The Forbidden Kingdom: Martial Arts masters Jackie Chan and Jet Li are saved by an American teenager with a bad South Boston accent.

Durant: Think “Never Ending Story” meets “The Karate Kid” meets “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” Now take every part of those three movies that is good and throw it right in the trash. Then you'll have a pretty good idea of what “The Forbidden Kingdom” is like.

Why is it that kids who get picked on find solace in the antique stores of old Chinese guys with long mustaches in so many movies. I wish I would have had one of those antique stores when I was growing up in Roseville. I would've ran there straight from the trash can with wet hair from a fresh swirly.

But this movie is absolute dung.

Is this a bi-product of the writer's strike earlier this year?

Then there's the teaching of martial arts. Doesn't it take years of weekly practices and constant training and self discipline to even consider yourself OK in martial arts? Yeah, not in the land beyond the “gate with no gate” or whatever fortune cookie title they named the land of the Forbidden Kingdom. I know they tried to explain this by the kid's hair getting longer, but only on the back. His hair stayed poofy in the front while the Steven Segal wannabe tail grew over the course of the movie.

And don't get me started on the hair in this movie, especially the eye brows. Man, there were some cats in this movie that could've stepped on their eye brows. Now I thought I had some long eye brows, but they made me feel like I was Powder from the movie of the same name.

And what's sad is that Jackie Chan can turn poop into gold because no matter how dumb the movie is you know that the “Drunken Master” is going to do some bad-a** moves. But not even he can save this one.

Oh, and fellas, the movies does not equal an amateur night at the comedy club. People don't go to the movies to hear your comments. When you yell “Lame!” after a “Prince Caspian” preview or you loudly express “No way!” when something happens on screen that appears to be unbelievable, you're not amusing anyone because it's not funny. Seriously bro, not funny. Please stop. I thought it was an isolated incident, but apparently this guy coincides his movie schedule with mine lately. Either that or there's a few of them, in which case I'll have to just stay home and watch movies on my (neighbor's) home theater system. The theater should post guards in each theater, walking up and down aisles, making their presence known and deterring dumb a**es from opening their not funny mouths.

Rating: S

88 Minutes: Somebody's threatening a well-known forensic psychiatrist with cryptic calls and spooky signs. Oooooh.

Durant: I love Al Pacino and without him this movie wouldn't have even been made for an episode of any of a number of the trendy DNA catch'em cop shows that are out there right now. But he couldn't really do much.

When you make a movie that intricately involves the countdown of a clock. It would be a lot easier if you just took clocks out of the shots all together. In one scene, when there's a clock behind Pacino, and then one on the TV that he keeps looking at, they bounce between something 11:03, 11:10, back to 11:02, then again to 11:15. It was something I didn't want to notice but I had to pay attention to because of the whole “88 minutes to live” thing, which is no spoiler to anyone who had to sit through the preview.

And Seattle must have no traffic (uuhh, I know first hand that it does). My man Pacino was able to get everywhere in the city and back again, sometimes a few times, in his last 88 minutes.

The director tries really hard to set up this tangled web of suspicion with quick edits and flashbacks, but it was like he was painting by numbers, and the audience could see the picture before he had a chance to color it in for us.

I wonder how Al Pacino likes the movie. Though it was obvious what the director was trying to do with the tension, I could cut right through it with a karate chop while holding a chicken drumstick.

I'm so angry at movies right now, crappy stories wasting talented actors' twighlight years.

Rating: S

Flight of the Conchords Season 1: Holy crap this is the funniest thing I've ever seen.

Faulk's Rating: Why didn't I think of this? Probably because I'm not from New Zealand, and I take myself way too seriously.

The first season of this HBO series is a crack-up of the highest order. As a former (or current? Never quite sure) member of a folk duo -- don't laugh, this isn't the punch line -- I find great mirth in two guys playing with themselves to everyone's amusement.

The jokes are right on, the songs shame those of any other musical comedy acts, and the music is catchy. What more can you ask for?

Rating: XXL