When rating a film I ask myself these three questions: What is the director’s goal or purpose? How does the director try to achieve it? Is the director successful? Hence a big box office hit may get a “5” while a Eurosleaze sexploitation flick gets a “7”. My rating system in a nutshell:
10 = Brilliant!
9 = Exceptional
8 = Very Good
7 = Good
6 = Average
5 = Forgettable
4 = Bad
3 = Dismal
2 = Dog Barf
1 = Beyond Awful
~ ~ ~ ~
The Woman in White (USA 1948) (7): In 1850s England a dashing young professor (a dashing Gig Young) takes up residence at a country estate in order to give art lessons to the mansion’s alluring heiress (Eleanor Parker). But the big old manor house is home to all sorts of terrible secrets as well as a host of unsavoury residents including the family’s gratingly neurotic patriarch (John Abbot hogging the spotlight) and a sinister Count (a despicable Sydney Greenstreet) who exerts a tight psychological grip on the entire household, especially his dour browbeaten wife (Agnes Moorehead). Meanwhile, the nearby woods are haunted by a disturbed young woman dressed all in white (Parker in a dual role) who seems to have a warning for the lady of the house—a woman with whom she shares a striking resemblance. Hoo boy! With its gothic sets and knuckle-biting performances, Warner Brothers pulled out all the stops for this overcooked Victorian melodrama and the result, while terribly dated, is definitely fun to watch. Just who is the Woman in White? What terrible news is she carrying? And why is the evil Count so obsessed with finding her? Before those questions are answered storms will rage and candles will flicker, hidden passages will be revealed and the plot will thicken until it all comes to a shuddering revelation! John Emery co-stars as Parker’s slimy fiancé, a man whose attentions stem from something other than love, and Alexis Smith plays her protective cousin and romantic rival once the handsome professor arrives. Also notable is Curt Bois who, as beleaguered manservant to Abbot’s whiny hypochondriac, nails his role with little more than a series of hangdog expressions.
The Pass (UK 2016) (6): True to its original stage production, director Ben A. Williams’ two-handed drama plays out in three acts over the course of a decade. While on an away game in Romania, football league hopefuls Jason (a half naked Russell Tovey) and teammate Ade (a half naked Arinzé Kene) are sharing a hotel room when the usual male drinking and bullshitting turns into something far more intimate. Ten years later Jason is living the high life as a soccer legend while Ade has fallen into obscurity—something he blames, at least in part, to a grandstanding incident by Jason. But when the two of them reunite in a posh London hotel room long held resentments will finally be aired and the past will be confronted leaving us to wonder which man is truly the “successful” one. For all his bluster Jason remains solidly in denial, terrified of alienating his fan base and corporate sponsors even after a sham marriage meant to quash rumours about his sexuality ends predictably. Ade, on the other hand, has found love and grown comfortable with his life albeit with some bitter regrets… There is definitely an erotic chemistry between the two actors and a biting script strives to cover all bases from overbearing fathers and internalized homophobia to identity and the dogged pursuit of celebrity, the more heated passages making up for the film’s generic Holiday Inn sets. But I can’t help feeling that there’s a false dichotomy being presented here: the self-destructive closeted gay man vs the self-affirming openly gay man. This isn’t the 1950s and watching Jason rage against himself—numbed by the usual doses of drugs, alcohol, and chest-beating machismo—comes across as trite and overworked. Brokeback Mountain may have fallen into the same pothole, but at least writer Annie Proulx set it in the proper time period.
Sisu (Finland/US/UK 2022) (9): In 1940s Lapland a grizzled old prospector digs up a fortune in gold, a discovery which puts him directly in the crosshairs of a roving band of Nazis and their ruthless commanding officer. But when the German officer decides to take the gold for himself, he and his men discover the old man is a far deadlier opponent than they could ever have imagined. Writer/director Jalmari Helander’s ridiculously entertaining bloodbath is a riot of exploding bodies and steaming carnage made all the more enjoyable by a grisly sense of humour which will have you cheering his scar-faced protagonist as he cuts a swath of crushed skulls and dripping guts. Leads Jorma Tommila and Aksel Hennie are pitch perfect in their roles, the former giving us a hybrid of stubborn old man and enraged demon, the latter a crusty-faced Nazi with a soul of pure evil. It’s a dark comic book fantasy full of bones, gristle, and escapes so impossible that even James Bond would have rolled his eyes—a CGI-enhanced airplane sequence complete with Dr. Strangelove reference had me laughing out loud while an underwater “breathing exercise” elicited a gag reflex. And yes, there’s a SEQUEL!!
