Stick around through the credits for an extra closing scene that leaves the door of Heather's new home wide open for a sequel.

There is no character development or psychology manifested in any aspect of The Strangers.

This is a strange movie (it feels like a lost episode of the old Leonard Nimoy chestnut In Search of …) about strange people doing strange things.

It seems to me that since "Koyaanisqatsi" in 1982, for which Fricke served as the director of photography, every other film of this sort has been repetition.

Sandler has become one of our primary symbols of the modern rage-repressed American male. Let’s hope that one day he will learn to channel that rage to greater effect.

It's easy to see this coming out in 1998 with Ashley Judd as Rebecca, and Carey Elwes under Victor's tattooed skin. However, this midbudget drama doesn't have quite that star power, and it definitely lacks the visual flair of that era's overdriven and weird procedurals.

If you like the character – his tooty yellow Mini, his busily working beetlebrows, his tendency to point and grunt and eat shellfish whole – then you will be rewarded with 90 minutes of such.

Daddy’s Home is one of those comedies that is not terribly good, but not nearly as terrible as it might have been.

Henson aside, the most memorable performance comes from musician Erykah Badu in the smallish role of a trippy, weed-dealing psychic seemingly from another planet.

Will likely warm the cockles of your heart, even though it's hardly the stuff of great romance.

It's hard, as a viewer, not to shudder in tandem with Lisa – this isn't a love match, it's two would-be motivational coaches swapping slogans.

It’s clear this director sees carnage as nothing more than an opportunity for music-video production values.

Aside from the ridiculous dialogue, of which there is much, and truly crappy CGI gore, of which there is even more, Survival of the Dead feels like the single weakest link in what is otherwise the strongest, smartest, and most transgressively revolutionary horror series in cinema history.

Times sure have changed since the old Shaft made women swoon by simply treating them like sh*t. As for the new Shaft, is he still a bad mutha? Shut your mouth.

All things considered, Sgt. Bilko is little more than a lengthy episode of the original show. Only less creepy.

The resulting sequences might as well be lifted directly from Godfrey Reggio’s Qatsi trilogy; watching these pockets of pure cinema emerge from a "crowd-pleasing" story of a boy and his dog may just be one of the oddest experiences you have at the movies this summer.

I like my shockers to be anything but predictable, and Saw is the very definition of predictability and, ultimately, tedium. That horse corpse has been flogged and flayed enough, already.

Much like the behavior of Sheriff Ambrose as he investigates the murders occurring around him, the story is best served as something to be glanced at rather than examined too closely. If you stare too long at fool’s gold, it loses its fleeting appeal.

A crowd-pleaser for the under-10 set judging from the preview audience’s reaction, Dunston Checks In offers a few funny scenes, one-liners, and characters, but not enough to inspire the entire film.

Most of all, I’m really struggling with why this movie was even made. Yes, it’s based on a true story, but is it one that needed telling on screen?

Fascinating, no? Of course, that's just one (obvious) reading of Fast Five. You could also say it's a kickass demolition derby – pure dumb summer fun – and often easy on the (hetero) eyes thanks to the inclusion of Brewster and Mendes.

What Carlei captures perfectly, and what gives Fluke its affecting moments, is a sense of uncanny canniness that the “lower” animal world so often displays. That and a neat little plot twist (not to mention a touching rescue scene involving a chimpanzee and a terrier) make Fluke an interesting, offbeat family movie.

Attack of the Clones' final 35 minutes very nearly makes up for the preceding 105, featuring as it does the jaw-dropping spectacle of the entire Jedi Council battling it out with not only clones, but also lumbering monsters, space ships of all sorts, and each other.

When you get to the end of The City of Your Final Destination, you may discover that there is no there there.

Enough already with the pointless gun battles that litter Safe like spent syringes in a shooting gallery. No matter how spastically you edit them, you'll never top John Woo's early work, or, for that matter, Sam Peckinpah's. Aim higher, even if it means fewer hits.

Most frustrating is that these clearly talented comedians and writers are stuck with lame gags.

As beautiful as Loving Vincent may appear, there is nothing behind the brushstrokes.

While its characters attempt to go deeper, As Above/So Below’s stabs at scares and sentiment only seem that much shallower.