William Oldroyd’s film is a deliciously a pulpy phantasmagoria of fear and desire.
The film deals forthrightly with the question of purpose and whether it can be found in a career.
The film’s ominous atmosphere derives less from the mystery of a disappearance and more from the scary business of getting older.
The film is initially distinguished by its poetic understatement, only for it to eventually succumb to staleness.
The film’s tone is extremely eerie, with creeping camera movements, striking imagery, abrupt edits, and a delicately sinister score.
Michael Goi’s film comes to feel as if lacks a through line, collapsing into a series of disconnected horror-movie beats.
The film insufficiently connects the book’s prophecy with its present-day, real-world forms of realization.
The dialogue is at once easygoing in its candor and rigidly on-message about the corrosive nature of lies.