The Last Word

Year: 2017

Genre: Comedy

Directed: Mark Pellington

Stars: Shirley MacLaine, Amanda Seyfried, AnnJewel Lee Dixon, Thomas Sadoski, Philip Baker Hall, Gedde Watanabe, Tom Everett Scott, Joel Murray, Yvette Freeman, Valeri Ross, Anne Heche, Steven Culp, Todd Louiso

Production: Bleeker Street Media

I should honestly be impressed that The Last Word gets away with as much as it does. It starts as one of those stereotypical light-weight puff pieces. The kind that gears itself toward the fussy, all-knowing, film festival crowd, then hits them over the head with the same mindlessness they claim to avoid by not watching mainstream films. The irony of course is they're never made aware that they're watching strategically released pabulum because they're "too smart and refined" (and white) to subject themselves to the latest common blockbuster. The Last Word is basically the cinematic equivalent of "The Emperor's New Clothes," for old people.

The Last Word stars aged Hollywood icon Shirley MacLaine who basically takes the hindsight throne that was previously sat on by Meryl Streep in Ricki and the Flash (2015) and Al Pacino in Danny Collins (2015). She plays, of course a mortality aware loner who decides she wants to change her life with the help of a permanently brought-aback obituary writer (Seyfried) and later on, a sassy little black girl (Lee Dixon) whose tokenism would be offensive if it wasn’t so carelessly stilted. Within the course of a month, Harriet Lalor (MacLaine) decides to reconstruct her legacy in the following order of importance: touch someone’s life unexpectedly, find that certain something extra, be respected by her community and be beloved by friends and family.

What immediately elevates Last Word from other pedestrian feel-good movies like this, is the inclusion of Shirley MacLaine. With over fifty years of experience playing acid-dipped battle-axes, MacLaine easily transcends the film’s paltry story and annoyingly analog aesthetics. She does so well playing the quintessential shrew that every other one-note character fades into the background like a white wall against a bright tapestry.

I am who I am so f***ing deal!

Of course, if sassy repartee alone was enough to elevate a bomb I'd be working for a publication by now. Literally everything else in this film suffers from clumsily sets up reveals and embarrassingly artificial sentiment. We see it all coming yet no effort is made to keep the script itself engaging or the least bit deserving of such an off-the-wall character. Why is Lalor hated by her family, why was she ejected by the advertising agency she started, why does literally everyone she meets want to kill her? The answers to all these questions will likely give OCD sufferers reason to get off their meds while giving babyboomers license to continue being s***ty people.

What saves The Last Word from ultimately being beyond redemption is the very clear inference that the movie is a fantasy. It’s a very treacly fantasy and one that would needle audiences outside its demographic into a permanent eye-twitch. Yet for those who just can’t fathom why young whippersnappers like me can’t just point to a place on a map and go, The Last Word is just what the doctor ordered. Consider it the last movie you’ll see before euthanasia.

Final Grade: D-

Life

Year: 2017
Genre: Sci-Fi
Directed: Daniel Espinosa
Stars: Jake Gyllenhaal, Ryan Reynolds, Rebecca Ferguson, Hiroyuki Sanada, Olga Dihovichnaya, Ariyon Bakare
Production: Columbia Pictures

A small team of astronauts on-board the International Space Station bite off more than they can chew when they are given the opportunity to analyze Mars soil samples. The samples hold the first incontrovertible proof of extraterrestrial life; made flesh by a multi-cellular organism they have dubbed Calvin. Among the crew are a mission leader (Dihovichnaya), a couple of pilots (Reynolds and Sanada), a biologist (Bakare), a doctor (Gyllenhaal) and a quarantine officer (Ferguson) all of whom find themselves at the mercy of the dangerous new life form which learns and grows with each encounter.

I shall call you Fluffy!

If the plot sounds familiar its because Life takes the high-concept of Alien (1979) and boils it down to its absolute essence; that being a slasher film taking place in the void of deep space. In that regard the film aptly capitalizes on its nihilistic themes complete with a creature design that resembles something out of H.P. Lovecraft. Our cast dwindles, their hopes of survival constantly dashed by an escalating barrage of set-pieces as the suspense slowly shifts from whether they will survive to whether we will.

The small ensemble cast does a worthwhile job with the characters their provided with. No one really gets an edge over the others, with the story using every moment of exposition dialogue to color their motivations. While it would have been nice if the movie had the economy of thought to translate that exposition into actual action, the downtime provided by people's bullet-point backgrounds actually provided a bit of breathing room.

