Desperately conceived by even the most insipid standards of contemporary teen-queen cinema, A Cinderella Story operates under a rotting pumpkin of a supposition.

Hisses for Catwoman. Unfortunately for Oscar winner Halle Berry, this movie belongs in the litter box.

In a summer filled with dumb comedies, this might prove to be the dumbest. Think "Road Trip" meets "City Slickers." Then dial the humor down a few notches, and you're left Without a Paddle.

The movie's premise is as dopey as they come: A serial killer with a conscience is killing other serial killers.

Inventing the Abbotts would be a lot more fun were it a trashy Troy Donahue-Diane McBain vehicle ground out by Warner Bros. in 1960, the year this hormonally motivated high school-college romance mercifully concludes. [4 April 1997, p. 4D]

All this dreary movie has is a terrible whodunit payoff.

Actor John Corbett, so clean-cut in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and "Raising Helen," goes surprisingly scruffy here as someone who apparently studied music under Grizzly Adams.

Do yourself a favor and rent the 1996 original from Japan instead.

Some screwball moments elicit a chuckle or two, but the script is weak and the characterizations clichéd.

Becomes exceedingly disgusting when it wallows in the psychological torture of a child, a no-no under any circumstances.

This one's aimed at those airheads who, like George, have been swinging on a grapevine and slamming into too many trees. [16 July 1997, p. 3D]

Ten minutes into the picture, you're searching the screen for life-support machines.

A movie that has neither dramatic focus nor a single memorable performance, aside from one or two that are memorable for the wrong reasons?

Kris Kristofferson, as a scaled-down old gray mentor to Blade, still looks like the visual equivalent of your five worst college hangovers.

Usually, I'm as slow as the pacing of a movie in figuring out who's done it. If you can't solve this mystery with an hour to go (as I did), better call for a transfusion so a better type of blood will start flowing to your brain.

A bottom-rung Bette Midler vehicle disguised as a biopic of novelist Jacqueline Susann, the movie is a wannabe satire shackled by misplaced reverence.

Can't scare up a decent plot.

Stuffing painters, writers and, naturally, Gustav Mahler (Jonathan Pryce) into about 90 minutes, the film comes off as little more than a handsomely mounted scorecard of sexual escapades.

But most of the humor is about as fresh as the air left behind whenever Witherspoon uses a toilet.

The Wal-Mart of cinematic soap operas. One-stop shopping for your emotional movie needs.

It's so-so. As in mediocre. Even gross-out comedies need the stink of genius.

Almost everyone in this has done better, and those who haven't, like young Ms. Panettiere, have plenty of time to do so.

Not worth the ride.

There's not a cliché that isn't nailed.

The movie goes wrong from the start.

Couldn't be murkier or less emotionally involving if it were "The Matrix 8," a natural observation because Keanu Reeves stars in both.

A succession of tired race jokes made worse by the bad comedic timing of the bland, under-talented Ashton Kutcher.

The movie tries to be both comical and touching, as befitting the coming-of-age genre. But it feels forced, derivative and sometimes sappily sentimental.

Doesn't make the movie worth watching -- even if you're monstrously bored.

There's sad news to report about The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl in 3-D: Put on the cardboard glasses, and you can still see the movie.

The players fall into recognizable stereotypes: the big and clumsy kid, the real talent who's also a showoff, the buffoon, the gross-out guy. But no one is more formulaic than the coach. He starts out smug with the kids and ends up smitten.

Just about any golden age Hollywood hack could have made a zestier drama about one of the greatest rescue missions in U.S. military history.

However, anyone seeking a good time that involves wit and logic will consider the film a definite wrong number. [26Feb1997 Pg 03.D]

The screenplay is thin, the dialogue lacks nuance and the acting is often laughable.

Writer/producer John "Home Alone" Hughes, the Marquis de Sade of kidcom, and director Les Mayfield manage to squeeze the very bounce out of what should have been a can't-miss update. [26Nov1997 Pg09.D]

With its Rocky Horror meets Camelot aura, this little black movie reeks of self-satisfied smugness and pretentious perversity as only a Sundance Festival favorite can -- especially one that squanders the considerable quirky charms of indie-film darling Parker Posey. [10Oct1997 pg 04.D]

Flippantly hip without any solid laughs, Life strains to be the flick more offbeat. [24Oct1997 pg06.D]

The cliché-laden dialogue, schlocky special effects and predictable plot are derivative; the movie is overwrought and lacks suspense.

