Hellweek

"Hellweek" isn't just a film; it's a reminder of how low the bar can go.

From the first frame to the interminable last, this cinematic monstrosity drags itself along like a zombie in need of caffeine. The concept-a satanic fraternity initiation gone awry-should have been the bloody good fun of "The Evil Dead" meeting the relentless dread of "Hereditary." Instead, it's a soulless slog with the charisma of an unpaid extra in a straight-to-VHS knockoff.

The dialogue? If clichés were currency, this script could fund James Cameron's next underwater odyssey. The characters feel as if they were written by AI stuck in beta: bland, wooden, and occasionally glitching into bouts of absurd melodrama. Underacting and overacting battle for dominance like dueling banjos in "Deliverance," but neither wins.

And oh, the direction. It's as if someone watched "The Shining" and thought, "What if we sucked out all the atmosphere?" The pacing plods, the scares are telegraphed a mile away, and the runtime-at an unholy two hours-stretches the audience's patience thinner than "The Exorcist 2's" critical acclaim.

Still, the hard-rock soundtrack bangs. Unfortunately, it's like putting a cherry on top of a compost heap.