities.

With such a large cast, none of the actors is able to turn her character into a fully realized person.

Sitting through Little Fockers is a soul-sucking, dispiriting experience.

This excruciatingly dumb, formulaic picture, which somehow required the work of four screenwriters but contains not even one single, fleeting moment of wit or humor.

There's a startling moment 10 or 15 minutes into The Adjustment Bureau - the only time, really, when the film achieves any level of surprise. The dispiriting dullness of this dreary misfire hasn't had time to settle in and thicken: The movie hasn't yet revealed its utter and thorough ineptitude.

According to legend, a silver bullet can kill a werewolf. Too bad it can't slay bad writing, without which the ill-conceived Red Riding Hood would not exist.

British satire loses something when it's handled by Americans: You miss the perspective that a foreign culture brings, so instead of wit and humor, you end up trafficking in self-congratulatory clichés and sentiment.

A stiff, unconvincing epic.

With Kaboom, Araki takes a huge step backward from the maturity and restraint he demonstrated in 2004's "Mysterious Skin," his best and most-assured film to date.

The film will probably play a lot better in dorm rooms with plenty of beer kegs and bongs on hand, but in the confines of a movie theater, it's deadly - the sort of bad comedy Mel Brooks made late in his career, until he finally smartened up and quit.

The Conspirator hits a new nadir for Redford: Sitting through this stage-bound, talky, stiffly-acted movie reminded me of having to endure the Hall of Presidents attraction at Walt Disney World (one of the few existing bits of proof that Disney had a dark and evil side).

Even the most forgiving moviegoer will recognize this movie as the blatant cash-grab that it is.

The tone is all over the place, which makes the movie difficult to take neither seriously nor as popcorn fluff.

Every summer movie season usually has at least one spectacular, disastrous flame-out, and although the dog days of August still loom, I doubt there will come a big-budget blockbuster worse than Cowboys and Aliens.

Momoa, a familiar face from "Game of Thrones" to "Baywatch," has the muscles but not the imposing persona and barbaric presence that Conan requires.

The talented actors are game, but they are done in by the shallow nature of their characters, none of whom behaves in a manner remotely resembling real life (they don't really seem to be related, either).

Abduction is a crass and lowbrow attempt to cash in on a young actor's heat - an exploitation picture where the person being taken advantage of is too young to notice.

Why does The Big Year's trailer intentionally hide what the film is really about? Here's why: Because bird-watching - or birding, as practitioners prefer to call it - makes for a stupefyingly boring movie.

Even a supporting turn by Vincent Cassell as Otto Gross, a fellow psychiatrist, cocaine addict and unapologetic adulterer, fails to enliven the movie: A Dangerous Method makes even a cokehead hedonist boring.

Jack and Jill contains long stretches of squirm-inducing tedium in which Sandler riffs and ad-libs far longer than he should.

This odious, hypocritical movie marks director David Gordon Green's graduation into full-on hack.

You need lots of gifted people chasing after the same bad idea to make a movie as colossally misguided as Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.

Neeson is always compelling, even in a movie as ridiculous as The Grey.

Man on a Ledge just made me think of an old Van Halen song: Jump.

The action, which bookends the movie, is atrocious, defying all laws of gravity and physics and machine gun-edited into incomprehensible lunacy.

This is the kind of colossally misguided vanity project.

"The silence will kill you!" warn the posters for Silent House. That's only if the boredom doesn't get you first, though.

The movie has an undeniable visceral power. It is also a loud, grating wallow in dime-store despair, a cheap and hollow button-puncher.

Battleship is a board game for children, so it stands to reason a film adaptation would also be aimed at kids. But did they have to gear it to really dumb kids?

Men in Black 3 is so dull and empty, it's the first movie that has ever made me think "Thank God this is in 3D."

Oddly tone deaf.

That's My Boy more than lives up to its R-rating - including one gross-out gag repulsive enough to make you put down your popcorn.

Enormous in its scope and colossal in its stupidity.

An irritatingly contrived drama.

Aggressively, defiantly stupid.

The new Total Recall fails on the most basic levels: Its characters are dull, and its action is duller.

This is ultimately a movie about highly intelligent people in pursuit of trivial nonsense: At least Mulder and Scully caught a real monster every once in a while.

