Although the movie's occasionally awkward plundering of earlier horror films, particularly It Follows, initially annoyed me, there were enough genuine scares and shivers shot at alienated angles to keep me interested throughout. Sosie Bacon's strong and invested lead performance as the psych who can't let go of her own trauma supports that, plus I appreciate the films lately that have posited that maybe hanging onto and creating an identity out of your trauma isn't the best thing for your mental…
The filmmakers of this fake ghost-story documentary are so proud of their premises that they can't help explaining them, and sometimes foiling them, over and over throughout, draining the proceedings of any energy or fright whatsoever, except for a few creepy images. Was anyone the least bit surprised by the extra figures in the photos or, good grief, that final glacial zoom-in? Were we supposed to be? Who cared at that point?
This is not quite as obnoxious and artless…
It was everything I could do to get through this utterly ordinary gay romance. The film's only claim to novelty is the rugby field, and yet it manages to fuck that up, too, with some of the most inept and unconvincing sports choreography I've seen in a while.
But the worst of it is the generic dialogue. At one point, a character asks his lover and fellow "cheater," "How did we end up here, Mark?"
Oh, I dunno…a shitty script?
I can't imagine anyone who reads sci-fi more than casually, or even someone who's seen a decent number of Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes, and especially anyone who's read Richard Powers' prescient and emotionally rich Galatea 2.2, or perhaps a reasonably informed average user of modern computers, to do anything but scoff and laugh at Spike Jonez's superficial attempt to speculate about artificially intelligent agents in, what? The near future? An alternate universe? Inside his head? Every time someone…