“Hunter’s Moon” has more in common with a slow-moving yawner based around an orange grove than a horror-heavy monster movie akin to “The Howling.”

If Debbie Downer were a horror movie instead of a Saturday Night Live skit, she would be “The Grudge.”

While we can argue whether “The Boy” worked or not, at least we can agree its reveal made for a memorable moment, which is something you won’t find in “Brahms: The Boy II.”

Cuse and Lindelof’s script turns common social media sound bites into conversational quips. Here’s the thing though: “The Hunt” says all of these words without saying much of anything at all.

Just think of “Life,” “The Cloverfield Paradox,” or any other moody monster adventure that blurs together in your memory after you’ve seen too many takes on “Alien’s” template.

Can a film still be considered a character study if most of what we are studying is someone emptily staring in silence?

Only so many hours in a day and I’d willingly spend one and a half of them on disposable DTV horror I won’t even remember by this time tomorrow?

If it added any more gruesomely grim comedy, it would be about as tonally different from the first film as Adam West’s Batman is different from Christian Bale’s.

The balance of content that takes place in conversation versus confrontation is disproportionate for an animated adventure film that ought to favor visual excitement.

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.