Yet given the fact that the film tries so hard to ground its story in reality instead of the far-flung future of the Alien franchise (1979-Present), its easy to assume or expect more to Life than a B-movie with a big budget. I mean the film is called Life, a title that positively pounces on the screen the moment Bakare's biologist character prods his protozoic organism out of hibernation. He later muses that Calvin "may even provide life's meaning.," a grandiose statement that comes across as just plain goofy.

The structure of the film really begins to strain as the film enters its third act. By then Calvin and the remaining crew are basically at the same IQ level, which is to say smart enough to open doors yet stupid enough to think hiding in a glass cage is a good idea. A last plot point is dropped, the results of which will either come across as blatant half-a**ed pot stirring or give less picky audience members reason to give off a collective shrug.

That in conjunction with its chintzy, undeserved Twilight Zone (1959-1964)-esque twist sinks Life to the point of being a just another marginally entertaining sci-fi horror that's riding on the coattails of its much better predecessor. If it simply kept its head down and delivered on its pulpy premise, it could have gotten away with being a zero-gravity throwback. But since the film hints at something more then never delivers on the goods, Life might just go the way of Mission to Mars (2000) and Sphere (1998).

Final Grade: C

Chips

Year: 2017

Genre: Comedy

Directed: Dax Shepard

Stars: Michael Pena, Dax Shepard, Vincent D’Onofrio, Kristen Bell, Jessica McNamee, Adam Brody, Ryan Hansen, Justin Chatwin, Jamie Bock, Cameron Cruz, Clay Cullen, Arturo del Puerto

Remember 21 Jump Street (2012)? Boy that was a fun movie. In many ways it was the perfect meta-commentary of the type of low-stakes, low-rent, low-brow crap Hollywood has been throwing at us recently like chimps in a mismanaged zoo. Literally anything and I mean anything with even a modicum of franchise potential is being made and remade and remade again these days. Thus when 21 Jump Street (based on a soapy cheap-looking TV show) reared its ugly head, I for one was clenching for an awful night at the cinema.

Thankfully I had to wait for the sequel for that to happen.

In many ways I was expecting something like Chips, i.e. an ill-conceived, aged and offensive grotesquery that at best is a watered down version of literally everything you’ve already seen. Remember all those completely forgetful Martin Lawrence clones that were hammered out one-by-one in the early 2000’s? Me neither; how about those equally forgettable Kevin Hart movies? Okay, getting warmer. Well imagine that plus a big fat layer of tepid, lazy direction and you got the basic ingredients for what should honestly be renamed “Bullchips.”

Chips was directed, written and stars Dax Shepard who you may remember as the dude in Without a Paddle (2004) who was not Matthew Lillard or Seth Green. Here he plays Jon Baker, an over-the-hill Motocross athlete who, according to co-star Michael Pena, is “always two-beers too familiar.” He’s the typical California “dude” who’s far too self-involved to notice he’s a walking, talking stereotype. Or at least he is until the script asks him not to be.

Speaking of stereotypes, Michael Pena takes the place of the rambunctious Erik Estrada as Poncherello. In this universe he’s an undercover FBI Agent searching for dirty cops, stolen loot and California dimes willing to give it up to the “Ponch”. While it’s easy to say Pena is the best part of this movie; saying that would be like complimenting the only cylinder firing on a broken motor.

Chips is based off the famed 1970’s TV show which ran from 1977 until 1983. As you would expect from something that hasn’t been figuratively opened since the 70’s, this film is a festering gob of unrecognizable gunk. The police procedural portions of the film are rote and redundant while the duo-building moments of banter reek, of awkwardness and fragile male egoisms that haven’t been funny since the Reagan Administration. Yet there they are, on the screen just begging audiences to laugh as Baker and Ponch discuss at length the preference and frequency of night-long a**-licking.

Aside from the film’s boorish leads, Chips has a hard time communicating who or what we should actually care about. The audience is made aware of who our bad guys are long before our leads do, yet the film goes through so many airless, dimensionless minutes trying to coax our heroes in the right direction. Then the film goes into fruitless avenues to play out juvenile bits for the sake of little or no information pertinent to the story. Then, to add insult to injury they flip through a Highway Patrol database and randomly point to their bad guy because of nothing more than a mean look.

