It’s almost as though horror fans want to see Universal’s classic monsters contemporized in the same vein of scary, scaled-back B-movies that made them popular in the first place.

Watching Mark Patton’s troubled journey culminate in an optimistic conclusion is an inspiring experience that’s entertaining as well as emotionally encouraging.

“Blood and Flesh” presents Al Adamson as one of the rare good guys, which makes the story of his life all the more endearing, and the story of his death impossibly more tragic.

What I can’t fully figure out is whether or not Glenn Danzig knows he made a bizarrely bad movie or if he even intentionally set out to do so.

Whatever your vice, be ready to fuel up on as much candy, caffeine, or cocaine as necessary to keep up, because “Guns Akimbo” never takes its lead foot off the gas.

You’d better be in the mood for a mediocre horror movie with low stakes and an even lower return on your time and money investment.

From the viciousness of complaints spitted against it, you’d think “Fantasy Island” was responsible for assassinating Archduke Ferdinand.

You can visibly see in every pulled punch and dialogue flub that “VFW” could have been better if only it took time to sand down rough edges.

“My Bloody Valentine” feels like a spiritual successor to the teen-targeted mainstream slashers that were hot up through the early aughts, minus the CW/WB soundtrack.

Too bad this setup kicked enough cans that an average response from audiences suggests we’ll probably never know how high or how hard these women could have kicked.

Not what you saw coming, huh? Unpredictability keeps “Come to Daddy’s” frights and funniness fascinating. Its weirdness grows like a subtly spreading moss.

“My Bloody Valentine” is the midnight movie you get when you combine the whodunit mystery of “Friday the 13th,” the cyclical holiday horror of “Halloween,” and the Canadian cop caper of “Black Christmas.”

Pennywise’s receded presence hinders the fear factor, yet “It Chapter Two” really resonates when human drama eclipses monster madness anyway.

I can think of few more flattering accolades than to affirm this may be the best definition of what burrow-into-your-brain unsettling means.

“Zombieland: Double Tap” doesn’t work as well as its predecessor because it doesn’t follow the rules that let the first film’s funniness flow fluidly.

You’d be correct to suspect we’re dealing with a film used to its fair share of tearing, molding, throwing, and shaping like an overworked piece of dirty kindergarten Play-Doh.

If someone insisted on pushing through the movie at 2x speed, I’d be hard pressed to concoct a good reason why that would be wrong.

Where else can you see a dinosaur interrupt backyard party sex as well as Denise Richards doing a lingerie striptease for Paul Walker’s disembodied brain?

You can expect an altered experience with “Doctor Sleep’s” Director’s Cut, though not necessarily a radically different one.

The movie might look roughshod if not for the fact that professional talents presumably knew what they were doing, even if the audience does not.