Matt Donato

Clerks III delivers all the inappropriate cuss-cluttered humor and pot smoke that is Kevin Smith's trademark but evolves his sentimentality beyond bong-rip wisdom. The third Clerks installment is a moving ode to working-class nobodies that amplifies Smith's touchstone sincerity above Randal's not-so-passive aggression or Jay's lit-for-days attitude.

Goofball rockstars created a silly, schlocky haunted thriller with their friends, and that’s the vibe Studio 666 brings. If you’re a Foo Fighters admirer looking for a horror-comedy, you define the demographic.

The Hunt puts the "F-U" in midnight "fun" as no sides are safe in this middle-finger cultural roast that's as loudly defiant as it is proudly blood-soaked.

War On Everyone is a pitch-black, nihilistic riot, like a pissed-off teenager spinning atop a mountain with two outstretched middle fingers pointing in every direction.

Bornedal keeps his surprises out of sight and boredom out of mind, delivering shocking payoffs that supplement the dominant plotline about Martin’s everlasting demons.

The Boss Baby is a movie made for few audiences, inconceivably inept in its ability to blend adult references with children's immaturity.

Cobweb feels like an incomplete collection of horror ideas that aren't explored to their full potential, but it ultimately succeeds thanks to deranged performances by Lizzy Caplan and Antony Starr.

3 From Hell is an ugly example of too much wicked style over zero intended substance.

Peter Pan’s Neverland Nightmare is a bleak, mean-spirited take on a childhood classic that trades Peter’s sparkle-bright magic for overbearing seriousness and disappointingly straightforward thrills.

Black Christmas deserves to be a better slasher satire propelled by empowerment than the messy, tonally obstructed holiday dud we're gifted.

In essence, Bloody Birthday is the old horror film, The Bad Seed, multiplied by three on the crazy scale, but far less chilling.

Sing 2 is more of the same, which is dandy.

The craziness of David Leitch's train never goes off the rails nor reaches top speeds but still brings us along for a smooth and stable joyride that outshines its recent American action counterparts.

Y2K is a deadly unserious disaster comedy featuring fantastic cyber-monster effects and humor inspired by the time period.

It's a solid Friday night spookshow with solid bones and a divisive finisher — harmless horror entertainment that at least strives to be better than ordinary.

Though not a terrible film, Insidious: The Last Key fails to live up to the franchise's high standards.

The Loner is a hyper-surreal tale of neo-noir revenge, boasting Middle-Eastern influences that unlock new aspects of an age-old genre.

Despicable Me 3 hits a supervillain high with Balthazar Bratt, but also a franchise low as far as Gru and Dru's brotherly reunion is concerned.

Resident Evil: The Final Chapter proves that there's nothing left in the tank of this grossly nondescript zombie-shootin' franchise.

The Predator guts and slashes its way to gory sci-fi mediocrity, but is further failed by abysmal pacing that loses characters, subplots and interest along the way.

Phantasm: Ravager gets by on the power of nostalgia and franchise completion, but is a bit rough around the edges even when compared to other Phantasm films.

Rob Savage’s Dashcam is the equivalent of strapping a GoPro to a Republican edgelord’s dirty diaper and throwing it into a blender.

Yes it's "Alien but underwater," and that's a good thing given how a top-notch Kristen Stewart leads us on a terrifying dive into the deepest reaches of aquatic horror.

Ultimately, The Gallerist gets by on its zippy pacing, committed performances, and a tinge of meanness that holds enough suspense.

Your enjoyment of Child's Play will depend on if "Chucky 2.0" is funny enough for your horror comedy tastes, because without investment in Kaslan's "Buddi," there's not much to appreciate beyond a few gnarly slasher deaths.

The Thing with Feathers can be a rich and somewhat bizarre experience about processing trauma, accepting death, and moving on.

Chupa is a rascally, if not the boldest or most artfully composed, coming-of-age fable that proudly represents Mexican culture.

It might be a tad light when matched against the wittiest mysteries, but for all intents and purposes, The Girl On The Train is a tightly-wound Hitchcockian ride wrought with tension. Elements of voyeurism, self-loathing and murderous intent mix together in a volatile cocktail stirred gently by director Tate Taylor, who doesn’t dilute a single ingredient.