What’s the point in paying the movie any attention simply because it was first to hijack a lapsed Disney property for exploitation in hacky horror?

“Popeye’s Revenge” makes a strong case on behalf of corporate lawyers for why ordinary people shouldn’t be allowed within an inch of lucrative IP.

“Presence” illustrates the dreadful dullness a stranded spirit would actually encounter while peacefully haunting a normal house.

All aspects of drama, suspense, and parody get big boosts from the pairing of Sophie Thatcher and Jack Quaid, both of whom are easily the right actors for their roles.

The world created for “The Gorge” might work better in a book, where an active imagination can shine brighter lights on the creatures and concepts than the movie does.

“Heart Eyes” casually entertains as a fun-focused slasher, but its temperature isn’t turned up as high as it should be.

It’s not your fault if you make the mistake of assuming “Piglet” spun out of the “Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey” series.

“Dark Match” got me thinking. How did I handle B-movie believability when I was younger? What was the criteria for suspension of disbelief?

Characters kept at arm’s length from audience investment and predictable beats transform “Wolf Man” into a disappointingly bland movie.

“The Damned” concludes on an unsatisfying explanation that retroactively reduces the entire experience to a big buildup for one minor moment.

Whether the film likes it or not, and it probably does not, director Sasha Rainbow’s “Grafted” invites obvious comparisons to Coralie Fargeat’s “The Substance.”

If a B-movie bomb detonates on home video and there’s nobody there to watch it, does it make a sound?

The narrative’s familiarity can make the artistic immersion seem drearily indulgent at times when the movie should feel mesmerically dreadful.

Not quite a case of too little, too late, “Get Away” gains enough mad-dash momentum to crest over the hill of humdrum humor it had been coasting on until the ending.

Somewhat swiftly, “Bloody Axe Wound” sheds the skin of a slasher spoof to morph into a more intriguing inversion of a coming-of-age tale.

If it made sense for this to be a feature-length film in the first place, “George A. Romero’s Resident Evil” might be a more essential piece of horror history.

Structured strangely, and centered too squarely on the more mundane moments of a young girl’s life, “The Man in the White Van” misses more than one mark as a serial killer thriller.

“Werewolves” reveals itself as an under-budgeted B-movie that should have gone straight to home video, yet somehow had a theatrical release.

“Y2K” graduates from the “Superbad”-style hijinks of high schoolers into a lowkey comedic remake of Stephen King’s “Maximum Overdrive.”

If Bagman zipped up his eponymous movie in a sack and hauled it away to a dark cave, I’m not sure anyone would notice it went missing.