All the Brothers Were Valiant (USA 1953) (5): It’s 1847 and ship’s captain Joel Shore (Robert Taylor) has taken his new wife Priscilla (Ann Blyth) on a whaling expedition in the south seas where he happens upon his long lost brother Mark (Stewart Granger), the black sheep of the Shore clan believed to have died on an earlier expedition. It doesn’t take long however for the happy reunion to turn sour when the two brothers—the saintly Joel and devilish Mark—begin fighting over Priscilla while Mark urges the crew towards mutiny with his tale of a hidden fortune in pearls just waiting to be picked up… Garnering an Oscar nomination for its high seas cinematography captured in eye-scorching Technicolor, this swashbuckling melodrama is a visually impressive mix of soundstage constructs and location shots which used Jamaica as a stand-in for the South Pacific. But the drama is heavy-handed with Taylor’s monotone voice and perpetual frown, Granger’s lopsided smirk, and Blyth’s Vestal Virgin chewing her knuckles between costume changes (how many dresses does one need on a whaling vessel anyway?!). Then there’s the supporting cast of spear-chucking natives (with Betta St. John and her magical sarong playing an island vixen) and a crew of salty sea dogs who look like rejects from Mutiny on the Bounty. Sadly, when the big climax finally arrives it quickly devolves into a ridiculous melee of fisticuffs and stage blood which couldn’t have gotten any cornier had everyone started lobbing cream pies at one another. An entertaining slice of nostalgic silliness for those so inclined—the rest of us can just walk the plank.
The Long Day Closes (UK 1992) (9): Yet another fanciful stream of consciousness from writer/director Terence Davies as he once again conjures up memories from his childhood in 1950s Liverpool. Using snippets of magical realism attached to a diverse soundtrack ranging from classical compositions to operatic solos and pop tunes, we follow 11-year old “Bud” (Leigh McCormack) as he manoeuvres his way through the rigours of Catholic school, the confusion of impending adolescence, and the escapism he seeks at the local cinema. Much like his later Distant Voices, Still Lives (1998) and Of Time and the City (2008) Davies takes a slow, non-linear approach to his subject giving audiences a montage of impressions rather than a simple narrative and the result flashes across the screen in a series of nostalgic postcard moments: a dingy coal cellar morphs into a midnight movie screen, a theatre balcony suddenly looks down upon the real world, and a mother tenderly cradles her frightened son like a working class Pietà. A decidedly subjective evocation of the director’s youth, yet this arthouse experiment is still universal enough to trigger a few gold-tinged memories of our own. Hypnotic.
Rendezvous (USA 1935) (6): A very young Rosalind Russel is a poor substitute for Myrna Loy in this WWI spy thriller-cum-screwball comedy but seeing as Loy was holding out for more pay the studio didn't have much choice. She plays a pouty debutante smitten by the charms of former reporter turned military code breaker William Powell...and her childish attempts to monopolize his attention get them both in trouble with a nest of German spies operating out of New York (although "German" is never mentioned as MGM didn't want to offend a young Adolf Hitler). Powell is his usual suave self, Russel is annoying, and they're joined by a miscast Cesar Romero playing a Russian agent and Binnie Barnes giving a monotone performance as a femme fatale. The "cutting edge" (circa 1917) espionage technology is quaint but the laughs are weak.
The Scapegoat (UK 1959) (6): Although Daphne du Maurier’s exploration of duality and identity is watered down for the screen there is still enough here to give one pause, if only for a moment or two. John Barrett (Alec Guinness), an English professor grown weary of his empty life, is vacationing in France when he meets his body double in the form of Jacques du Gué (also Guinness), a rakish French aristocrat whose grown equally tired of his privileged life. Drugging the Englishman and stealing his identity, the Frenchman takes off leaving the professor to deal with a failing business, a failing marriage, and an estranged daughter. Of course no one believes John’s tall tale of switched identities so he resigns himself to try and make the best of it—starting with mending the many bridges, both domestic and professional, previously burned by his lookalike. But Jacques has another, more sinister reason for assuming the other man’s persona and when his motive is made clear a deadly confrontation is inevitable… Guinness’ pair of nuanced performances coupled with a bit of film wizardry provide the film’s Yin and Yang opposites—chaos vs order, egotism vs altruism, apathy vs empathy—but a lacklustre script fails to develop this theme past mere window dressing even as it demands we humour its tired old “Prince and The Pauper” trope with a huge suspension of disbelief. Furthermore, thematic elements of family dysfunction (Jacques really is a cad) and classism (the selfish aristocrat is replaced by an egalitarian everyman) pretty much simmer and die on the back burner leaving us with a quaint and very English quandary and a resolution that is not nearly as ambiguous as it would like to be. Bette Davis gives a lesson in overacting as Jacques’ scenery-chewing mother, Pamela Brown scowls as his overly suspicious sister-in-law, and Nicole Maurey provides a psychological lifeline as the mistress with a heart of gold.
