It would be easy to dismiss House of the Sleeping Beauties as a lewd male fantasy, but that would be ignoring the German film's deeper purpose as - in the words of the director, Vadim Glowna - a meditation on "transition, remembrance, mourning, guilt, loneliness, sex and death, eroticism and dying."

So unspeakably dull that it can’t even offend, save when the filmmakers have the almighty nerve to quote Alfred Hitchcock and Jonathan Demme. It would be far better to rip off a William Castle movie, and aim for a level they have a prayer of actually hitting.

Ryan Reynolds isn't around this time - and neither is most of the wit.

This is a cheap-looking lowbrow comedy that likely would have gone straight to home video.

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

The screenplay is packed with so many hilariously bad lines (it's hard to believe that writer-director Helgeland won an Oscar for co-writing "L.A. Confidential") that the movie would be perfect material for a resurrected version of the TV spoof "Mystery Science Theater."

Wavers between extreme silliness and unbearable earnestness.

Summer Catch is the sludge at the bottom of the barrel.

No, Bratz, an unwitting and witless critique of American consumerism run amok, does not star Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie.

If we can agree on anything in this great divided land of ours, it's this: Mischa Barton can't act.

Feels much more like a very, very long, music video, albeit one made for an audience that gets off on high-tech firepower rather than nearly-naked babes.

Like many first films, Boricua's Bond is wildly uneven.

Shapeless, tedious, hopelessly bad sequel.

It's like "Waiting for Guffman" without the wit or irony.

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").

Parents should take their children to Hoodwinked Too! Hood Vs. Evil, if only because kids are never too young to learn the important and liberating skill of walking out of a movie and demanding a refund.

The movie, directed by Mick Jackson, leaves no cliché unturned, from the predictable plot to the characters straight out of central casting.

Having Damon Wayans in the cast might attract viewers to Harlem Aria, but they're bound to be disappointed by the amateurish drama.

Tedious and tawdry.

There's an argument to be made that sex scenes, done to death, are best left to the imagination - but only if they're replaced by something more interesting. In 30 Beats, the conversational foreplay is hopelessly flaccid.

Contains much more prosaic ingredients. Like props and sound effects that could have been borrowed from an off-off-Broadway play, a host of painfully strained performances and a plot that's almost unbearably stupid.

Would you rather . . . watch this movie, or spend an hour and a half having your arm hairs plucked out with a rusty pair of tweezers? I’d have chosen the latter if it’d been on offer.

It puts a conservative twist on Michael Moore-ism, with campy stock footage, deadpan humor, mocking musical cues and less-than-ingenuous questions.

A witless and vulgar sequel.

If M. Night Shyamalan sold his soul to the devil for the success of "The Sixth Sense," I think His Satanic Majesty has finally collected in full with The Last Airbender.

Little more than a series of sketches, tied together by Joe's on-air interrogation by a nasty shock jock played by Dennis Miller.

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

The lamest in the recent run of comedies about uptight white people getting jiggy with it, would also be the most offensive -- if it weren't also the dullest.

This is a lazy, careless film that feels strangely unfinished.

After the monster is subdued, then there's a much less humorous, and more mindlessly violent second half.

Corny action scenes and borderline-hilarious direction by Isaac Florentine mark the film as an obvious straight-to-video item that somehow took a wrong turn into a movie theater.

The narrative itself, attributed to three former "Seinfeld" writers who also worked on "The Grinch," reeks of desperation.

Skin-crawlingly awful.

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.

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

Old Dogs does to the screen what old dogs do to the carpet. It's unfortunate that only the latter can be taken out and shot.

Good Luck Chuck, a fungal little sex comedy, doesn't need a review. It needs a tube of ointment and a shot of penicillin.

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.

Another repulsive, fetishistic trawl through the life and crimes of a serial killer.

When the villain is revealed, you are neither surprised nor scared. You just think, "That guy?"

A harmless celebration of idiocy that is the cinematic equivalent of an overeager, block-headed puppy chasing its tail.

After Fall, Winter would play better minus at least half an hour of flab.

Mary is a mess. An interesting one, yet still a mess.

An icky S&M thriller.

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

It's so devoid of joy and energy it makes even "Jason X" - a recent attempt to prolong the rival "Friday the 13th" slasher franchise - look positively Shakesperean by comparison.

A crass, shrill and laughless disaster of a holiday comedy with a desperately mugging Ben Affleck that should be banned under the Geneva Convention.

