Bad Times at the El Royale begins as a cheeky chamber drama before morphing into an expectation-busting blend of noir and pitch-black comedy.
The film goes in for the idea of texture, tics, and human behavior, but there’s no conviction, and no real push for eccentricity.
Waxwork is thankfully free of The Cabin in the Woods’s smugness.
Another opening-night gala screening, another crapshoot.
Lionsgate decks the film out with an excellent A/V transfer and an admirable bundle of extras.
These shacks have giddily opened their doors to audiences through the years.
As larks go, it’s solid carpentry, lined with goodies for the nerd in all of us.
The Cabin in the Woods ultimately does exactly what it condemns, prizing schematic formula and ingenuity over real terror.
If Godzilla was a manifestation of Cold War paranoia, the Cloverield monster is a reflection of the chic nihilism that is the J.J. Abrams brand.
The film doesn’t make its individual moments coalesce into something more than just a loud, frantic, hollow gimmick.
Don’t be surprised if it turns out Sun is pregnant with Hurley’s love child.