The most terrifying thing about NYC apartments is how much people charge for it. AND how much people are willing to pay for them.
But if that wasn't enough, there's also the "apartment horror" subgenre. There was Rosemary's Baby is the '60s, Troll in the '80s, Candyman in the 90's, Dark Water in the 2000s, Apartment 7A that's just come out. Here's a good list for more options The 20 Best Horror Movies Set In Apartments, Ranked By Fans

And the '70s had The Sentinel. A rather perverse grotesque but with some surprisingly effective elements.
To be fair, I don't watch a lot of old movies, so I can't go on about how this compares to the rest of the cinema from that time, but the fact that it is watchable from a modern perspective, over four-and-a-half decades later says something for it.
Based on the Jeffrey Konvitz novel of the same title and co-adapted to screen by him, The Sentinel is a story of a psychologically fragile model Alison who rents a surprisingly affordable ($400 in 1976 or 77) apartment in a stunning Brooklyn building with perhaps a few unseen quirks.
At first, the only other person in the building she sees is a blind priest sitting up by the window of the fifth-floor apartment. But soon she's meeting the rest of the neighbors, including the (in front of her) masturbating, groping lesbians and a small man without any personal boundaries who throws birthday parties for his cats.
Alison's glamorous realtor (Ava Gardner in her 50s), tries to convince her everything's fine, but her boyfriend (mustached Chris Sarandon) is very understanding and supporting.
By the time Alison realizes that something sinister is definitely going on, it is, of course, a bit too late. Still, they throw in one epic final confrontation - quite literally the battle between good and evil and a viscerally disturbing one at that, despite some laughably cheap effects (YES, you can see the string!) - before the strikingly somber and heavy ending.

Fun bonuses: appearances by very young Jeff Goldblum, Christopher Walken, Beverly D'Angelo (her debut). 
The director later said that movie should have bene made with Walken and D'Angelo in the leads. While the actual lead, Chris Sarandon (yes, Susan's one-upon-a-time spouse and a source of her surname) expressed profound regrets about doing the movie.

Konvitz, who has also done a bit of movie writing and a bunch of movie producing, isn't by any means a prolific author. He did write the sequel to The Sentinel a few years later, which sold well as a book but was never adapted for screen.
Perhaps the mix of religion and sex didn't sit well with the cinematic audiences?

Either way, the movie holds a certain entertainment value - not to mention a certain dated kitsch value - and may be worth checking out for genre fans.

The movie industry is rife with nepotism. It isn't new, it isn't changing. frankly, some of those nepobabies are rather talented and make their way to solid careers largely on merit. And some need more push than others.
And then there's M. Night Shyamalan and his daughters. Now that's a proud papa who'll do anything to advance his babygirls' careers, merit be damned.
Will he produce a total dud so that his youngest can have a directorial debut? You bet he will. And you can read my review of The Watchers on this blog. It isn't complimentary, and most critics agree with the gist of it.
Will he also write and direct what is essentially a movie-length music video for his oldest, Saleka? You bet he will. And then people will go watch it, because his name is still a draw based on dated successes, despite the strong of recent disappointments.
The trick with Shyamalan is that he sees (brain)dead people who select their entertainment by name recognition and easy appeal. And he's been working it for quite some time now.
The movies he puts out are rather trite, but he works the formula and throws in those gothca endings and just keeps going.
With The Trap, he tries something different - a serial killer thriller. Pitching it as "Lecter at a Swift concert" is hugely ambitious and wildly inaccurate. it is highly unlikely that Saleka (although a good singer and performer) will ever get to Swift-level fame. And it is beginning to look highly unlikely that her daddy can ever write a character as fascinatingly complex and Lecter.
What he does write is Cooper Abbott, a strikingly handsome, super awesome daddy-o (wishful thinking/projection much?) who loves his baby girl enough to take her to a tedious mega pop concert. And then he finds out that the police are there, closing the ranks and exits, hunting down a famous serial killer named "The Butcher." The twist is that Cooper is "The Butcher." And this twist would have worked much better if it wasn't advertised everywhere as part of the movie description.
But since no one has thought of that, you basically get a movie where Cooper spends the entire time figuring out how to not get caught. While also being the best dad possible.
It's entertaining up to a point thanks to a committed performance from the lead star.
The thing is, Shyamalan can't leave it at that. Because this is all about Saleka. So he writes her into the plot beyond the singing and dancing on stage that she does credibly and makes her act, which she does so very badly. There's one scene where she tries using a sort of psychological entrapment that's just laugh-out-loud terrible. Guess Shyamalan has his daddy blinkers on. And so, he goes on, ruining his own movie to create a big screen ad for his daughter.
And he does so right up until the shamelessly-begging-for-a-sequel ending.
So there you have it. Watchable, mildly entertaining for the undemanding contingent, but overall, kind of an embarrasing really.