In Roy Orbison terms, enduring this movie is like working for The Man.

It settles for the recycled emotions of the past despite the fact "Schindler's List" has forever made such treatment shamefully passe. [18Apr1997 Pg.03.D]

Shot by a special-effects superstar making his first stab at directing, Mark Dippe, the result is dizzying in its unreality, and the visual tricks are impressive. [01Aug1997 Pg.02.D]

The filmmakers, who include the hitherto ace action director Jan De Bont ("Speed", "Twister"), have neither hearts nor minds in gear. [13Jun1997 Pg.04.D]

You can't accuse this film of bogging down in cheap psychology, yet you come out dissatisfied and without a clue about what made this person tick.

Whether we're talking this go-round, the original or the second sequel the finale seems to promise, I'd rather try standing drunk on a see-saw (though maybe not over dirty syringes) than see Saw.

Director/co-writer/co-producer Nora Ephron is best known for the magical Sleepless in Seattle. Michael is mirthless in the Midwest. [24 Dec 1996 Pg.03.D]

Michelle Pfeiffer has made a lot of memorable movies, including many that undeservedly failed to connect with the public. Never, until Dangerous Minds, has she had to flail her way through a movie beyond all redemption, including even the prehistoric "Grease 2". [11 Aug 1995, Pg.04.D]

Coy to a fault, the movie collapses under its own weight with 90 minutes to go, despite Robby Muller's impressive black-and-white photography, which puts the film on a higher artistic plane than other equally unbearable movies. [16 May 1996, Pg.06.D]

Clumsy, miscast thriller.

If your idea of a good time is watching a disjointed period piece featuring a scrawny dog defecating, dozens of dissipated people fornicating and a syphilitic Johnny Depp with oozing pustules on his face, The Libertine may be just the movie for you.

There's no substitute for bad taste. And this one has it double-barreled, both in the timing of its release and as a movie, one said to be loosely based on fact.

The transition from Hanna-Barbera animation to manic-barbaric live action falls flatter than a granite slab, from the first of many deadly stone-age wordplays - "Steven Spielrock Presents" - to the gross-out shots of dirty tootsies. [27 May 1994 Pg. 01.D]

Steer clear of Freedomland, the movie. Your time would be better spent reading Richard Price's much more compelling 1998 novel.

A potential howler done in by a tendency to wear too much body tissue on its sleeve.

Friedberg, who previously made Nielsen's golfing video and rental car commercials, knows only the low road -- and gets lost anyway. [24 May 1996, Pg.04.D]

Nothing is right about this ridiculous horror schlockfest.

The movie tries to juggle motherly love sentiment with wanna-be snappy ripostes with a violent streak that extends to threatening a grade-schooler with blinding and busted kneecaps. [11 Oct 1996, Pg.03.D]

Glaringly lacking in the film are any original Stones songs. The group, who fired Jones just before his death, must not have thought much of the movie if they didn't allow their music to be used. Smart fellows.

Yearns to be fresh but ends up tasteless. It's as drawn-out, forced and annoying as a holiday meal with a dozen carping relatives.

Poseidon is a sodden saga, with a script that is awash in clichés. It nearly drowns under the weight of its own soggy tedium.

Has plenty of fast cars and revving engines. But unless you're a fan of that sort of thing, its stultifying plot and wooden acting is likely to make you drift - off to sleep.

It comes off like a coughed-up furball: a wan rehash with too many elements of the hard-to-swallow 2004 original.

One of the more befuddling movies of recent years. The premise makes no sense, no matter how you turn it around in your head.

You, Me and Dupree is a good idea badly executed.

All this movie has in common with its ancestor are speedboats, shotguns and drug-dealing Colombians.

Ultimately, Beerfest plays like a party that's gone on too long, when the buzz has worn off and the hangover starts to set in.

