Search: Starring Heather Graham

Dennis Quaid plays Henry Whipple with so much tension in his face that you might expect a little alien to pop out of his temple at any given moment.

Familiarity encourages critical amnesia.

Estevez uses Bobby’s words too much, but you can’t blame him, because Kennedy’s compassion and sympathy for the underprivileged shines.

Less the free-form, jazzy ensemble satire on the art world it aspires to be than an over-elaborate and under-funny undertaking by high quality actors who should know better.

Judging by the violence of the crimes, the killer cannot be taken seriously when finally he is exposed.

Angus MacLachlan finds little new to say about the rocky road back to equilibrium after divorce.

The humour is so crass, to call it dumbed-down would be expansive.

This film makes a number of intriguing choices.

Reckless, feckless and, above all, utterly irredeemable.

Only Firth's performance gives it air. The plot lacks surprise and the humour has been planted in advance.

The chiller/thriller mix doesn't set.

A poseur's wet dream.

The effects and the action and the creatures are fine. The script dies out.

When the central theme is incest and the running gag a legless black man whose artificial limbs keep falling off, bad taste turns rancid.

The humour is acerbic.

It feels like a natural successor to Gordon’s work, and a film of which he would have been proud.

Why is this so funny? Because it's true.

Barry Markowitz's cinematography makes the bleak marshland look hauntingly beautiful throughout, without ever relieving the sense of natural menace that hangs over the film.

Simon confidently marries the investigative and horrific aspects of the story, and very effectively combines sudden scares with the gruelling horror of a problem that won’t go away.