Rolling Stone

It’s the sort of feature debut that earns a “watch this space” tag — a cinematic statement complemented and enhanced by one hell of an eye for composition, and two performances that toe the line between torrid and terrified. But it also marks a turning point in terms of queer horror that simultaneously inspires firsthand fear for its protagonists and loathing for both its supernatural and human monsters.

This fifth entry in the series is designed to be a cautionary tale for our contemporary in-crisis moment of Silicon Valley’s stronghold on our lives. But it’s even more of cautionary tale on brand management. This is what happens when you beat a franchise to death.

Yes, Spielberg does believe that we are not the only game running in the cosmos. But he also believes that our better angels have not left the building, and that movies still have the power to communally blow minds and open hearts. That idea may strike some as old-fashioned, but it doesn’t seem alien in the slightest.

Mileage seriously varies in terms of the funny here. If you don’t laugh at one bit, don’t worry, because another dozen or two will come flyin’ atcha in a minute. But every time Faris and Hall are onscreen together, Scary Movie comes the closest to hitting a groove.

This is not a movie. This is brand management.

It’s evocative in a way that suggests a whole other strain of 21st century existentialist horror.

Box office-wise, The Mandalorian and Grogu will keep the corporate bottom line from cratering. Creatively, it makes the whole franchise feel completely and utterly cooked. To paraphrase a wise man with a helmet: This is not the way.

It’s not where the movie is going that holds its appeal so much as the way the triple-threat talent behind it gets you there. And his singular mix of edgy comedy and insular, in-the-know queer culture turns this crowd-friendly formula into something far more wounding and spiky.

This eerie riff on The Shining feels as if the Irish writer-director has a better grasp on both the catch-and-release tension that the genre needs and the balancing of sharp shocks and slow-simmering dread.

Director David Frankel understands that familiarity may breed contempt in other areas of life, but sequels, especially long-awaited ones to fan favorites, thrive on a light rinse and repeat.