Now, this is how you do an action movie!
I'll be honest, action is far from my favorite genre, though it seems to be ever so popular. Between the dumb (and tragically unfunny) action comedies and soulless shoot-em-ups and the ever churning, digitalized nonsense of the Marvel Universe, there's nothing that genre offers outside of mindless noise.
Dev Patel's Monkey Man is a game changer. A passion project through and through, it took years to make and get on screen. Netflix, with its desperate needs to appease everyone even at the risk of losing quality material, bulked on it. Eventually, the movie was picked up by Jordan Peele's company and finally distributed properly. As it should be. Because it is MOST impressive.
Patel in a feat of true creativity and a striking display of how far one's passion can take them, set out to do a different action movie, one with a soul and commentary and context, and he succeeded beautifully.
Not just the lead star, but he is also the writer, producer, and director here; this movie is truly his baby. An angry, edgy, stylish baby.
Monkey Man is a revenge story, set in the seedy underbelly of India and executed with brutal violence. Patel has always been a very good and versatile actor, ably going from light comedy to serious drama. As an action star, he is equally magnetic, as he transforms himself into the avenger of his mother's death.
It isn't just that the movie is deeper and more soulful than most of its kind, it's also a real standout in the genre because of its action scenes. They are choreographed, performed, and shot in such a completely fresh and original way. If you thought it's difficult to do anything new in action genre, check out what Patel can do. Visually, this is a feat for the eyes. Provided they are attached to a body with a strong stomach, that is.
It goes to show you that one talent and passion can win over experience. Monkey Man is a most impressive accomplishment. Dev Patel must be very proud of himself and deservedly so. Watch this movie!

Going by this dud, one can speculate that perhaps an apple named Jordan rolled very far indeed from the Papa Ridley Scott tree.  Ridley is, of course, responsible for some of the biggest movies of the last decades. Jordan has written (from someone else's book) and directed this sacrifice to patience.
The movie adapts an acclaimed novel, Tokyo, and inexplicably moves it to Berlin (where the movie was released under a Berlin Nobody). So there is a plot, but it makes less and less logical sense as the movie progresses, and even a thoroughly decent international cast can't save it.
Very frustrating, because I'm quite partial to cult stories. But this one features the kind of suicide cult led by a visibly unhinged psychopath that is difficult to find appealing even by the most lenient brainwashing standards. Yet, apparently it is absolutely irresistible to people of all ages, so much so that their seduction-based recruitment is barebones at best.
What follows is a lukewarm thriller that seems to be aware it struggles to make sense and bows out as soon as it can at 90 minutes. Skip.

First off, I'm a huge fan of Dinklage and will pretty much watch whatever he's in. I just wish he was in better things.
Brothers is supposed to be what ... a modern-day Twins? The main joke here seems to be the considerable size disparity between Dinklage and his twin, played by the chunked-up Josh Brolin. They are both low-end criminals, only Dinklage gets caught and looked up, while Brolin gets away and somehow married to a 20-some year younger woman, with a house and a baby on the way, despite his age, shape, and a job at a fast-food restaurant.
The moment Dinklage gets out, he manipulates his brother into doing one last job, that may have something with their mother, also a criminal, who abandoned them years ago.
There's also the fact that a very large cop played by the still Whale-sized Frazer is on his tail. 
The thing is that despite the very talented, Oscar-caliber cast (including a hilarious Marisa Tomei and an unrecognizable Glenn Close), the movie falls as flat as a pancake at nearly each and every turn. Even Dinklage's inherent kinetic charisma can't lift it and give it dimensions. Even a horny orangutang can't save it ... although to be fair, he comes close! 
Maybe that's what happens when a movie relies so heavily on something as low-rent as size difference optics. Maybe the writers just didn't try. But the overall result is a movie as bland and unimaginative as its name and a near-total waste of its considerable potential.
It's smart enough to keep it short at just 90 minutes, but doesn't offer you much for your time.

