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It's just predictable rom-com fare in need of a lot more spice.

The broad humour and cultural caricatures in the film's opening moments will be especially dispiriting to any English literature professors in the audience.

If you've seen either Black Christmas or Halloween, there's nothing new here: the hyped-up score keeps telling us we ought to be scared, but the suspense feels mechanical and fake.

You know a horror movie's in trouble when the fake scares outweigh the real ones.

You actually have to feel sorry for the actors, one of which is New Zealander Cliff Curtis, the only person I recognised.

It's a horrible movie.

It's a surreal, offbeat comedy where the kidnappers are hopelessly inept while Bell feels hopelessly at sea.

A strong cast promises great things, but The Chumscrubber loses itself on the way to its indie aspirations.

Doesn't succeed in everything it sets out to do, but as a statement about the death rattle of 60s counterculture it's thoughtful and affecting.

As indie efforts go, The Ballad of Jack and Rose pushes a lot of the classic indie audience buttons, coupled with some depressingly mainstream ones.

A credible portrait of an era, and draws in its tensions and conflicts with quite some power.

Strangely dispassionate and uncommitted for a movie about passionate commitment.