Gee, I wonder who the villain is going to be!

It gets worse. Shepard’s Baker for example takes a lot in stride – His wife’s obvious infidelity, his advanced age, Ponch’s bathroom habits etc. He takes it all in stride with the exception of his work which he takes on with the vigor of a newly endowed meter maid. It’s supposed to be a reoccurring joke yet because the movie is so shoddily edited there are so many, either setups that are never executed or comedic payoffs that seem to come out of nowhere. Then they simply drop it in favor of Ponch’s romance, I guess with a fellow officer (Bock)?

Through all the mired, half-realized nonsense, only one thing remains clear – Chips was trying, trying to follow the exact same playbook as 21 Jump Street. Yet while 21 Jump had the rare quality of being reliably absurd and self-referential, this thing is just a vulgar, incompetent mess with little worthwhile to say other than “watch out for yoga pants!”

Final Grade: F

Personal Shopper

Year: 2016
Genre: Drama
Directed:  Olivier Assayas
Stars: Kristen Stewart, Nora von Waldstatten, Lars Eidinger, Sigrid Bouaziz, Anders Danielsen Lie, Ty Olwin, Hammou Graia, Benjamin Biolay, Audrey Bonnet, Pascal Rambert, Auriela Petit
Production: CG Cinema

Identity, grief, guilt and vengeful ghosts calling from the living past; there, I just saved you an hour and forty five minutes of Kirsten Stewart fidgeting with her hair and texting like a pubescent Amber Alert in progress. If you really want to get exactly the same experience for a fraction of the cost, bring your best clothes to a laundromat, hit spin and watch YouTube videos about Victor Hugo on your iphone.

Or you can have a good 'ol fashion seance!

Personal Shopper sells itself as a modern ghost story. By day Maureen, (Stewart) our hero, works as a personal shopper, running errands for a famous-because-she's-famous celebrity (von Waldstatten) who simply must have the latest fashion accessories. By night, she's a medium with a talent she continually insists belonged to her belated brother - that talent presumably being, looking like a sleep-walking, emaciated golem. Before her brother died, He promised he would try to make contact with her so she can lay her anxieties about the afterlife to rest. Thus she waits...and waits, and waits some more, slowly absorbing the evening Paris lamplight while riding in her moped.

Now I know that people deal with grief differently, thus I wouldn't expect our demure protagonist to eat an entire container of Chunky Monkey while watching The Aquabats Supershow (2012-Present) (I would). However, I like to think a shared experience of most humans is seeing subtle but ever-present reminders of the deceased everywhere. When I lost a friend years ago, I couldn't glance at a tie-dye shirt without getting the feels.

Did I just witness proof of an afterlife? Naw...

Maureen on the other hand isn't so much finding reminders of her dead brother as she is searching for signs and coming up empty handed. She either finds, or is in the periphery of a satisfactory conclusion to her story arc literally everywhere she goes. But instead of seeing a ghost and having it vomit ectoplasm as a sign that maybe she should move on, she keeps pushing and pushing until every major event in this thing becomes meaningless. It's a frustrating situation - like following phosphenes around your closed eyelids and never seeming to pin them down to get a good look.

I give you movie without point...why? Because I'm French!

The parts that are most viscerally effective are ironically the most mundane: elongated hand-held segments of driving through busy city streets, silent walks through creaky houses, characters holding dogs back from open front yard gates. All moments where we get to see Maureen's real, actual expressions, before the camera obfuscates their meaning like a cat covering up their litter box. Then of course there are the texts. Long, drawn out sections of the film are expounded via cell phone texts. There's even a late addition murder mystery that unfolds just so their can be more f**king texting! Those grasping at straws are liable to see Personal Shopper's preoccupation with screens and conclude it must mean something. I'm more liable to believe if Assayas were alive in the 18th century he'd be doing performance art with semaphore. That's just the kind of pretentious rake he is.

Is she saying S.O.S. or L.O.L.?

If I wanted to watch someone stare blankly at a screen all day I would have sat at a park bench and leered creepily at teenagers. At least then there'd be an element of voyeurism; here there's more an element of who gives a damn.