If you mashed-up the worst parts of the infamous "Howard the Duck,'' "Gigli,'' "Ishtar'' and every other awful movie I've seen since I started reviewing professionally in 1981, it wouldn't begin to approach the sheer soul-sucking badness of the cringe-inducing Movie 43.

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.

A perfectly enjoyable sci-fi thriller.

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.

Semicoherent.

A cut-rate ripoff of "Aeon Flux" with Milla Jovovich as a butt-kicking futuristic heroine in a midriff-baring bodysuit, is ultrastupid, ultra-incoherent, ultrasilly - and way, way ultraboring.

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

For one thing, it goes on too long. But it looks good, the cast is perky.

The problem with Gigli is that it is an inept attempt to do Elmore Leonard by Martin Brest, a filmmaker whose coarse sensibility makes him catastrophically unqualified to the task.

Not as bad as rumor would have it. It's worse.

Boring and desperately unfunny.

Even dumber than Perry's "Three to Tango," this latest sitcommy exercise is sporadically funny in spite of itself -- and not quite as dreadful as you would suspect.

A pathetically unfunny comedy that should have been shipped straight to video, if not recycled as guitar picks.

Fairly cringe-inducing, full of witless double-entendres and the requisite "gags" involving bodily fluids.

Misconceived, bloated and incredibly ugly fantasy epic.

Features less than 10 minutes of music in its mercifully brief 83-minute running time.

Stick a fork in Nia Vardalos. I've been to funerals that were a lot more fun than I Hate Valentine's Day, her second alleged romantic comedy in less than a month.

88 Minutes holds you in a state of acute suspense, keeping you wondering until the very last minute whether this is the worst Al Pacino movie ever made.

It's hard to believe that the distributors of See No Evil were so afraid of what critics would say about their movie that they refused to provide advance screenings. The movie's target viewers aren't the type who read reviews, if they read at all.

There is plenty of blame to go around for this laughless mess.

A pathetically inane and unimaginative cross between "XXX" and "Vertical Limit," it could only harm the careers of everyone involved in its making - including top British stage actors Rufus Sewell and Rupert Graves.

Sick, disgusting and vile. It's also demonically funny, stylish and ingenious.

Mostly ludicrous, but occasionally effective.

Stars Carmine Famiglietti, Joseph Summa and Gino Cafarelli apparently also wrote Chooch and directed it under a trio of aliases. They shoulda applied to the witness-protection program instead.

Grotesquely unfunny comedy.

This female revenge thriller starts out promisingly, but squanders its girl-power capital quicker than you can say "Rihanna."

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

Larry the Cable Guy channels both Moe and Curly in the Three Stooges-go-to-war comedy Delta Farce.

This spoof of "The Da Vinci Code," "Pirates of the Caribbean," "Harry Potter," "The Chronicles of Narnia" and other recent blockbusters piles up sex gags, toilet gags and make-you-gag gags.

Putting it as kindly as possible, this pitiful romantic comedy directed by Scott Marshall (dad Garry did "Pretty Woman'') peaks with its animated opening credits.

Sony dumped this sleazy, inept and worthless piece of torture porn into theaters yesterday.

Predictable, rarely scary.

You cease to care as they fall back on a catalogue of clichéd shocks, tired camera angles and an ever-mounting gore quotient.

Dennis Rodman isn't half bad as a blond, multiply pierced Interpol agent.

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

Sort of "West Side Story" set in 1958 Brooklyn -- minus the music or competent storytelling -- is clearly not dealing from anything close to a full deck.

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

Atrociously written.

A dumb, by-the-numbers children's movie.

Much of Tomcats is actually boisterously, crudely entertaining.

Nasty, borderline bigoted, stunningly amateurish film.

Exploitative rubbish.

Give director Paul Borghese credit for daring in giving his movie a title that evokes Sergio Leone’s two most famous epics. The trouble with doing that, of course, is that you better be prepared to deliver a movie on the same level.

The overall result is superficial and deadly boring.

Based on a video game, far exceeds expectations -- in negative ways that inspire thoughts of less than zero stars.

The latest vanity production by writer-director-star Eric Schaeffer, who still seems to think he's another Woody Allen -- despite a growing body of work that proves otherwise.

The promising tension between Gypsy and the arrogant Lucian never amounts to much, and the climax is comically melodramatic.

This oddly scrambled new version eventually falls apart so badly you feel embarrassed for the people who made it.