Never Let Go (USA/Canada/France) (2024) (7): Deep in the woods a disturbed single mother (Halle Berry, commendable) is raising her two young sons in a ramshackle cabin with no electricity and very little food. Convinced that the world has been overtaken by malevolent spirits she strives to protect her kids through elaborate rituals which include periodically locking them in a tiny hidey-hole beneath the floorboards in order to cleanse them of the “darkness” and tying a rope around their waists to keep them connected to the house whenever they venture outdoors lest the evil take them. Is she crazy—a few offhand comments would certainly suggest so and how come she’s the only one who can see the monsters in the trees? Or is her paranoia truly based on firsthand experience? Director Alexandre Aja’s horror thriller eventually boils down to the two sons: skeptical Nolan who suspects mom has gone off the rails and naïve Samuel who hangs on her every word. Filmed in and around Hope BC the west coast rainforest has rarely looked so wicked with subterranean groans and writhing moss—but whether the boys have inherited a world of vile demons or just bad genes is a question Aja ultimately leaves dangling.
Criminal Lovers (France 1999) (6): After high school sociopath Alice gets taciturn classmate Luc to murder her ex-boyfriend the two take off in a stolen car, eventually getting lost in the middle of a deep dark forest. Taking refuge in an isolated cabin they settle in until the cabin’s owner—a gruff old hermit with a loaded shotgun and a roaring libido to match—comes home. Taking a salacious interest in Luc (and an open disdain for Alice) the older man initiates an erotic game of cat and mouse which sees the young woman become increasingly desperate as her physical charms fail to charm while the young man becomes increasingly…confused. Night of the Hunter meets Hansel and Gretel in Director François Ozon’s sexually-charged thriller which stretches the fairy tale trope about as far as it can go (a pastoral rutting surrounded by flora and fauna is almost too much). Of course his usual flair for sexual transgression and fluid identity takes centre stage—but in this particular gingerbread house the candy is sporting a beard and Hansel is having mixed feelings about being eaten.
Witnesses [Svjedoci] (Croatia 2003) (8): When a Serbian businessman living in a small Croatian village is killed and his nine-year old daughter goes missing the resulting police investigation reveals just how deep ethnic hatred runs, especially when members of the Croatian military are implicated in the crime. Set in 1992 during the Croatian war for independence, writer/director Vinko Bresan uses looping timelines and multiple points of view to give us a clear picture of just what happened before and after the murder—from the men who carried it out, the mother who condoned it, and the crippled veteran struggling to get past his own prejudices in order to do the right thing. It’s a bleak and muddy world Bresan presents, a world wherein blood begets blood and even a porcelain nativity set metes out death and vengeance. Compelling.
Submarine (UK 2010) (7): High school introvert Oliver finds himself torn in too many directions when he falls for his first crush at the same time his parents’ marriage experiences a bump in the form of a charismatic new neighbour who catches mom’s eye. Definitely offbeat, director/writer Richard Ayoade’s adaptation of Joe Dunthorne’s novel turns teenage angst into a flashy, episodic series of trysts and heartbreaks with plenty of fatalistic humour to fill in the cracks. Interesting use of colour—mom flits about in yellows while dad is confined to drab earth tones, Oliver decks himself out in sombre blues and the object of his passion is attired appropriately enough in fire engine red. True to the title, everyone in Ayoade’s drama is treading water in one form or another and to drive the point home there are plenty of nautical references—an aquarium bubbles in the dining room, a diving helmet adorns a side table, and a closing epiphany plays out along a Welsh beach. The presentation may be quirky but the underlying emotions are as poignant as a year book photo.