Final Grade: F

Power Rangers

Year: 2017
Genre: Action
Directed: Dean Israelite
Stars: Dacre Montgomery, Naomi Scott, RJ Cyler, Ludi Lin, Becky G., Elizabeth Banks, Bryan Cranston, Bill Hader, Matt Shively, Cody Kearsley, David Denman, Robert Moloney, Anjali Jay
Production: Lionsgate

Guess its time to whip out your old Tamagotchi and listen to whatever Marcy Playground song you've recorded on your Tiger Talkboy when you were six; because the nineties are back! Don't believe me, just check out the newest blockbuster film that's about to hit your multiplex with the force of a speeding Bronco. Yes the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers are back and this time instead of importing stock footage from some cheap Japanese superhero show, this brooding, edgier version is importing cliches from every American superhero film from the last fifteen years.

Just how much edgier is this new movie? Well the story begins with three of the five soon-to-be Rangers spending their Saturdays in detention so already they're more irascible than Bulk and Skull. They're also about half as much fun as evidenced after our five teenagers with attitude meet up, discover their multi-colored power coins and proceed to stare at each other in confusion. This lasts an entire act and throughout we're only given the archetypal outlines of our heroes to play with. There's the bland Red leader (Montgomery), the Yellow outsider (G.), the Black bad boy (Lin) and the Pink Ranger (Scott) who seems to think cutting her hair on a whim doesn't make her the personification of mayonnaise.

Then of course there's Billy (Cyler), the Blue Ranger. He's on the spectrum; you can tell because he outright says he's "on the spectrum." While this could have been a good moment to truly act upon the TV show's (1993-1995) phoned-in anti-bully, inclusion-based "the more you know," pablum, the movie basically just uses him as a narrative building block. That's of course when they're not also using the Blue Ranger as a tonally embarrassing point of mirth for the sake of undermining the gritty tone. Considering that his autism is boiled down to a running joke, its a miracle RJ Cyler comes across as sincere as he does. Every time the ensemble tries to elevate him as the movie's heartfelt center, you really want to believe it's sincerity, even if it feels counterfeit.

Its that faux sincerity and the nostalgia that will no doubt sell long-time fans on this new film. As much as the reboot wobbles between seriousness and silliness, the fact that there is an appearance of a center of mass, means that there's just enough here for audiences to trick themselves into thinking they saw the best version they possibly could have made. It makes a kind of sense; how can you really make a realistic movie about children gaining superpowers through alien technology to fight evil?

No, no Power Rangers!

While I don't agree with the premise of the question (I mean, does it really need to be realistic?), I also don't think the answer is to wait until the very end to introduce the franchises sillier minutia. Especially when the directing and editing would make anyone with eyeballs want to spin them back into their head. It's not Fantastic Four (2014)-level bad, but the fact that I'm bringing up that film in the same breath as this one, is evidence their both are in the same ball park and both need to answer for the millions of dollars wasted. I mean come on, the best part about this mess is the slovenly fight choreography which could have been done with a couple of costumes and a million yen.

Focus on the Zords, just focus on the Zords (rocks back and forth)

It's hard to say Power Rangers (sponsored by Krispy Kreme) is the latest victim in franchise co-oping by greedy executives, short-sighted PR experts and story-arcs by committee. While Spider-Man fans and Batman fans could argue their IP's came from some nebulous notion of artistry over commerce, Power Rangers has been a cheaply cobbled cash grab pretty much from inception. In that regard the fact that this film has any semblance of sincerity is a minor miracle. If you got to see it, focus on that and that alone. Go, go mediocrity.

Final Grade: D

Wilson

Year: 2017
Genre: Comedy
Directed: Craig Johnson
Stars: Woody Harrelson, Laura Dern, Judy Greer, Isabella Amara, Cheryl Hines, Bill McCallum, Margo Martindale, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Brett Gelman, David Warshofsky
Production: Fox Searchlight Pictures

If anything Wilson, the story of a lonely middle-aged man reuniting with his estranged wife to meet his daughter for the first time, accomplishes something no movie has ever done. It manages to take Woody Harrelson, a jewel of the large and small screen, and make him wholly unlikable. This is no easy feat, especially considering that his character's only real crime is being a watered-down Marc Maron caricature. The man cavalierly ponders the big questions and graciously oozes cookie cutter wisdom to anyone within earshot. He thinks he's being avuncular but really he's just being really, really annoying.

He's like this guy only not funny!

