As heists go, the only thing 1992 stole was just over 90 minutes of my time.

Between Backcountry, Pywacket, and now Out Come the Wolves, I suspect that heading out into the woods with director Adam MacDonald could be an exceptionally bad idea.

There is a beauteously ruthless toxicity to Mollner’s cruel world that’s honestly glorious, and for those that get on his wavelength, Strange Darling is a great deal of malicious fun.

I felt like watching Crescent City was a waste of my time, and as far as I’m concerned that says it all.

Where it counts most, Trust in Love gets almost everything right: the interactions between devoted parents and their hurting children, who try to act as if they stoically understand what is happening but on the inside are crumbling to pieces.

As a straightforward monster-in-a-haunted-house variation with an exceptionally high body count, Alien: Romulus tends to be a lot of suitably nasty fun.

For all the slit throats, close calls, electric shocks, and broken bones, Duchess fires too many blanks to be of any consequence.

It’s not often a motion picture makes me physically ill.