Beetlejuice Beetlejuice gets so much right it’s easy to gloss over the majority of its more obvious missteps.

Was Abraham Lincoln Gay? I have no idea. But Lover of Men does a fine job of pondering this question as best it can.

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.