“Prisoner X” combines the Samuel L. Jackson thriller “Unthinkable” with the sci-fi setup of “Predestination.”

If the entire movie were as gleefully silly as its final scenes, it would be easy to grant “200 Degrees” a blessing for being “guilty pleasure” entertainment.

The viewer becomes caught in a conflict of wanting superficial salaciousness to be backed by substance the story simply doesn’t have.

Invest in the atmosphere and stick with the story and “Camera Obscura” rewards with a moodily macabre chiller, albeit a quietly self-contained one.

Look past the bare spots in atmosphere and acting and one can see deeper meaning aching to be acknowledged.

It’s a textbook thriller built for one late night watch, for which it is perfectly fine, adequate, serviceable, and not bad.

Take out the second screen novelty, which isn’t strong to begin with, and “Capture” is largely forgettable as “found footage.”

I’ll be sent to Mars in a rocket ship before I’ll be able to make heads or tails of the story and describe the movie in any meaningful detail.

Spectacular visual style would be more impressive if the pace could keep sleepy eyes open enough to appreciate the effort.

Director Andrew Getty "was addicted to train wrecks.”  Apparently so much so that he obsessed over orchestrating one of his own.

Storytelling is so smartly entertaining for the dramedy quotient that the takeaway upholds the adage, “if it ain’t true, it ought to be.”

The music score sounds as if The Muppets composed background beats for a Margaritaville bar. And I don’t mean Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem.

Evers-Swindell’s commitment to going for broke by stirring up so many subgenres in a single story is admirable, even if it isn’t always effective.

“Unacknowledged” can’t help but excitedly expose itself as a dubious collection of crackpot conspiracy theories backed by highly specious “evidence."

By the time the film comes full circle, its quiet malaise morphs into a deeply affecting mood whose visual and emotional imprints cut sharply.

Despite its associated talent and underlying concept, “Wolves at the Door” defines a spectacularly disappointing misfire.

Try as it might, and boy does it try, “Dead Awake” is definitely not “A Nightmare on Elm Street.”

Daring to stare into their downward spirals with unafraid eyes creates a terrifyingly tense experience of frighteningly realistic horror.

Staying focused on the interplay becomes a grueling demand for wandering attention spans anxious to advance to new moments.

Without any real surprises in store, the final phases of the middling mystery don’t have enough oomph to tie the movie together.