Rob Staeger

The feudal revenge drama sacrifices thrills in favor of moral reflection in the unspoiled French countryside, keeping most of its violence at arm's length.

Bogliano is not a subtle director — check his sudden zooms on items of portent — but he painstakingly shows us Caro opening her mind to the possibility of supernatural evil, and he's careful not to tip his hand too soon as to whether it's real or imagined.

The film itself works best once most of the soldiers have been dispatched—too often in the first half, the constant running and discharging of firearms proves too similar to watching a first-person-shooter video game.

The anthology is a mixed stocking; if you reach inside, something's likely to grab you.

There's no payoff to the paranoia.

Much of Carnage Park is merely a sun-bleached desert creepshow, a murky soup of a murderer toying with his victims simply because he's cra-a-azy.

Naturally, not everything is what it seems; there are a couple of necessary untruths even in this plot synopsis. But the part where it seems like some excellent actors have been roped into propping up a hopelessly by-the-numbers horror movie? That’s totally on the level.

The film suffers from a series of unsatisfying endings, but it's nonetheless refreshing to see a zombie movie with brains behind the camera instead of on the menu.

Not much substance is buried beneath the irritating style.

The cast, led by Dan Ewing, Temuera Morrison, and Stephany Jacobsen, delivers sturdy character work, and the action is clear and well-executed, but none of it ventures beyond well-trod ground.

Director Jordan Rubin and the cast know the material is ridiculous, but calibrate the tone so that the dangers still feel dangerous.

Green seems to be asking: In the face of beasts whose scale and life cycles we can't begin to grasp, how can we allow our fellow human beings to be so unknowable?

Not every gamble works: The girls' intrusive Bejeweled-like social-media game annoys at every turn, and the plot itself is murky. But #Horror mesmerizes nonetheless, filled with tension, cruelty, and can't-look-away style.

This sequel comes off as both sillier and crueler than the original, mixing sight gags and labored puns with a vicious assault on a sex-ed teacher, and, well, "duck rape."

Catch Hell suffers from both a drowsy start and a dragging ending.

Writer-directors Micah Wright and Jay Lender are kids'-cartoon vets and show a facility for comedy on a more human level here — as does the nimble cast, which ably handles the tonal shift from travel nightmare to actual nightmare.

At no point does this film strive to be more than a second-rate version of what it is: a halfhearted attempt to make some scratch while pretending the devil exists. Some trick.

If you're in the bag for werewolves (or have a thing for hairy dudes smoking distinctive pipes), Wolves is a beckoning howl in the night. As an action movie, however, it's surprisingly tame.

The climactic interrogation wraps up neatly and just in time, much more like a story "based on actual events" than the events themselves.

The film is most successful when humanizing the people behind the objectification, with lives beyond the smut.

After a promising start, rote possession imagery eventually becomes the focus, culminating in a by-the-numbers ending.

Kevin and Michael Goetz's direction emphasizes the remoteness of the setting. The howl of the desert wind and the unflagging hammer of the sun are the backdrop for every bad decision, lending them a plausibility they wouldn't have in comfort.

The plot develops confidently (if unsurprisingly), abetted by coincidence and shoddy police work, but it's the tone that grates.

Eventually succumbs to the weight of plot contrivance.

The film's clumsy script elicits groans, but it's the plot that infuriates.

Vincent Guastini's makeup effects are the star here, a refreshing change from the inky CGI morphing of too much modern horror.

This watered-down throwback to The Wicker Man never really heats up.

Thanks to the shakiest of shaky-cams, you don't know whether to wince or lose your lunch.