With the abysmal A Little Bit of Heaven, Kate Hudson's possibly unprecedented losing streak remains unbroken: She hasn't made a good movie since Almost Famous, 12 long years ago. Even Nicolas Cage can't say that.

Presumably Zane & Co. had a lot more fun filming this inexplicable low-budget indulgence than any sane person will have watching it.

An inept, tedious spoof of '70s kung fu pictures, it contains almost enough chuckles for a three-minute sketch, and no more.

Arguably the most insipid movie released so far this century.

Helplessly clichéd, predictable and unaware of its own lameness, it could easily become a camp classic on the order of "Grease 2" and "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."

Tacky-looking, incoherent, badly acted and hopelessly directed disaster is easily the dullest adventure film of 2000.

A laughably bad B-thriller.

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

A comedy for no ages, has an amazing amount of CGI - Cuba Gooding Incompetence.

So awful it qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.

Makes little attempt to be credible or original. And the acting is poor.

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.

Aspires to be a highly stylized exploration of the mind of a serial killer, but it's nothing more than a gory, bloodsoaked snuff film, reveling in its own shock value.

Unwatchably bad.

So patchy in its laughs, so calculated in its grossness and so lacking in genuine comic exuberance, it makes you look at "Road Trip" in an admiring new light.

So unremittingly awful that labeling it a dog probably constitutes cruelty to canines.

No one but a convict guilty of some truly heinous crime should have to sit through The Master of Disguise, an unbearably tedious and unfunny comedy.

The toilet caper is the lowest point of a movie with many low points, including bad acting and a generic script.

None of this is remotely funny.

A criminally slow, all-but-laughless blaxploitation comedy.

A collection of throwaway gags from other movies, a big blue recycling barrel of comedy waiting for the trash collector. It's rated PG-13 because 13 is the maximum age of those who might find it funny.

Loud, crass and full of slapstick humor that the Three Stooges would be ashamed of. And it is almost completely lacking in charm and nuance.

This is a horror movie that’s really a supposed comedy; she’s (Lohan) a supposed comedy actress who’s actually scary.

Biehn has appeared in dozens of B-movies and evidently had no greater ambition than to come up with a grindhouse movie full of sex, gore and cheap thrills, but there is far too little of any of these to maintain interest in a straight-on story that reserves its only surprise for the final 30 seconds.

Initially amusing but finally sour sex comedy.

A genuine oddity that's more watchable than it sounds.

As if the witless cultural stereotypes weren't bad enough, misogyny is rampant -- bare-breasted women abound, yet the protagonist remains fully clothed while having a bullet removed from his butt.

Goes from being tediously terrible to downright gigglesome.

Spectacularly awful.

The movie is so inept - with its flat characters, histrionic acting, dull dialogue ("Killing him is not going to change anything"), a dreadfully overdone musical score and la-la-la flashbacks starring the kid - that its clichés grow slightly funny. But not funny enough to make the endless torture scenes bearable.

Just Tara-ble.

The rest of the cast is uniformly awful, including Carmen Electra and Kathy Griffin as a wacky medium who asks, "What do I look like? A comedian?" Not from where I'm sitting.

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

Schwartz throws in so many characters and implausible subplots - none worth mentioning - that Perception sinks under its own weight.

For a horny-road-trip flick that's actually funny, check out last year's "Sex Drive," which just came out on video.

The real disappointment is Danny DeVito as a creepy coroner.

Great actors make the craft look easy. In the Paris Hilton comedy The Hottie and the Nottie, acting looks very, very difficult.

If Ed Wood had directed "The Silence of the Lambs," it might have been as unintentionally hilarious as the goofball would-be thriller The Abduction of Zack Butterfield.

Certainly the most painfully unfunny of the countless bad movies that have licensed the name of the long-defunct humor magazine.

It's a totally inept and unfunny parody of the TV show "Cops."

Unlike the modern glamour-vamps of "True Blood" and "Twilight," this group of smitten and bitten men are no fun at all. That is, unless you like heavy breathing, underwear sniffing, cringe-inducing blood sucking, murder by stabbing or hanging, plus grainy, underexposed cinematography and stilted acting.

Unbelievably awful celluloid-waster.

To say that Vulgar is not for all tastes might be the understatement of the year. For starters, this black comedy has a male rape scene that makes the one in "Deliverance" seem mild by comparison.

A chaotic mess.

Amateurish, irritatingly gabby indie.