Chuck Norris is also in this movie, although you should know that he gets roughly five minutes of screen time, half of those devoted to his telling of a Chuck Norris joke. That is as funny as the movie's self-aware humor gets.

The best moments in director David Koepp's slight, dull movie are the scenes in which bike messenger Wilee pauses at busy intersections to figure out the path of least obstruction.

You don't believe Celeste for a minute when she tells a new guy that she needs to be alone for awhile. You know he's coming back in short order to provide the happy ending. Here's hoping she doesn't want him to get a job, too.

Even the story-within-a-story structure doesn't pay off. This material needed more substance and ideas - and less flash and sumptuous production values.

There are several cameos in For a Good Time, Call… by famous actors portraying the girls' phone-sex clients, including Kevin Smith and Seth Rogen, but they've been clearly been left to improvise, and they don't put much effort into their routines.

The movie even fails on a psychological level, never illustrating how, in a pressure-cooker environment and swept up by mob-think mentality, we are capable of committing acts that innately repel us.

Despite all the freaky business on display - and there are moments here when you cannot believe your eyes - The Paperboy suffocates you with boredom like a hot, wet blanket. You want to push it away and escape. It makes sleaze boring.

This Must Be the Place is as emotionally zonked-out as its protagonist, and just as difficult to warm up to.

There isn't a moment in the entire picture in which you will recognize an element of your own life.

Hitchcock spends too much time off the set of Psycho, where the real story was, and focuses instead on incidental matters that feel like outtakes. Mother would not have been pleased.

An excruciating and melodramatic comedy.

Among the many problems with the Generation Acne romantic comedy She's All That is that a self-consciously stupid, 9-year-old TV series ["Beverly Hills: 90210"] has covered the same territory with more smarts, style and laughs, albeit the unintentional kind. This movie exists solely to snag a cut of the weekly allowance doled out to bored mall brats. And even they would probably prefer shopping. [29 Jan 1999, p.5G]

An unsalvageable wreck.

Time to give the shoot-’em-up thing a rest, guys: It’s tired and played out, and so are you.

Oz the Great and Powerful is an oppressive, bloated bore.

An invasion of the body snatchers is preferable to realizing that the true horror perpetrated here is not on the characters but on the audience.

The whole thing's grotesque as a gargoyle and ugly as sin.

A sluggish, soporific dud, the dreariest big-budget science-fiction adventure since "Dune."

A lot like getting socks for Christmas: Better than finding coal in your stocking but not exactly as thrilling as unwrapping a big-screen HDTV.

Bad enough to earn a rare spot on my hallowed list of ''The Worst Movies I've Ever Seen,'' An American Carol is testament that the country's culture wars are raging just as strongly within Hollywood as anywhere else.

A sad and rote exercise in milking a played-out idea -- a straight guy has to dress up in drag -- that shockingly manages to be even worse than its title would imply.

Plentiful helpings of dreadful acting, confusing action cinematography, choppy editing and embarrassing dialogue, with the added bonus of a plot almost as dumb as that of the original film.

Such a bad movie that its luckiest viewers will be seated next to one of those ignorant pinheads who talk throughout the show.

Monumentally silly thriller.

If you can summon up the resolve to search, there is not a single honest moment in all of Whatever It Takes.

There are not enough synonyms for ''bad'' to describe the pretension and utter banality of the masturbatory The Brown Bunny, a film so exhaustively awful even its creator Vincent Gallo once disavowed it.

I can honestly think of no reason why anyone would want to see Testosterone apart from the rumor that the film contains a full-frontal shot of Antonio Sabato Jr. naked.

A shockingly, unbelievably bad movie.

Pretentious, perplexing and plain rock-dumb movie.

The way I see it, anyone who's made up his mind to see Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo deserves everything they've got coming to them, and with any luck, they might even enjoy the movie's willfully offensive gutter humor.

It's just awful. Pointless, lazy, derivative and paralyzingly dull.

A devastating disappointment. Badly acted, amateurishly directed and woefully unfunny.

In the end, Bratz celebrates something even more important than good grades or good friends: the vital acquisition of totally awesome shoes. Fitting for a movie that exists only to separate you from your paycheck.

The most astounding thing about this abysmal comedy -- aside from the fact the studio actually allowed critics within a mile of it -- is that it's so ghastly it is beneath even the meager dignity of Paris Hilton.

The Ugly Truth is insulting to women, men and even goldfish.