The Watchers by A.M. Shine (a curiously made-up sounding name) didn't shine for me at all. The morning sunshine of the author had managed to take an interesting story in a creepy setting and overwrite it into something dense, slow, and tedious.
But apparently the movie industry thought differently, hence The Watchers on my TV screen and, consequently, this review.
Directed by Ishana Night Shyamalan, this is only the latest example of the rampant nepotism in the industry. Would someone in their early 20s make a big-screen movie with proper cast and budget without being buoyed by daddy's name and money? What do you think?
I'm not saying Ishana didn't inherit some of her daddy's cinematic skills, just that whatever she got currently did not manage to turn a dud of a book into a good movie. There's no elevation here, just a straight up adaptation, just as slow and drearily tedious as the book (albeit technically shorter, in movie minutes.)
It can't be saved by Celtic folklore or the eerie scenery or the always great Olwen Fouéré. And it can't be saved by Shyamalan's name and money either.
I'm sure it's just another lesson no one will learn. Quality doesn't seem to be a prerequisite anymore. But ironically enough, this movie offers next-to-nothign to attract watchers.

 
Just because the formula is trite and crap to begin with, one mustn't stop plying it. That must have been what Susannah Grant thought when she wrote and directed this steaming pile of cinematic poo.
I watched it, so you don't have to, and here's more on why you should avoid it:
There is a thing happening in popular media right now where the focus is shifting to women (more prominent in books, but it's everywhere), and that's all kinds of good and great, but it also means a steady infusion of romantic garbage into the mainstream, and apparently one of their favorite tropes of late is a reverse May/December romance, meaning older women with younger men
This has JUST been done with Nicole and /Zac in Family Affair & Anne and Nicholas in The Idea of You. (You can find both movies reviewed on this blog.)
The Idea of You is the best of three, but that isn't saying much.
Grant has worked steadily in TV and movies for decades, putting out a fair share of cliches and her main attraction, Erin Brockovich. She knows a thing or two about writing women for women. And apparently she thought it a good idea to take a preexisting trend and do worse. Because, let's face, people will still watch it. It has that easy appeal of known, photogenic actors and an exotic, photogenic locales.
Just to demonstrate how incredibly easy this is, here's how this particular trope works:
1. An artsy older woman in a creative industry (be it a writer or an art gallery owner) meets a MUCH younger man who isn't what you'd call an intellectual (a pop singer or an actor or a finance bro).
2. Sparks do what sparks do, and the affair tentatively begins.
3. The affair heats up, causing some friction in the older woman's life (in the previous movies it was with their kids, and in this one it's just a freakout over work).
4. The woman ends the affair.
5. The woman and the man find their way back to each other and reunite, because their connection is (despite all odds and reason) real AND because apparently older women everywhere are fantasying about young pieces of ass (presumably firm and taut.)
Ta-da! The end. Grant follows this script to a tee. It is notable that here the age difference between the leads is the most dramatic, 23 years. It looks it, and would never likely work in real life, but there it is. There's nothing much even connecting her two leads, but some physical attraction. The movie is stupid like that.
Even the trope conflict that tears them apart is stupid: just as a white woman from a first-world country starts her cliched dreaming about a quiet life in a scenic third world country, she gets her bag stolen and promptly freaks out and flees.
And you'd think she'd dream smarter, but why would she? She is, after all, banging her fantasy man.
Anyway, this crap goes on for just over 90 minutes, then ends, leaving nothing behind for the time it wasted. Not even the inherent charisma of its leads can save it.
Now somebody please come up with a less embarrassing and obvious fantasy. Please.