No More Ladies (USA 1935) (6): Socialite Joan Crawford falls for debonair playboy Robert Montgomery and despite his rakish ways ends up marrying him anyway. But once a cad always a cad and when he begins to stray from his matrimonial vows she finds an ingenious way to beat him at his own game. Not quite a screwball comedy but George Cukor's adaptation of A. E. Thomas' stage play does contain enough fizz and spicy innuendo to keep a smile on your face, even if Crawford is only able to deliver two expressions: pouty and beatific. Charles Ruggles plays for yucks as Montgomery's perpetually drunk cousin, Franchot Tone provides a stiff upper lip as a jilted ex, and Edna May Oliver steals all the best lines as Crawford's feisty grandmother. Gotta love those art deco touches too!
Watcher (Romania/UAE/USA 2022) (6): Director/co-writer Chloe Okuno cites Roman Polanski as one of her muses and in this slice of contemporary horror one can certainly feel his influence behind the cold austere urban settings, the breezy chic interiors, and the cast of not quite malicious enough extras. Failed American actress Julia (Maika Monroe) follows her Romanian-born husband Francis (Karl Glusman) from New York to Bucharest where he’s been put in charge of some lucrative marketing contracts. Left to herself all day and evening, Julia begins to notice a man’s face in the window across the street from their apartment—a man who appears to be watching her with great interest. Her initial unease swiftly gives way to fear however when she becomes convinced someone is following her. And then reports of a brutal serial killer operating in the neighbourhood start appearing on the news and fear quickly turns into outright terror… The “fish out of water” trope is used with good effect here, Julia’s unfamiliarity with both Romania and its language serving to underline her growing sense of isolation while Francis’ lack of support (could she just be imagining things?) threatens to push her completely over the edge. It all looks grand on the big screen and Okuno certainly knows how to compose a shot with an eye for symmetry and geometrical patterns: Julia is often shown boxed in by walls, windows, and in one near perfect shot a grand staircase; a stripper bar is a deconstructed maze of lucite cubicles; and a subway car suddenly feels like a mausoleum. But although she has the look down pat she fails to elicit much substance. Polanski was able to take the ordinary and turn it into something sinister whether it was Catherine Deneuve’s disconnect with reality in Repulsion or Mia Farrow’s panic-stricken flight in Rosemary’s Baby. In Watcher we get inspired visuals (that half seen face was truly chilling) which fail to make up for a mediocre script and a half-assed ending that looks like it was added at the last minute. Madalina Anea co-stars as a sexy plot device, Daniel Nuta plays a hunky red herring, and a cadaverous Burn Gorman turns up the creep factor as an unhelpful neighbour.
Beauty and the Dogs (Tunisia 2017) (8): After she is raped by a pair of on-duty police officers while leaving a party, college student Mariam (brilliant performance by Mariam Al Ferjani) finds her problems are only beginning. First the hospital ER refuses to treat her until she produces the necessary documentation. Then a roving journalist, sensing a headline, wants her story—until it proves to be too inconvenient. And lastly, the police force itself will prove to be her greatest obstacle as they callously strive to protect their own using every means possible from coercion and threats to outright lies. Taking place over the course of one single night, director/co-writer Kaouther Ben Hania’s seditious piece of filmmaking (Tunisia’s official entry for Foreign Film Oscar) unfolds using only nine beautifully executed tracking shots—her camera following Mariam as she moves in and out of vehicles, runs down hallways, and passes through countless doorways all while being either harassed, belittled, or lectured by the very people she’s turned to for help. And Al Feranji is more than up for it. Her Mariam, looking small and vulnerable in wrinkled party dress and improvised hijab, encompassing every emotional state—near hysterics, rage, resignation, and tearful defiance—while she perceives her options becoming narrower by the minute. It’s a nightmare trek of bureaucracy and tribal prejudices (even a female officer passes hasty judgement on the weeping victim) and if the director occasionally slips into melodrama it is only to set the stage for her film’s ending, a powerfully ambivalent mix of doubt and resolution as night’s darkness gives way to an ironically sunlit morning. Ghanem Zrelli co-stars as Mariam’s party date, an initial stranger who, after witnessing the assault, becomes her only advocate—and perhaps the director’s attempt to show the reality of rape filtered through male eyes.