Much as they would like it to, basketball can't save the youthful inner-city players here. Nor does the ultra-fast-paced street version of the sport save this movie from predictability and tedium.

Flyboys doesn't succeed as a wartime adventure story or as a period romance. Even the special effects, set in a historical context, are too ho-hum to save this over-long and tedious film.

You're bound to have more fun working overtime than watching Employee of the Month.

t's far too soon for an actress as vital as Jessica Lange to stoop to Bette Davis-Joan Crawford horror-hag histrionics. [6 Mar 1998, pg.04D]

Russell Crowe may find himself discovering the simple joys of life in A Good Year, but audiences will be checking their watches during this joyless attempt at comedy.

Overflows with pretensions and absurdity.

The movie is so impressionistic, it obfuscates any sense of history. We expect at least a hint at the causes of the Mayan Empire's demise, but instead we get Mesoamerican Rambo.

Its use of trite "Win one for the Gipper" dialogue, overbearing soaring music and conventional plot devices makes it far too formulaic to truly move us.

It's a pretty twisted concept, bordering on offensive. But mostly it's just not funny.

Who would have thought an animated comedy satirizing the predictable nature of fairy tales could be so grim?

Given its predictable story, the only reason to see Stomp is for the rhythmic step dancing.

Catch and Release is not worth catching. Release yourself from boredom by giving it a miss.

From the embarrassingly over-the-top performance of Ray Liotta as a tough-guy biker to the pratfalls of William H. Macy as a bumbling computer geek, this movie stinks of exhaust and desperation.

It takes more than an awkward title attempting to sound cool to overcome its mundane plot and silly dialogue.

Been-there-seen-that wannabe laughfest.

All cinematic creativity seems to have focused on devising the most repellent ways to maim and murder.

This warm-weather variation on the original, once again set in a small Minnesota town, is in dire need of Geritol. Or a dose of ginseng. Or Ex-Lax. Anything to get things moving faster than this turgid replay. [22 Dec 1995, p.3D]

This implausible action thriller also stars Julianne Moore as an FBI agent who sees Cage's two-bit Vegas act and decides he can single-handedly save the world.

Not even scaremeister director Wes Craven can awaken this story. Murphy's pale efforts are enough to make one fondly recall Blacula. Now that was one sucker who knew how to make a film that didn't. [27 Oct 1995, p.4D]

The pirate ship has hit foul waters, and even the sharp wit and charm of everyone's favorite buccaneer can't save it.

Although about as authentic as Chef Boy-Ar-Dee, Martin at least gets to dress funny. Joan Cusack's D.A. looks dowdy and is misused. Carol Kane's grocery-store siren looks slutty and is underused. And as a cop, Melanie Mayron should slap cuffs on her hairdresser. [20 Aug 1990, p.4D]

Far-fetched, flimsy and uninvolving.

I don't mind that Nights is a potty-mouth benchmark; crude verbiage is appropriate to the leads, as well as the film's subject matter. This is, however, an amazingly mean two hours. Even the funniest gag involves Murphy's fatal shooting of three men. [17 Nov 1989, p.6D]

Rambo III is hardly the first Stallone-y baloney to climax with a commie wipeout; it is the first to palm off its star as the product of a Buddhist monastery. Like, whew. Rambo in a monastery is almost as stomach-turning as E.T. in a brothel. [25 May 1988, p.1D]

It's dreadful, despite a solid cast that includes art-house heartthrob Ewan McGregor, Nick Nolte, Patricia Arquette and Josh Brolin. [17 Apr 1998]

Underdrawn and overheated, Cool World will leave you cold. [13 Jul 1992]

Director Dominic Sena appears more enamored of peeping-Tom camerawork than plot logic. [03 Sep 1993]

Long, lumbering, pretentious and for some a possible laff riot. [23 Dec 1994]

Pytka may know how to push fizzy water, but he certainly can't make a punch line sparkle. [21 Aug 1989]

It's an almighty, humorless bore.

Director Steve Buscemi is not to be faulted for his filmmaking or acting skills, but as co-writer he could have done better than the false-sounding dialogue.

A movie that gives marriage, homosexuality, friendship, firefighters, children and nearly everything else a bad name.

