February is the new May. Global warming and all that…

A wistful ending for a wistful show. And I'm glad I made its acquaintance. So long!

It's OK. I never read the comics. But it's taking it's sweet time laying out a conflict to invest in.

As an non-meat eater, Quincannon's choice of work office ambience is as character definingly squiky as it can come.

Yes…yes…yesssssssssss! — Marilyn Chambers (1952-2009)

My, what big areolas you have.

I'd actually prefer if the series only relied on diegetic music and sfx and dumped the self-conscious sound design.

Metastasize starts with too much meta.

Ask me again in 15 minutes.

One of the many things I'll never regret having not watched.

And you would be greatly mistaken.

My hackles were already up by the timeworn mama's boy falls into succubus den routine, so I suppose it shouldn't have come as any surprise that the character would continue to serve the requirements of the plot, tripping over one contrivance after another.

Indeed, it's quite the challenge to be sympathetic toward someone so studiously stupid.

This is sci-fi schlock I can live with.

To Margo Robbie's advantage, before this article I had no idea there was such a thing as a Margo Robbie Barbie Doll.

Give me some more sugar, baby.

Elliot Goldenthal, serviceable? Wash your mouth out!

Ha-ha! Could this franchise be any more fucking moribund? Way to go Paramount.

I would have liked to have gone with the Bride of Frankenmountain, myself.

Anyone walking into this expecting anything other than what you got should have their critics credentials revoked. I mean, if you want to shred a genuinely awful Emmerich film, take in Stonewall. Yeesh, what a stinker.