The score is compellingly offbeat, flirting with church bells and what sounds like Tibetan prayer bowls, but the rest of this nervy, sweaty thriller gets a little bogged down in layers of futile intrigue.

Pearce stays true to form with a performance far more impressive, nuanced and crafted than the film perhaps deserves.

It’s unfortunate that video stores no longer exist, because The Infernal Machine would thrive as one of those rentals that a store carries only one or two copies of.

Absurdist without being particularly funny or entertaining, The Infernal Machine keeps pulling the rug out from under Cogburn, and therefore us, wholly subscribing to another bit of writerly advice: Torture your protagonist