A silly movie that's essentially a series of clichés strung together into a semblance of a movie.

If you've been lobotomized or have the mental age of a kindergartener, Mr. Bean's Holiday is viable comic entertainment.

Balls of Fury makes "Dodgeball" look like high art. It'll be tough to crack a smile, let alone laugh, during this uninspired and sophomoric satire of sports movies.

It's so unfunny it almost stings.

Whatever reason Denzel Washington may have had for deigning to grace a melodrama as scummy as Virtuosity, the actor has wound up with something that is even worse than 1991's Ricochet in his otherwise creditable filmography. [4 Aug 1995, p.4D]

The movie is devoid of laughs, except for a mildly funny segment when one of the chipmunks inhales helium. And since this is aimed at the under-10 set, it includes the requisite flatulence joke and a spit take or two.

The entire undertaking feels like a waste of time and talent.

Farrell is quite good, though it's hard to buy the Scottish McGregor and the Irish Farrell as brothers. But mostly, the film feels rudderless, almost as if it's been directed on autopilot.

A misguided attempt at comedy that needs to go last on anyone's list of movie options.

Veggie Tales is a faith-based franchise that uses a blend of a religious/moral message and humor to teach about honesty and forgiveness. But Pirates lacks the humor of the videos and "A Veggie Tales Movie."

A wan version of the same old tired serial killer story, despite its updated milieu -- cyberspace.

The jewels in the buried treasure, once sighted, look fake. But the bigger problem is how artificial the whole story feels.

Give this to Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins: The dogs can act.

Within a few minutes into the ponderous prehistoric pseudo-epic that is 10,000 B.C., you find yourself longing for George of the Jungle to crash into a tree or the Geico cavemen to amble up and put an end to the droning seriousness of this tedious tale.

Wastes a moderately intriguing premise by filling it with laughably clichéd dialogue, one-dimensional characters and implausible turns of events.

While he gets points for addressing the debate, the way in which Stein goes about it undermines his efforts to be even-handed and intellectually rigorous.

Yes, it's a candy-colored Day-Glo world, but there's a liveliness missing from this lead-footed Speed Racer.

Shyamalan isn't drawing the caliber of performances from his actors as he used to. Who can forget Haley Joel Osment's haunting portrayal in The Sixth Sense or that of Toni Collette, who played his mother, or Bruce Willis in arguably his best role?

If only the movie had heeded its own advice and tried to be different from the standard formula.

Don't expect the seventh Star Wars film here. Star Wars: The Clone Wars is more like a long Saturday morning cartoon.

If you're a Rainn Wilson fan, catch a rerun of "The Office."

Defanged and drippy, the remake of 1939's The Women seems to have been made for the dullard granddaughters of the sassy, sharp society matrons in George Cukor's campy original.

It's déjà vu all over again. There isn't much more to say about "We Own the Night 2." Oops, make that Pride and Glory.

By the time the movie reaches its protracted conclusion, it feels like a slog. Pacino has a few funny lines, as does Leguizamo, but not nearly enough to save the film from collapsing under the weight of its own self-righteous tedium.

Max Payne couldn't be more appropriately named. Sitting through this stylish-looking but derivative, vacuous and bullet-riddled movie inflicts maximum pain.

The film disappoints terribly, too. The directorial debut of such an imaginative and clever screenwriter was a highly anticipated event. His "Being John Malkovich" and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" are two of the most innovative and intriguing movies of the past decade. Synecdoche is one of the most maddening.

The dialogue is beyond clichéd, and performances feel cobbled together from other movies.

The story is tedious, noisy and banal. It is also rather dark and convoluted for children, though it does have the familiar bombast of a video game.

A laughably bad horror flick.

The last name Blart may be the funniest thing in the movie, so that's a hint as to just how bad this shopping-center saga can be.

Perhaps Martin should go back to taking chances and writing original work.

While it's billed as a "re-imagining" of the horror franchise, this Friday is more like a rehash, delivering just what you expect and nothing more.

Fighting seriously lacks punch.

Feels about as fresh and lively as a piece of burnt rubber.

An American Affair is sordid business blandly portrayed and not worth meddling with.

