In theaters

AUTUMN IN NEW YORK. Directed by Joan Chen. Written by Allison Burnett. 100 minutes. Rated PG-13.

If you follow film – or pay even passing attention to what’s happening in Hollywood – then you probably heard all the recent belly-aching over Joan Chen’s “Autumn in New York,” the new Richard Gere-Winona Ryder movie that MGM, its distributor, refused to screen for critics in advance of its release last weekend.

Since this is the sort of decision that implies even the studio knows it’s dealing with dreck, it came as little surprise that Gere, Ryder and Chen publicly came out against MGM’s decision, saying they were proud of their work, that they loved their movie – and that it was, in fact, good.

So – how to put this delicately? – “Autumn in New York” is not good. The film, which is about the irregular heartbeat of a May-December romance, doesn’t have an honest moment in it. Its performances are crap, its dialogue is awful (“You want to abandon the universe and me for a cafe latte?”), its contrivances are dire. It is, in fact, so badly conceived and misguided, it makes “Battlefield Earth” seem like the movie of the year.

Still, what is interesting about the film is that nothing that happens in it is ever quite as bad as what’s happened to Richard Gere. The actor has always traded off his looks and charm, but “Autumn” suggests he has yet to come to terms with the fact that he’s now 51 and his days as a gigolo are over.

He’s developing something of a Clint Eastwood complex, one that mistakenly makes him feel he can pull off playing characters who bed young women at will – in this case, Winona Ryder’s Charlotte, who’s 22 – as if he himself were still a young colt.

Complicating matters for him and his ego is how director Chen clearly doesn’t believe he can pull any of this off. Hammering away at the audience, she uses Allison Burnett’s chatty script to try to brainwash us into thinking that Gere’s character, Will Keane, a 48-year-old super-successful restaurateur, is – quite simply- fabulous.

For 30 unrelenting minutes, we are forced to watch women and men swoon over him, trip over him, eyeball him, wait for him, fawn over him, flatter him. At one point, even the way a dog cocks his head at him suggests he’s irresistible, a man so virile, anyone would be lucky to call him their own. None of it works, and that’s because all the flattery in the world can’t conceal the truth of what Richard Gere has become: an actor caught in a midlife crisis who’s desperately trying to hold on to an image he once enjoyed, but no longer fits.

Grade: F

BLESS THE CHILD. Directed by Chuck Russell. Written by Thomas Rickman, Clifford Green and Ellen Green, based on the novel by Cathy Cash Spellman. 101 minutes. Rated R.

Kim Basinger doesn’t fare much better in Chuck Russell’s “Bless the Child,” a movie that should have kissed a few rosaries before going into production.

The film follows Basinger as Maggie O’Connor, a New York divorcee who raises her niece Cody (Holliston Coleman) in the absence of Cody’s heroin-addicted mother, Jenna (Angela Bettis).

Since “Child” is clearly modeled on a handful of other occult movies, especially “The Omen,” “The Exorcist” and “The Sixth Sense,” it should surprise no one to learn that Cody is “special,” a quiet, introspective, 6-year-old with limited language skills who would have been considered autistic if it weren’t for the toys and plates she spins with her mind at will – or for the dead bird she literally brings back to life after cradling it in her arms.

Pity for Cody, then, that Satan wants his claws in her, which he goes about doing by utilizing the subtle talents of a group called The New Dawn (think of them as Cirque du Soleil on smack). Led by Eric Stark (Rufus Sewell), a frightful man and former child star now married to Cody’s juiced-up mother, this tag team of trench-coat-wearing troublemakers tumble and whirl through the streets in an enthusiastic, all-out effort to tear Cody away from Maggie and sacrifice her soul to Satan. Are we walking on water yet?

The problem with “Child” doesn’t just begin with its cast – Jimmy Smits is on autopilot as a police detective and Christina Ricci is wooden as a former member of The New Dawn – but with the silly, simple-minded script, which never mounts any tension and highlights some of the cheesiest special effects of the year.

Here’s a tip: See “Bless the Child” when hell freezes over.

Grade: D

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear Monday and Thursday in the NEWS, and Tuesday and Thursday on “NEWS CENTER at 5:30” and “NEWS CENTER at 11.”