Together, Quinn and Lemire make a powerful battery with the right voltage to absorb, charge, and redirect Sagal’s effortless onscreen energy.

“The Found Footage Phenomenon” easily becomes well worth a horror fan’s time and attention, which is something that can’t commonly be said of the movies in that subgenre.

“Monstrous” feels like a movie-of-the-week initially intended for Lifetime, except they didn’t want it, so someone abandoned the feeble film on a DTV doorstep.

All they came up with is another plain piece of stale white bread dropped directly into a straight-to-streaming toaster and left to burn.

Don’t tax too much thought mulling over how one single scare could develop into a full-length story. “Selfie from Hell’s” script certainly didn’t.

At least I have the saving grace of sidestepping an awkward email to a publicist where I’d have to find an eloquent way to say, “Sorry, this movie sucks.”

I see this equation employed so often in horror that I’m surprised there isn’t a shorthand term to classify this specific subgenre by now.

The animated veneer takes the edge off the uncouth absurdity while simultaneously adding an edge of flippant fun.

I wish it were deeper, and darker, than it actually is. If “Umma” had more meat, I might have more to mull over.

Its tragically horrifying ending hammers home the notion that a cult’s ongoing influence may be even deadlier than any individual deeds perpetrated by its leader.

I consider “Virus: 32” to be a solid example of a three-star film, 3.5 for me personally, and that’s really all it needs to be.

Is Netflix’s main goal to just amass scores of homogenized filler films like they’re the Borg assimilating digital content?

“Wyrmwood: Apocalypse” runs on blood and bullets, fire and noise, and comic book carnage cranked up on an amplifier whose starting volume already operates at 11.

There’s nothing “wrong” with anything “The Cellar” does. It’s a matter of literally all of it having been done before, and done to death at that.

“Deadstream” becomes enormously entertaining as a funny, frightful, and devilishly delightful indie diamond, a rare find in a massive DTV mine mostly loaded with cheerless coal.

All I can really do is to write a basic review that boringly goes by the book without getting creative because “Barbarians” won’t allow anything more.

The tight push-pull between what “Night’s End” wants to do and what it can conceivably accomplish leaves it looking like an elongated episode of “Tales from the Darkside.”

There’s that pesky term again. I could have simply left it at “slow-burn Irish spooker” since that undoubtedly told you everything you needed to know.

Think of “Studio 666” as a silly, splattery satire of the Beatles documentary “Get Back,” except with satanic slaughter wreaking havoc on the band’s ridiculous recording sessions.

I take issue with the slew of fake IMDb user reviews that tout “6:45” as the best thing to happen to cinema since the Lumiere brothers created their camera.