Fury of the Demon [La rage du Démon] (France 2016) (3): Not even a cast of real filmmakers and other “experts” are enough to buoy up this dull pseudo-documentary on the history of “the most dangerous film ever made”. The story holds that an early silent film entitled Fury of the Demon, released in France towards the end of the 19th century, has the power to drive audiences to madness and beyond yet each time it’s been shown (once in America, twice in France, all with disastrous results) the film mysteriously disappears before the authorities can examine it. Was it an early work by French movie pioneer Georges Méliès who was known to have dabbled in spiritualism? One of his less savory apprentices? And how can one explain its diabolical effect on those unlucky enough to view it? From industry talking heads and eyewitnesses to practitioners of the occult and Méliès’ own descendants, everyone weighs in. And therein lies the problem. “Documentaries” of this kind need to have a hook with which to grab audiences—usually found footage, voice recordings, or some other physical evidence to prop up the story—but all writer/director Fabien Delage gives us is a lot of hot air with a handful of generic photos and faux newspaper clippings more conducive to yawns than shivers. His premise may bear a resemblance to that infamous videotape in The Ring, but at least that particular home movie was more…ummm…"interactive".
Super Troopers (USA 2001) (5): The acting is on par with an SNL skit and the humour hovers between juvenile and idiotic, but there is a cultish appeal to director/co-writer/star Jay Chandrasekhar’s no-brainer comedy which makes it difficult to hit the “eject” button. The ongoing rivalry between five misfit Vermont state troopers and the members of a nearby municipal PD reaches the boiling point when they both try to take credit for an ongoing drug and homicide investigation. And with their jobs on the line (the governor warns of upcoming budget cuts) the troopers are willing to go to any lengths to beat their city counterparts. Fans of the Naked Gun, Reno 911 and Airplane! franchises will have reason to smile for although Troopers doesn’t even come close to that level of comedy it does have a comfortable familiarity to it plus there’s certainly enough frat boy humour to make the beer occasionally shoot out your nose: the boys test out a bulletproof jockstrap; a pair of kinky suspects offer an alternative to a speeding ticket; and one officer clocks his fist going at 114/mph as he masturbates in the front seat of his cruiser. LOL, I guess. At least hunky trooper Mac (hunky Steve Lemme sporting a 70s moustache and little else) treats us to a cheeky butt shot.
The Inevitable Defeat of Mister & Pete (USA 2013) (7): Life isn’t being kind to 13-year old “Mister”. Living in one of New York’s housing projects while dreaming about one day becoming a famous actor, he pretty well has to fend for himself since his mother is either out turning tricks or else laying unconscious on the sofa with a needle in her arm. And now he’s just found out he flunked eighth grade. But all that pales when mom is carted off to jail leaving him alone with his little pal Pete, a child in similar circumstances. Together the two kids will have to find a way to survive on their own while avoiding Child Protection Services who want to place them in a notorious halfway house. Meanwhile New York is experiencing one of its worst heat waves and the electricity in Mister’s apartment has just been shut off… Movies about inner city kids trying to survive can be pure fodder for all manner of cheap ghetto clichés but director George Tillman Jr. and screenwriter Michael Starrbury manage to avoid the worst of them in order to give us a story still grounded in reality (sinners are plentiful, saints are rare) yet able to look within the stereotypes to see the shattered hearts beating there. Jennifer Hudson is phenomenal as Mister’s mother, a woman whose pain has morphed into apathy and addiction while Jordin Sparks provides contrast as Alice, Mister’s seemingly successful grown-up friend who nevertheless has her own failings. And in the lead roles Skylan Brooks and Ethan Dizon bring a balance of innocence and worldliness to the screen as life begins to teach them a few lessons whether they want to learn them or not—a pet hamster provides a cold dose of mortality, a panhandler’s grubby clothes conceal a heartbreaking secret, and an irate store clerk becomes the screeching voice of unreason. But it is Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, playing Mister’s law enforcement arch-nemesis, who ends up giving the film it’s greatest revelation. More bitter than sweet, Tillman’s opus isn’t necessarily about the death of dreams but he does suggest that sometimes mere wishes are not enough.
