Clark Collis

While the film may justify its title in terms of the viscera on display, it is badly in need of a funny bone.

The frankly preposterous nature of the film’s setup is rendered slightly less so by a couple of second act reveals. But, by then, many viewers will have lost interest in a movie with a very high bodycount but a very small amount of grit, either emotional or literal.

In short, this Josh Trank-directed reboot had a very low hurdle to overcome to become the best FF movie so far. The most fantastical aspect of the movie is that it may not achieve that goal.

To be fair, Eckhart is physically impressive and Bill Nighy and his raised eyebrow do their best in the role of demon leader Naberius. But I, Frankenstein shares something else with it's monster-hero, something much worse than its patchwork nature: The film is distinctly lacking in the soul department.

Unfortunately, no one involved seems to have bent over backwards to make the movie either original or even all that scary.

Consider this a public service announcement: Folks who have a problem with onscreen flesh-hacking - or the fact that franchise stars Jean-Claude Van Damme and Dolph Lundgren aren't in the movie all that much - should stay home.

The result apes "The Bourne Identity" so slavishly yet so boringly it winds up with no identity at all.

Which stinks worse? The absurdly large pile of red herrings Gone amasses? Or the film's sub-Scooby Doo conclusion?

While this religio-horror effort does contain some nice scares, and a memorably unnerving turn from Crowley, The Devil Inside's biggest shock arrives when it abruptly ends - just as it hits its stride. The result is a found-footage movie whose third act remains missing.

Fans of sophisticated humor may feel empathy with, if not sympathy for, the lead character on those many occasions he is kicked in the nuts.