The only memorable aspect of She's Out of My League is Eve's performance. Not that it's good, but it does possess the hypnotic quality of a flicker ring.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

An amoral mosaic of carnage and carnality.