If you're of a mind to believe a dreary and far-fetched thriller about numerology-crazed alien life forms, then you may find the movie mildly diverting.

It might be that Jarmusch (Broken Flowers) is experimenting with creating a pastiche of dreamlike sequences that audiences can interpret as they wish. Or it may be merely pretension and hubris that fuels such a stylized and insubstantial story.

Cloying and dated movie.

This sequel to the clever and funny first "Transformers" not only is disappointing, it will give most people a throbbing case of metal overload.

Tedious, unromantic, sophomoric and only sporadically funny.

The characters in The Box are like cardboard cutouts: Some have "foolish victim" labeled on them, and others fall into the category of absurdly creepy villain.

Post Grad is a collection of unfunny, insipid and predictable vignettes in search of a movie.

A didactic and humorless Western, Eli is too laborious for an action film and too brutal to be an inspirational tale.

If you didn't know otherwise, you'd swear that Gentlemen Broncos was made by a disaffected high school student – and not a particularly talented one.

This is not the Travolta of "Pulp Fiction," nor is it the Williams of "One Hour Photo." Though no animals were harmed in the making of Old Dogs, the lead actors were defanged. But like a pair of Labradors, they have a playful rapport.

Manages to be both toothless and tasteless in its satire of TV news sensationalism.

Chan has more chemistry with the kids than with Valletta, but the story is so insipid that it's likely to only sadden fans of the martial-arts icon and offer little enjoyment to its young audience.

It's a syrupy, downbeat film.

Tooth Fairy will make your teeth ache and your skin crawl.

So leaden and obnoxious that it actually makes you long for the John Travolta of "Old Dogs."

The film feels as calculatedly sentimental as one of those bland pink candy hearts.

Director Kevin Smith's tweets, jokes and sharp commentary after being denied a seat aboard a Southwest Airlines flight because of his girth were a lot more engaging than Cop Out, his new movie.

Sitting through this movie is worse than being locked in a room with a continuous loop of "Nip/Tuck" playing on a jumbo screen.

There's nothing worse than a boring behemoth.

An insult to the memory of the cleverly written show and its celebration of friendship, it's a slap in the face for the four gal pals (often photographed at unflattering angles) and an affront to Muslims.

There's nothing exciting about this awful, over-the-top reboot.

The opening frame of Jonah Hex should say: "Caution: Made expressly for the male teen demographic. Not suitable for anyone of any age who prefers movies with coherence, an original plot or characters they give a hoot about."

If Sandler hopes to win over new fans, he may want to cork the scatological humor and let it age a bit.

Killers is dead on arrival: miscast, horribly paced and murderously uninvolving.

The movie is a clunky, noisy contraption. Director Jon Turteltaub piles on gadgets and devices in the hopes we'll be dazzled enough to miss the story's lack of coherence and charm.

Sadistic mess of a movie.

The Romantics is a misnomer. "The Spoiled Melodramatics" would be more accurate. Or better yet, "The Pretentious Ones."

Alpha and Omega is one of those rarities in the modern era of Hollywood animation: bad.

Barrels around in manic fashion much like Carrey does in most of his movies. He's meant to be a fool for love, but mostly he's just bonkers.

Kimberly Elise gives the best performance as a beleaguered woman with an abusive boyfriend (Michael Ealy).

Who had the lamebrained idea for a post-apocalyptic 3-D Nutcracker that is lacking any trace of ballet?

Yogi Bear is a big boo-boo.

Vaughn and James are likable enough, and they would have real chemistry in, say, an all-out comedy.

What it became was bad. A movie that hopes to blend "Lethal Weapon" with "Gladiator" winds up not being a fraction of either.

Trying to decipher all the convoluted pathways could drive you mad. Mostly, though, it is so ludicrous that it will unintentionally inspire laughter.

It's almost impressive when a movie can manage to be both repellently vulgar and sickeningly sweet in the span of a mere two hours. Almost.

It's dogged by awkward dialogue, a ridiculous plot and lackluster performances, especially by the leads.

Everything about this fish-out-of-water romp is tired.

Here's a by-the-playbook movie if ever there was one.

Bonds are tested and feelings hurt, but who really cares? The story takes predictable turns, embraces clichés and dodges all humor.