This problem extends to the film itself. It thinks it's intelligent and it thinks it's giving us earth-shattering insights into the human condition. It lazily employs an unstructured narrative of Wilson-centric coming-of-age cliches and pads its screen time with tonally discordant moments that fly at you fast then disappear without consequence. The results is a frustrating soup of characters, conflicts, themes and rickety-old shtick that goes no where and accomplishes nothing.

Only you can prevent premature film frustration

Of course this could be the point; the movie purports to be about life. Ergo, if life is messy then so is this movie. Yet the films total lack of focus seeps to its DNA with scenes and plot points that announce themselves as loudly as possible and climax too quickly. In one scene, Wilson (Harrelson) learns that his only two friends (Rajskub and Gelman) are moving to St. Louis. He doesn't take it well, prodding them until they erupt in what felt like years of pent-up frustration. It's a good little scene but we're never given any time to savor it before the movie switches gears like the slides of a carousel projector.

Based on a comic...So the books probably better.

And at the front giving the presentation is Wilson who, for better or worse is the smartest person in the film. No one dares call him out on his bulls**t, especially not Pippi (Dern) his wife who's just barely keeping things together after a series of bad life choices. At times, she reacts like a prisoner to Wilson's somewhat terrifying mid-life crisis. But by the end of the story she succumbs to the idea that her surly former lover may just be wiser beyond his year.

Yeah no, the man's a petulant, mean-spirited, less clever, less literate Bukowski character made near-flesh by someone who saw a Woody Allen movie once and thought, "gee, how can I take out all this pesky pithiness." I guess in that regard Wilson can be accredited for one more accomplishment. It managed to make the daily struggle of a middle-aged white man and make it appear trivial and redundant.

Final Grade: F

The Belko Experiment

Year: 2016
Genre: Horror
Directed: Greg McLean
Stars: John Gallagher Jr., Tony Goldwyn, Adria Arjona, John C. McGinley, Melonie Diaz, Owain Yeoman, Sean Gunn, Brent Sexton, John Brener, David Dastmalchian, David Del Rio, Michael Rooker, Rusty Schwimmer, James Earl
Production: Blumhouse Productions

The Belko Experiment is a nasty, gory, chaotic little horror film that pits an office building full of co-workers against each other in a bloody battle of last man/woman standing. This much you probably already know from the trailer. It's a plot that can be succinctly surmised on a cocktail napkin so it's not like you need much to prime you for what's to occur. What they don't tell you however is The Belko Experiment is a nasty, gory and chaotic little horror film without a center. Hunger Games (2012) meets Office Space (1999)? More like Severance (2006) meets a sad, angry teenager's school shooting fantasy.

This will teach them to make fun of my bangs!

We catch our first glimpse of our inevitable victims within hours of the titular experiment. There's the office Jim and Pam (Arjona), a couple of one-trick pony side characters that might just make it to the second act (Gunn, Brener, Del Rio), the obvious District 2 sociopaths (Goldwyn, McGinley, Yeoman) and, of course, the mousy office Milton (Diaz) who's just so excited to be starting her first day at the office. It's obvious within the first five minutes which archetypes are going to make it to the top ten, the question becomes, will the other seventy or so office drones be in on the fun or not.

Short answer: probably not

Without spoiling too much for the misguided Purge (2013)-o-philes who still want to watch this trash, I'm sorry to say that The Belko Experiment errs on the side of seriousness and pessimism instead of black comedy or pressure-cooker sensationalism. Any lurid fun that can be had at the expense of cubicle flunkies taking out long-seeded frustrations on their managers or visa versa takes a back seat to the actions and motivations of a selective few who camp out on their respective floors hatching their schemes. The films creativity (or lack thereof) is so markedly uninspired that it might as well write "You'll Get the Point and Little Else Within the Hour" in big banner lettering.

Who's ready for their severance!

As chaos looms, factions quickly form. Not so much organically, but more as a way of sussing out the good guys from the bad for the sake of the story. Representing team "give a s**t" is the amiable Mike (Gallagher) who walks through the blood splattered cork-board of Belko Industries with a halo around his head despite being a bit of an airhead. He's the kind of guy who'd tell everyone to take the stairs instead of the elevator because it's safer. He's the kind of guy who is a salt and pepper mustache away from being Sully Sullenberger; a goody-two-shoes whose persona is so mundane and diametrically opposed to any of the larger-than-life villains that it just reeks of lazy characterization.

