You want Lynchian resonance in the talking-dog adaptation of a beloved children’s book? Have we got a movie for you.

Conor McMahon delivers tense monster thrills that escalate till the end credits, a precise construction that doesn’t continue a second more than necessary.

Xtro is no masterpiece, but nor is it disappointing. There are inconsistencies, absurdities and plot holes, but thankfully it doesn’t give the viewer too much time to brood over them — a rarity for a movie of its genre and vintage.

Both of the Matrix and Saw franchises can trace their lineage to Cube, 1997's scrappy and surprisingly effective underdog.

Wraps itself in the trappings of grief, addiction and trauma, and yet has very little interest in realistically exploring any of these heavy themes.

If you thought Elvis Presley made bad movies, wait till you see what they gave his contemporary, Frankie Avalon.

Lucifer is less a fully satisfying experience than a spotty showcase for its star, who carries enough of the load to make it worthwhile.

Have you ever tried to do a Paul McCartney impersonation? If you have, it’s probably better than the feature-length attempt in this embarrassing fan fiction.

Death House looks like a stupid, fun throwaway picture, but in execution, tries far too hard to be scintillating in a way no one who presses play on a movie called Death House would ever desire.

So what are we left with when the eponymous monster only occupies about 3% of the movie's visual stocking stuffers? Cinematic coal, essentially.