It's been a few days since I saw it, and I still can't decide whether I consider the brutal, sometimes brutally funny Blumhouse thriller The Hunt a strangely great terrible movie or a strangely terrible great movie. Either way, I generally had a ball.

You may not know precisely where the woman's tormentor is at any given time, but damned if you're not convinced that you can see him anyway, and in a movie suffused with genre pleasures, Leigh Whannell's and Elisabeth Moss' combined ability to make invisible terrors visible has to stand as its biggest one.

Friday, February 14, 10:30 a.m.-ish: As I deeply love movies, and have been known to occasionally fall in love with movies, it feels appropriate that I'd spend a large chunk of this year's Valentine's Day at my first quadruple feature in 10 months. Yet while previous four-fers have started better, I'm not sure any of them have started weirder than this one, given that it begins with a reboot of television's Fantasy Island, that deliciously cheesy Aaron Spelling soap that demanded “Smiles, everyone, smiles!” from the start and almost couldn't help but deliver them.

It's estimated that the Brothers Grimm composed roughly 200 fairy tales and folk stories between 1812 and 1857. And I know it would be asking a lot, but based on their delectably macabre new fright film, I'd be happy to start a petition demanding that Gretel & Hansel director Oz Perkins and screenwriter Rob Hayes be given a crack at each and every one of them.