Here I am reviewing a fifth Robert movie, ignoring all evidence assured by the preceding four that these films are incapable of being entertaining, even accidentally.

My psychiatrist might be displeased to discover I apparently hate myself so much, I’d willingly watch a fourth ‘Robert the Doll’ movie.

Finding that middle ground, the comedic chiller takes a canted angle toward telling an angsty tale about coping with depression in a frighteningly changing world.

It’s more of an audition reel for various creatures and curses to see if any of them stick enough to warrant another spinoff.

“Child’s Play” pretends to be “about” the horrors of interconnected technology. Really, it’s just another routine killer doll movie.

Totaling together two outstanding segments, three midrange ones, and one dumb wraparound, “Nightmare Cinema” averages out to a decently entertaining feature.

Spike this plain-ish punch with spicier oomph in terms of staging and scenery and there’d be something spunkier to see here.

“The Nightmare Gallery” is another throwaway thriller whose limited lease on audience interest will expire long before this review becomes a ghost town no one visits either.

“Deep Murder” plays with every porn trope you can think of, and that’s precisely why it’s weak. It’s comedy you can come up with yourself.

The low-key legs on “Ghost Light” hit a nimble stride for wispy humor with a small spike of cheeky horror.

No wonder no one wants to return to the titular location, in the movie or in reality. Follow their lead and travel somewhere more intriguing instead.

Carson quipped, “this is the 51st annual Academy Awards: Two hours of sparkling entertainment spread out over a four-hour show.” That sums up “I Am Mother.”

“The Dead Don’t Die” isn’t just late to the pastiche party. It arrives without a gift, sullenly stands stiff in a corner, and leaves without flushing the toilet.

It’s delightful schlock that’s practically perfect as subversive, subdued sensationalism for anyone with a sick or a slick sense of humor.

In its current condition of subdued satanic creepiness, “Isabelle” merely meets moderately above average expectations for a routine possessed pregnancy thriller.

Was “Assimilate” a target of unfair review bombing or am I merely in a minority of people who can’t see what the supposed problem is?

The peak for paying homage to 80s horror, specifically John Carpenter, shrinks in cinema’s rearview mirror daily.

It’s a little silly, a lot sleazy, but above all, it’s devilishly entertaining due to its odd audacity, sensational shocks, and satisfying insidiousness.

“Brightburn” stays sadistically entertaining for its explosive horror show, but by and large feels substantially hollow.

“Polaroid” is the kind of milquetoast movie that would fare better if it were held against the lower standards of Syfy filler.