Rocco T. Thompson

The Bone Temple doesn’t pack the moment-to-moment kineticism of the prior films.

If only the filmmakers had put the same care and thought into their human characters, then Primate might have been worth going apeshit over.

The film’s brand of feminism is as skin-deep as the narrative.

Chris Stuckmann’s utilitarian approach is doubly frustrating considering that Shelby Oaks does, at least in the early going, point toward potentially having something to say about the vlogger space, internet infamy, and the way tragedy takes on a cultural virality.

After its opening act, the film gets silly fast, with a frankly stupid witchcraft subplot and narrative turns that are telegraphed with audience-insulting obviousness.

It’s difficult to shake that there’s something tragic blaring from the sidelines that the film’s wistful, pitch-perfect Hollywood ending can’t acknowledge.

If there’s any food for thought in The Front Room, it’s the ongoing portrayal of old folks in the A24 catalog.

The most consistent recurring theme across the work of the Adams family—parenthood as a siphoning off of the life giver’s vitality in a protracted, eternal cycle of decay and renewal—finds its most literal, alien expression here.

Pacing is a conspicuous problem and the rushed third act threatens to crumble as The Watchers becomes overloaded with revelations and mythology that strain a foundation barely braced to hold their weight.