James McTeigue’s Breaking In is the sort of incompetently constructed thriller that gives B movies a bad name.
Few horror films are as insistent about the trauma mental illness inflicts on families as Lights Out.
The film is going to net a lot of undue, hyperbolic ink, simply because it’s the first Twilight installment that’s compulsively watchable.
Breaking Dawn offers precious few returns, and it continually punishes all who curb their cynicism for even a split second.
Red Riding Hood is sort of like a hook-up that you remember more or less fondly but still would never tell your friends about.
Drive Angry is Patrick Lussier’s latest unambitious but satisfying sleazefest.
Atrocious, yes, but you can’t say the pandering New Moon doesn’t understand the hormonal impulses of its target audience.
Parents: If I can (poorly) discipline a 16-year-old cat to not howl before sunrise, you can teach your kids to not emulate Bella Swan.
No measure of ostensible abstinence can alter the fact that Twilight ultimately hinges on a hilariously skeevy implicit suggestion.
The villain may be Untraceable, but it’s easy to pin down the influences of Gregory Hoblit’s serial killer snoozer.
Moviegoers beware: nausea is a prime side effect of consuming Feast of Love.
How does a talented, critically celebrated actor follow-up an Oscar nomination for a low-budget indie?
It’s a darn shame this DVD didn’t come with a copy of Enya’s Memory of the Trees and a box of Lucky Charms.
Unintentionally amusing, the spit-and-polished Ladder 49 likens a firehouse to a Barbie Dream House and likens heroes to saints.