The budget appears to have been blown entirely on a single yellow motorcycle and team uniforms for the underground streetball games that are the film's raison d'être.

An end-of-summer throwaway that resembles last year's Supercross in its naked ineptitude and willingness to cut corners at every turn.

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.

The Annapolis of basketball movies... The movie bounces from scene to scene like some sort of round rubbery sphere.

Just a few more tweaks and Crossover could have been something special -- a truly terrible movie to savor for the ages. But nooo, this street ball movie has to settle for middle-of-the-road badness.

Detroit-born independent filmmaker Preston A. Whitmore II's astonishingly inept drama revolves around the high-stakes world of streetball and the efforts of two teenagers to resist its flash and cash temptations.

You can't blame Crossover for being comfortable with its own clichés. It's so blatantly formulaic that it actually grows on you if you don't dismiss it in the first five minutes.

Crossover has one redeeming quality: a heart that's in the right place. It's a bad movie with a good message -- but does anyone really want to pay $10 for an ABC After School Special version of He Got Game?

A lot of Crossover's manifest failings could be forgiven if the on-court action was thrilling. But Space Jam had better basketball scenes. For that matter, so did Dr. J's The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh.

An amateurish hodgepodge of drama clichés and tired music video-style techniques, Crossover is a baldly contrived narrative.