Built to be a breezy B-movie made for a boozy Friday night, ¡°Triggered¡± ends up being about as plain as every other ¡°Saw¡± clone already out there.
¡°Spell¡± sort of says, ¡°forget it¡± and pivots onto new property where it just builds with plain suspense instead of employing anything related to subtext.
The film feels like someone mistakenly made a movie out of an old practice script written in a ¡®Basic Horror Screenwriting¡¯ seminar.
Give me five minutes to explain why it¡¯s a movie worth appreciating, even if you find its amateur aesthetics too unappealing to become immersed in the film¡¯s fantasy.
Instead of artfully blocking for its ¡®one take¡¯ gimmick, the camera plainly follows people around, like the operator simply pressed record and went at it without a rehearsal.
The only thing being harvested here is more DIY drivel no different from any other horrible piece of Amityville hooey.
Those who stick around for a charismatic cast working their way through everyday conflicts will be better positioned to feel the introspective bite of ¡°The Wolf of Snow Hollow.¡±
If only someone had a pregnancy scare too, ¡°Nocturne¡± would be a complete season of ¡°Degrassi¡± squished into one feature-length Halloween special.
The characters in this film talk on their phones more frequently in 90 minutes than I¡¯ve talked on the phone in the last 90 months.
Caroline Williams absolutely brings it to ¡°Ten Minutes to Midnight,¡± tapping every drop of talent in her tank to portray an emotionally interesting character who can be virulent as well as vulnerable.
¡°From the nightmares of Clive Barker¡± comes¡ stories that were written by Adam Simon and Brannon Braga? Uh yeah, that¡¯s not what I wanted out of a ¡°Books of Blood¡± adaptation either.
Its no-frills approach to quiet chills anchored on family trauma make ¡°Black Box¡± a compelling little ride that¡¯s ideal for a quick hit of eerie entertainment.
The tale mostly functions as another karaoke cover of a classic from EC¡¯s Greatest Hits album that¡¯s momentarily pleasing without being particularly memorable.
I couldn¡¯t concoct a clever metaphor so this clunky one will have to do. ¡°12 Hour Shift¡± reminds me of a classic cocktail made by a chain restaurant¡¯s part-time bartender.
What happens when you uncouple the train from Busan? You get a derivative VFX spectacle that¡¯s only one Leon Kennedy cameo shy of looking like a ¡°Resident Evil¡± cutscene.
The movie fracks those fears with a massive rig that puts a miles-long pipeline between ¡®stranger in a strange land¡¯ phobias and vicarious psychological uncertainty.
An apple hasn¡¯t fallen this close to a father¡¯s tree since Joe Hill inherited the storytelling style and macabre matter of Stephen King.
Net response to the movie could best be described with onomatopoeia, specifically whatever word equals the sound made when you push your tongue between your lips and blow.
No matter how patiently anyone waits for the film to finally boil, the top never blows off the tame tension because barely anything simmers underneath.
Trouble comes from trying to have its cake and eat it too by quizzically blending tangible thrills with hallucinatory horror.