Bullet Train (USA 2022) (8): Whacked performances, a wicked script, and kick-ass visual effects (who knew a train could fly!) make for hugely entertaining big screen nonsense in director David Leitch’s adaptation of Kôtarô Isaka’s comic book novel. Professional hitman “Ladybug” (Brad Pitt, in top form) boards one of Japan’s iconic bullet trains in order to steal a very important briefcase. But what should have been a simple assignment turns into a high speed melee for this particular train is filled with ruthless assassins from around the world who also have their eyes on that same piece of luggage… And that’s really all there is to the plot as Leitch plunges us into two solid hours of choreographed brawls, spraying bullets, and enough ridiculous twists to pad out an entire sequel or two. So what’s so different between this popcorn flick and a dozen similar ones? A very clever screenplay that hovers somewhere between farce and satire while never taking itself too seriously for starters. And it just looks slick shot in cool neon colours with a score of remixed club tracks to punctuate the mayhem. Then there’s the passenger list of assorted oddballs: Ladybug is prone to New Age platitudes as he tries to find inner peace despite the growing pile of corpses and he’s joined by a supporting cast which includes a cartoon mascot with a taste for poison, a schoolgirl sociopath with daddy issues, and a Laurel & Hardy pair of English terminators, one of whom is obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine. It’s a wild overnight ride from Tokyo to Kyoto featuring some of the best action sequences I’ve seen in some time all culminating in a grand finale worthy of a rewind. Bad Bunny, playing a hitman out for revenge, shows he’s more than just a pretty voice; Michael Shannon hams it up as the baddest of bad guys; and Canada’s own Ryan Reynolds almost has a cameo. Plus there’s a snake…on a train…ha ha!
Leave No Traces (Poland 2021) (7): Set in the waning days of Poland’s communist regime, director Jan P. Matuszynski’s epic indictment of corruption in high places was chosen as his country’s official submission for Best Foreign Film Oscar. In 1983 high school student Jurek and his best friend Grzegorz are partying it up during exam week when they’re stopped by the police. Being the son of a noted dissident, Grzegorz dutifully defies the officers’ request to hand over his ID causing both men to be dragged to a nearby police station where he is beaten so badly he dies from his injuries a few days later. But when Jurek, who was the sole witness to the beating, joins forces with his dead friend’s mother in order to obtain justice the two become pariahs subjected to threats, blackmail, and coercion from a government bureaucracy that will do anything to anybody in order to cover its tracks. With a score of standout performances and a merciless script that paints Poland’s Old Guard as a hierarchy of decorated, self-serving military brutes Matuszynski shows how the rot of blind ideology can reach from the halls of power all the way down to one family’s suburban living room. For even as those in charge set up legal roadblocks to the investigation and start the wheels of official propaganda moving (they try to sell the idea that the dead youth somehow brought about his own demise) Jurek’s own father—a faithful party member whose starched army uniform still hangs proudly in the closet—tries to sway his son from going after the state lest the state should come after them. Given the pervasive sense of criminality which infected both the party and its court system at the time it would be naïve to expect a pat Hollywood ending and Matuszynski is wise enough to avoid it—this is a true story after all—but it’s heartening to remember that even as the lies and legal manipulation dragged on, Poland’s fledgling Solidarity Movement was gaining momentum.
The Night House (USA 2020) (7): Reeling from her husband Owen’s recent suicide, Beth retreats to the couple’s lakeside house where she hopes to deal with her grief while sorting through his belongings. But unsettling dreams and things that go bump in the night soon suggest something may have come home with her, and it’s not exactly on friendly terms. Then, while going through Owen’s stuff, she uncovers a sinister mystery with horrifying implications… One of those rare films I actually watched through squinted eyes, director David Bruckner’s haunted house shocker certainly knows when to yell “BOO!” and when to simply let you squirm—yes, Beth walks around a dark house shining her flashlight into unwelcome corners, and yes the camera focuses on nighttime windows while daring us to keep our eyes open. And yes she runs around the woods in a panic while any sane person would already have been halfway back to the city going 100 miles per hour. But these illogical devices are pretty standard for ghost stories and under Bruckner’s steady hand they are forgivable given Beth’s state of mind. I especially liked the clever way he often suggested rather than showed the bogeyman in the room—is Beth really seeing something through that doorway or is it just a trick of the light and the angle of the staircase? And the film’s underlying theme of dualism (double lives, life and death) is brought out in some innovative ways using everything from mirror images to reversed blueprints. If the ending is a bit of a stretch (fans of the Final Destination franchise will either clap or hiss) the journey itself contains enough jumps and rattles to keep audiences chillingly entertained. Be sure to keep your eyes open for that beautifully framed and very creepy closing pan.
