There aren’t satisfying pops so much as an inflatable tube man flapping weakly in the car lot wind.

“Portals” overloads on vague themes while many minutes are spent simply watching people puzzle over black doors, and not necessarily doing much more that that.

“1BR” joins an exclusive shortlist of minimalist thrillers whose solid suspense becomes built on the backs of a low budget and unfamiliar cast, not in spite of them.

“Blood Vessel” demonstrates the difference passionate effort makes to elevate a midrange horror movie from standard Syfy fare to a terrific thriller with streamlined style.

As much overtime as it works to capture the spirit of the season, “Trick” puts in even more effort to mirror “Halloween” the movie.

Picture Tom Hanks in “Cast Away” except he’s a young woman. Now instead of a volleyball, imagine Wilson is a fish monster. That’s your simplified summary of “Sweetheart.”

Anyone prone to enchantment from moody microbudget thrillers should appreciate the splash of arthouse flavor in “Dementer’s” psychological suspense.

“Mary” is lucky to have Oldman and Mortimer, which means the audience reaps their benefits too. Together they keep this voyage from being a bland bust.

“Rabid” puts an entertainingly wicked bite into body horror using gobs of gruesomeness and a little bit of cheeky glee.

“He Never Died” tried something similar, but “She” more successfully slathers wry comedy in grey gloom to keep its quirk subtle, yet strong.

Would it aid your expectations any to know it was filmed on the cheap, shot in Bulgaria, and doesn’t star a single person you’ve heard of?

Movies structured this predictably are commonly called “paint-by-numbers,” except “Prey” has only dull shades of grey on its palette.

If you want to watch drugged-up twentysomethings unironically complain about how hard they have it while colored lights strobe and metal music blares, “Bliss” may be a movie for you.

“Memory” decides that the most critical context should come from perspectives that assumed ownership of “Alien” after it passed from its founders to its audience.

The movie’s misguided moral implies if you just take two seconds for an autograph, you might not have to deal with a potentially dangerous signature seeker in the first place.

By the time we arrive at “Lake of Fire,” sticking to this played-out formula results in regressive routine that’s difficult to find compelling.

I came away thinking there were more fulfilling ways to spend those regrettably lost 80 minutes, such as shopping for groceries or folding the laundry.

“Freaks” chugs with such consistency that by the time it picks up its power to sustain full speed, the film becomes an unstoppable freight train of intrigue and intensity.

Usual eye-rollers like amateur acting and nonsensical plot points are more feathers in a crazily captivating cap adorning a fascinating freak show of a film.

It requires wanting to watch “Frankenstein” as funneled through a mumblecore filter, complete with contentious conversations, an acoustic indie soundtrack, and some interpretive introspection.