On the other side of the divide is Barry (Goldwyn) who is "open to all options," so long as those options leave him in control. His arc is a little more nuanced than Mike's but given his title and the company that he keeps, I'm amazed the audience's goodwill got as far as the building's dirt parking lot. We all know he's bad and every discussion had in the building cafeteria mulling over what do to is shaded by his badness - life and family be damned.

They're all damned really, though because the lions share of the office has little to no say on how they meet their demise it never seems to matter all that much. The fact that the movie literally lines people up for the slaughter should tell you all you need to know about how repetitive this movie is. For real: Battle Royale (2000), a film with five times more protagonists, still managed to stuff in more plot, meaning and dignity into its story than this film managed to imbue in twelve floors and a murder of recognizable character actors.

The Belko Experiment is a grim, mean, repetitive, slog of a movie that takes all the moral, psychological and political subtext of James Gunn's high-concept and smashes them like watermelons bracing against Gallagher's sledge-o-matic. The ends of this cruel little experiment hints at a sequel, the results of which may give this movie some closure. As of now however, the message I heard loud and clear by the end of this mess was, "watch this movie, and we'll make three more just like it." Rise above people, rise above.

Final Grade: F

Raw

Year: 2016

Genre: Horror

Directed: Julia Docournau

Stars: Garance Marillier, Ella Rumpf, Rabah Nait Oufella, Laurent Lucas, Joana Preiss, Bouli Lanners, Marion Vernoux, Thomas Mustin, Marouan Iddoub, Jean-Louis Sbille, Benjamin Boutboul

Production: Petit Film Justine, Alexia, Adrien

This movie definitely oversells itself. From the rumors of overwhelmed audience members passing out, to the promotional barf bags being doled out at the screening, Raw can’t help but prime you for a big bloody letdown. I scare easily, so truth be told, I was shaking in my boots before the promotions guy started butchering the stars’ names and joking that we’d all enjoy a steak dinner afterwards. That comment ended up being cheeky in more ways than one.

Delicious!

None of this is the movie’s fault (the overtly candid title notwithstanding). Raw does come with early promise, as exemplified by the fact that nearly the entire film takes place in a veterinary hospital with an alarmingly lax attitude towards hazing. No matter how humdrum a scene becomes, there’s always the possibility of something furry and four-legged being cut open to get you writhing in your seat. It’s gross; those unaccustomed will no doubt be shocked. But it never reaches apex sensationalism.

Part of the problem lies with the foundations of the story. Our protagonist, the young, innocent and vegetarian Justine (Marillier) gets plopped down in the middle of campus and is immediately swept up in a montage of fraternal initiations and college ragers. Her black sheep of an older sister (Rumpf) stays at arm’s length and her roommate Adrien (Oufella) isn’t much of a help either. Thus she allows herself one too many indulgences and gets lost in a downward spiral that would put the goody-goody on your dorm room floor your freshman year to shame. Because we’ve all seen the exact same kind of thing before, not just in real life but in other films ad nausium, there’s really no real tension as far as the story is concerned. We know where all this is going, the question is how far will it go.

It's about sexual exploration...you get it?!

It goes about as far as you would expect, but does it all in a way that at times feels too literate and at other times too literal. In one scene our heroine is compelled to make out with a fellow freshman to the approval of their gracious “elders”. “Come out when you’re both green,” says one senior who had just doused them in blue and yellow paint and stuffed them into a dorm room bathroom. The color, the poppy music, the very situation, just screams art house overkill. It forces the audience to swim in a soup of hook-up excess masquerading as sex positive messaging, and gets us all to feel self-satisfied when we pick up on the films very clear themes.

Other times the camera lingers on gaping wounds and savagely ripped tendons for the sake of primal shocks. By the time we actually get to those scenes however, half the audience is conked-out while the other half is frustrated by the lack of I Drink Your Blood (1970)-level lunacy. Raw only really finds its balance in one incredibly effective scene: a scene in which the characterizations, thickly laid thematic groundings and primal sensationalism all coalesce to bring new meaning to the phrase nail-biting.

Raw is ultimately an interesting failed experiment in genre-crossing. It tries to take the gore-induced shocks of a very particular sub-genre of horror and attempts to elevate it via art house trappings and pseudo-feminist sensibilities. I admire the attempt, and I understand its zeal in the midst of successes like A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014) and The Witch (2015). Yet as far as having its Chianti and drinking it too, I really think the farthest this sub-genre can stretch is Cannibal! The Musical (1993).

Final Grade: D+