“Fried Barry” is “filthy,” and your personal proclivities for tastelessness will dictate whether that word earns the adjective “delightfully” or “despicably.”

How can I put this nicely? I don’t think I can. Bottom line, “The Lockdown Hauntings” is scatterbrained claptrap that is dull as dirt.

Even with some jagged hangnails, “Initiation” still gets a good deal of the way there as a prettily polished indie with several surprises up its sleeve.

If you forced a bot to watch 100 of the blandest indie horror movies imaginable, then had that bot generate a generic horror movie of its own, the result would be “The Resort.”

I don’t see how “Mortal Kombat” can be anything other than this movie because of how inherently silly the source material is for a live-action adaptation.

At a time when microbudget thrillers mostly play it safe, it’s worth appreciating an underdog oddball that dares to do things a little differently.

“The Power” is the kind of movie that can be described with a number of “the kind of movie that” observations.

Philosophically sophisticated, yet fully entrenched in Saturday morning sensations tailored to adult tastes, there hasn’t been anything like “The Spine of Night” in decades.

Clips of the spinach-eating sailor appear so frequently, I’m shocked Popeye doesn’t have top billing because I’d swear he appears onscreen more than anyone else.

The way to take “Godzilla vs. Kong” is as a modernized riff on classic mutant monster movies made for date night at the drive-in.

The mix of thematic maturity with B-movie mirth creates a quirky cocktail that’s enjoyably smooth to tuned tongues, although others will find the same flavors too flat.

95% ordinary dialogue spiked with 5% of weirdness sets up a dynamite dynamic that separates “The Toll’s” suspense from typical “trapped in a forest” thrillers.

“Doors” looks like an underground film festival entry that’s too raw to even earn pity laurels as an honorable mention.

It’s odd that for all the movies I’ve unpacked over the years, I can’t quite pin down what remedy would coax “Witch Hunt” out of the sleepy bed it lies in.

By coloring its nostalgia with creepiness, the movie captures the entrancing eeriness of an actual broadcast signal intrusion in feature film form.

If expectations aren’t braced for puffball parody, they could get trampled in a stampede of superficial send-ups lightly lampooning stuck-up store clerks.

Michael Flynn helps viewers see “Stay Out of the Attic” for what it is: a mildly wild little midnighter that would have had a long home in Blockbuster’s horror aisle circa 1993.

When you see Bruce Willis in straight-to-streaming schlock, you know your money would be better spent by donating to a presidential campaign for Foghorn Leghorn.

“Son” only fills to the minimum line with the lukewarm water of thin characters who exist purely to push paltry plot points along a slow and familiar path.

When a film doesn’t connect with you, it can be useful to ask, “Is it the movie or is it me?” In the case of “Lucky,” it might be me.