Speaking of that middle-finger finale, there is one redeeming trait: At least it signals the end credits.

Though the lead actress, newcomer Jordana Beatty, gives a spunky performance as third-grader Judy, her character's borderline bratty charm wears thin fast. Mostly it's undercut by the movie's irritatingly antic slapstick style.

For a movie that touts the importance of humanity, Green Lantern is a strangely lifeless spectacle.

Misanthropic to the extreme, Bad Teacher fails across the board.

There isn't much in the way of plot to get in the way of Sandler's world: There's poo, ripped pants and hot girls falling for fat guys.

Conan the Barbarian lives by a pretty simple ethos: He lives, he loves, he slays. What he doesn't do, alas, is act.

Filled with laughable dialogue, Abduction goes nowhere.

Machine Gun Preacher has a lot more wrong with it than a bullet-riddled premise. It is yet another iteration of the big, strong white man who comes to save legions of poor anonymous black Africans.

There's nothing wrong in the setup: It worked fine in films like "Adventures in Babysitting" and "Uncle Buck." But director David Gordon Green populates the movie with so many soap opera asides it's hard to keep count.

Maybe for the next installment, they can go off to college and find something better to do than making these silly movies.

More often the film succumbs to clichés, grows convoluted and outlandish, and winds up dead on arrival.

The concept is unoriginal, the scenarios aren't funny, and its message is banal. Plus, Murphy alternately hams it up and phones it in.

Somewhere amid the mind-numbing barrage of action sequences there's a story based on Greek mythology. But its essence is buried amid the clatter.

A putrid film that comes dead-weighted with hammy one-liners and a plot so silly it borders on comedy?

Despite an unlikely setting and a moderately intriguing premise, Chernobyl Diaries proves to be a generic horror flick where young tourists are systematically victimized in unoriginal and not terribly scary ways.

Filmmakers must have been tripping pretty badly when they made High School, a flub that's about as lucid as a stoner at a spelling bee.

Don't stop believing. Just avoid clichéd musicals that try to capture the anarchic spirit of rock with trite commercial re-treads.

Revolution tries a few plot moves, but, narratively, it has two left feet.

Talented actors are wasted in a film that induces more cringes than chuckles as women old enough to know better act like horny sailors on leave, absorb mass quantities of alcohol and drugs, and generally behave horribly.

It's been a long time since a movie wasted this much talent.

Fun is hiding behind a bad movie costume in this humorless and idiotic Halloween teen comedy.

RZA's directorial debut is heavy on bloody kung fu action...and light on just about everything else.

The shenanigans of randy soccer moms and their obnoxious blowhard husbands are intended as comic relief. But the sappy plot of this formulaic romantic comedy is just as silly as its inane attempts at farce.

Audiences deserve a resounding "mea culpa" for the embarrassing dreck, masquerading as comedy, in The Guilt Trip.

The movie spends too much time wedging the couple into a May-December moment, where Crystal cracks nostalgic about the good old days. It's sweet, but it grows old.

It's been a long time since a movie wasted as much talent as Stand Up Guys, a film that aims to be a geezer "Goodfellas" but whose execution is a misfire.

The best thing about A Good Day to Die Hard is its title.

Despite its collegiate setting, 21 and Over is pretty much for people with an IQ of 21 and under.

So sadistic and disturbing, Games is easily the toughest movie to sit through since 1994's "Natural Born Killers."

Family Weekend is the kind of dark-for-dark's sake, wannabe quirkfest that proves indie films can be just as clichéd and vapid as the most soulless Hollywood movies.

Never was a film so visually stunning and so intolerable as To the Wonder.

It's an unrelentingly brutal movie set in an unusually scenic locale — the coastal city of Valparaiso, Chile.

The comedian's braggadocio here is more wearying than that of the most self-absorbed rapper. And worse, it comes at the expense of humor.

Director Christian Duguay's gimmicky "thriller" demonstrates that he has not begun to master the art of suspense.

Good actors seem plastic and plastic actors seem worse in a knockoff of every rocket-ship movie you've ever seen.

The only good thing about Impostor is the appropriateness of its title for a film posing as the first 2002 release.