If living in some backwater Texas wasn't terrifying enough, why not throw in a crazy time-travelling lake?
Caddo Lake is produced by M. Night Shyamalan and watches very much like it. The movie twists and turns on itself, while stylistically opting for gritty realism over M. Night's slickness.
You have a grieving young man played by Dylan O'Brien (last seen by this reviewer in the rather amusing Love and Monsters, but here scruffed up to play his age) and a rebellious teen, played by a 20-some-year-old Australian actress Eliza Scanlen, to remind you of how things are typically cast. 
To talk about the plot would be to give too much away. Suffice it to say, it has more twists and turns than the waterway maze that characters in the movie navigate, and it does keep you guessing and figuring things out the entire time.
There are a very hokey elements, including the bow-tied ending of accepting and hugging out things that should have been way more shocking for that, but overall, it's a rather solid indie in that it is well acted, nicely paced, and doesn't insult the audience's intelligence. A lot of your enjoyment of it will depend on how much you enjoy time-travelling stories. But if you're all about zooming back to the future (and past and there and back again), this one might just do the trick.

And to think Britney Spears used to think about toxic men like it's a good thing. But then, that song is old enough to buy its own drinks now.

So then ... recently widowed woman rents a very large place in a quaint village to metaphorically lick her wounds and gets repeatedly disturbed by the men in the village.
The premise is simple enough, and with another writer/director, it could have stayed simple. But Alex Garland is much too clever for that. And thus, he crafts a proper nightmare for the modern age.
It isn't perfect, and it's particularly indulgent toward the end in one particularly grotesque scene that repeats over and over and over again, eliminating any chance of subtlety with the movie's message.
But overall, it's pretty good and well worth a watch.
If it any point, it leaves you a bit puzzled as to what's going on, all you need to remember are two words: toxic masculinity.
Garland crams the movie with one example after another of it, every ugly, all-too-recognizable stereotype, all played brilliantly by the same actor. Rory Kinnear bares it all here, quite literally, and steals the show. Jessie Buckley is as good as ever, but she simply doesn't have as plum of a role.
It isn't the sort of thing to take box offices by storm (it's simply too smart and challenging for that), but it's a real treat for cinema and especially genre cinema connoisseurs.
The movie is creepy, unsettling, visually striking, and uses the local mythos very well. If Garland had only been reined in from self-sabotaging the ending, this one would really wow.

When bad is in the name, one must adjust expectations accordingly. Still the Bad Boys franchise has always had a comfortable ride based on Will Smith's undeniable charisma and star power ... or, if you're weird like that, based on Martin Lawrence's annoying obnoxious persona.
Well, now that ride has come to die. Again people, it's in the title.
Mind you, yes, this movie, like its predecessors, is a big budget blockbuster, it's meant to be bombastic, not a thought-provoking masterpiece or a subtle meditation on the world and the intricate aspects of psychology. But does it have to be this dumb?
I can't think of a single thing this mindless, thinly plotted, flatly written, and lamentably unfunny shoot-em-up fest offers for the nearly 120 minutes of viewer's time.
Will Smith still looks great and proves it by marrying a wildly age-inappropriate knockout; while Martin Lawrence, who never really looked great, has pushed that envelope by getting fatter.
There's something like a story, but most of the onscreen time is spent watching people shoot each other. You're not even offered the courtesy of action movie staples like proper fight scenes and creatively shot car chases. (Unless I missed one, because I did doze off to it, more than once.)
Who is this meant for? If it's for Black audiences, then why does it punch down so insultingly hard with nearly every single sentence featuring bad grammar and double negatives? And how can two acclaimed comedic actors lay flat every single joke?
More importantly, were action movies always this dumb, and only now am I realizing it? Action is by no means my favorite genre, but I can appreciate the well-done ones like the Matrix or Jason Bourne or James Bond series.
But write a decent story, don't just rely on bullets and cheap one-liners and plying nostalgia of a well-established franchise. 
I don't even want to think about what it means for the general population's tastes and intelligence levels that this movie made so much money or that it got fairly good reviews and ratings across the board. 
It's kind of like Mike telling Marcus, "Your ass is out." And it is. And no one needs to see that.