“In Darkness” emerges from its overwrought, overwritten funnel as a visually juicy bite of overdramatic intrigue.

Someone curious about seeing “Feral” in a theater asked, “is it worth a drive into Hollywood?” I considered replying, “it wasn’t worth the walk to my television to watch it on VOD.”

There’s a reason why Blumhouse movies are labeled “From the Producer of ‘The Purge’ and ‘Get Out’” instead of “From the Producer of ‘Visions’ and ‘Totem’.”

“The Jurassic Games” earns a predominantly positive review because it is precisely the kind of knowingly campy B-movie I expected it to be.

“Cargo” contains so much déjà vu drama, anyone who has taken this trip before can’t stop from sighing as each setup falls out of the copy machine.

The awfulness of loneliness coupled with Innsmouth insinuations wraps Lovecraftian themes within gothic Mary Shelley melodrama.

If you believe “Escape Room” is “the most original and terrifying horror this year,” you might also believe a statue of Elvis exists on Mars.

“Dark Crimes” illustrates what it looks like when a star knows he picked a poor project, but is contractually obligated to expend minimal effort anyway.

“Revenge” wants to dare you to see it as shallow just so it can shame you through sheer force of cinematic style.

“Anon” encases its monotone mystery in a drab setting whose dourness only amplifies the script’s dullness.

The film’s exhausting dullness hooks lifelessly draining melodrama into an IV of incredibly anemic horror.

Were someone to ask my opinion of “Gehenna: Where Death Lives” in civilian circumstances, I’d mumble “meh” and move on.

This review may not be worth much now, but it should be handy to have when we need a memory jog to distinguish this flat flick from every similar Sasquatch-related thriller.

There is a subtly inebriated haze flavoring the film with an intentionally weird wooziness, like the birth of a buzz following the first two beers.

The head-on collision of Eastern and Western pop culture composes a disorienting kaleidoscope of eclectic action and eccentric spectacle.

“Downrange” takes a demented detour into a bonkers final third by going for broke with midnight movie moxie.

“Ready Player One” is the entertainment equivalent of cotton candy: consumed more for the nostalgic flavor than for its actual taste or nutritional value.

“#Screamers” suffers from a severe real estate problem.  Namely, it has 81 minutes worth of space and only ten minutes of content with which to fill it.

By creatively incorporating a carefully calculated amount of weirdness, “Vampire Clay” hits a sweet spot of satisfaction between fun and freaky.

“Ghost Stories” features a freshly novel concept for framing an anthology, where the bookends ingeniously motivate each piece of the movie.