
Cheap Thrills review: in debasement
The movie equivalent of a mean girls’ game whose only goal is humiliation. Also: a failed parable of the twistedness of the 1 percent.

The movie equivalent of a mean girls’ game whose only goal is humiliation. Also: a failed parable of the twistedness of the 1 percent.

Nothing here is terribly haunting, but at least someone is trying to make something like a horror movie these days that isn’t about gore and torture.

Finds absolutely nothing new in the supposedly spooky found-footage subgenre, unless all the typical haunted-house frights occurring in a church counts.

It feels smaller and more rushed — and less plausible — than it should, but Anton Yelchin is charming, and the snappy comic tone sometimes works.

A blend of documentary and memoir that’s like a dream and a nightmare, though it’s more commendable than actually engaging.

Cuttingly sharp and incisive SF horror; a chillingly polite film about the fascism that rises quickly up in a moment of fearful crisis.

No black humor. No satire. No point. But hey, check out the 1987 catchphrases dropped in at random!

It’s alive! In a technical sense: images flicker on the screen, etc. But it is a soulless, unholy monstrosity. Behold: the movie without a protagonist!

This bunch of found footage should have stayed lost.

It’s the rise of the machines as romantic dramedy, and the Singularity as romantic tragedy. It’s the nicest, gentlest sci-fi horror film ever.