Enjoyable without being empty, and sincere without being sappy, "Mr. Crocket" manufactures a solid selection for a "31 Nights of Halloween" marathon.

If a gimmick is all a movie has to go on, then it's also a great way to ensure an audience swiftly forgets the film.

It takes some getting used to the scaled-back styling, yet once you do, the film's unsettling aura of folk horror quietly creeps up on you.

Apparently, game-based horror movies are now down to simple party activities that can be played with an empty two-liter of orange Fanta.

Taken for the final product it was forced to be, it's hard to imagine any alternate 100-minute cut of this content coming out distinctly better.

What makes "Strange Darling" clever is how its twist retroactively recontextualizes everything you've already witnessed.

Viewers who can look past how far the film bends believability should be intermittently captivated at a minimum, and possibly deeply disturbed.

"The Front Room's" primary objective appears to be to get on an audience's nerves as much as Solange tries getting on Belinda's.

There's only the smallest smattering of substance inside "Afraid," making it about as artificially intelligent as a filler thriller can be.

Imagine the hypnotic horror of Panos Cosmatos meets David Lynch dreaminess with an arty A24 style whirled together in a macabre midnight movie.

Arguably admirable in its thematic intentions, it's harder to argue that "Here After" is ever eerie, exciting, or entertaining.

Plowing through every routine plot point imaginable, the movie is a laughable erotic thriller that's barely erotic and hardly thrilling at all.

At a time when so many indie horror hucksters are still shoving "Amityville" into their titles, it's inspiring to see Curry Barker putting in real work with an original effort.

While Cooper desperately searches for an escape route, viewers desperately need to put disbelief into a deep freeze, because preposterous developments pile up in a hurry.

"The Demon Disorder's" creeps mostly come quietly while the movie squares its spotlight on sibling melodrama.

It's in poor taste at best and irresponsible at worst to pin the blame on an imaginary being than the true causes of domestic violence and impoverished living.

A movie so soaked macabre mystique, it sounded like you'd risk damning your soul to the darkest depths of Hell just by daring to watch it.

Viewers are left to gnaw on the skeleton of an emaciated thriller without much meat on its sun-bleached bones.

"Oddity's" wooden man should join the "Talk to Me" hand and "Mister Babadook" pop-up book among the top props in modern horror iconography.

Compromises must have been made, leaving "We Are Zombies" to let its potential evaporate while coming up short as comedy and as horror.