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Yes, it's a B movie sci-fi thriller, but not many prestige pictures have this much going on underneath the surface.

That first hour cooks. And the second hour brings Emily Blunt into the story, which is a fine thing for any second half to offer.

Much of the allegorical force Harel and Sarmiento's film has built up is undone by its utterly conventional, lameass-switcheroo ending, which may be an indication that more than enough virtual ink has been spilled on this subject.

Written by a weirdo named Trent Haaga for no other purpose than to outrage, Deadgirl is part S&M porno, part supernatural chiller, and worthy only if you're interested in how far movies can go before the police arrive.

The genre itself is one of my favourites, but I am uninvolved and unmoved by Brick; it's like a teenager dressed in dad's overcoat.

The self-consciously mannered rat-a-tat-tat dialogue also mines a neat overlap between teen slang and noir patois, both of which can be indecipherable to non-initiates.