Kyle Anderson

Only Radcliffe escapes unscathed, lending Igor a convincing psychology despite the ham-fistedness of the material. But he’s not enough of a reason to resurrect this story again.

In this post-"Mad Max: Fury Road" action movie age, “occasionally bonkers” just doesn’t cut it anymore.

Sinister 2 doesn’t know what it wants to be, and doesn’t add up to much.

This is another found-footage movie that, with a little art direction and some actual cinematography, could easily have been a decent little terrorizer. Instead, it comes mostly unglued thanks to its hacky gimmick.

Self/less’ greatest crime is that it’s not enough of anything: Not brainy enough to party with the theories about consciousness that Ex-Machina delivered earlier this year, nor is it over-the-top enough to compete with the campy goofballery of something like Limitless.

There’s some chuckleworthy meta-commentary about the absurdity of sports movies, but Balls Out feels more like a long sketch than a feature.

Insidious Chapter 3 is the worst kind of sequel: Not terrible, but also cartoonishly unnecessary.

When we’re first introduced, he’s an overwhelmed infant, and by the time the credits roll, he’s John McClane. Is that an accurate representation of how artificial intelligence can evolve? Absolutely. Does it make for compelling drama? Not particularly.

(Bridges) has a tendency to make mistakes, especially when it comes to science fiction and fantasy titles. He has followed up the minor disasters that were "R.I.P.D." and "The Giver" with Seventh Son.

Predestination's pace is too slack, and the brothers are so painfully tentative as storytellers that the easily guessed big twist gets three separate reveals.

Any tension created during its key moments completely evaporates once the lights come back on. The Woman may be back for another fright, but Angel of Death doesn't haunt like it should.

Director Joe Angio presents the group's music with the contagious enthusiasm of a diehard, but exuberance is no substitute for storytelling, and Revenge of the Mekons is in desperate need of a narrative path.

Within the pungent field of other wide-release scare jobs and films derived from cardboard-based time-killers for kids, Ouija stacks up relatively well, thanks to its look and a confident performance by Cooke.

It works neither as a sweeping historical epic nor as an action-horror hybrid.

Like other movies of its ilk, it's missing a very simple bit of next-level Hollywood technology: a tripod.

Turtles is head-and-shell better than "Transformers." Cowabunga?