A nearly bloodless and scare-free exercise in futility, jumping from scene to scene with very little continuity and even less comprehension of the concept of true fear.

Shimizu has enough tricks up his sleeve to make you forget that he's not making one whit of sense.

Creepily riveting, like fingernails running down a blackboard or a fork scraping on china. . . . As the curse's mystery unravels, it also deepens into a puzzling metaphor.

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