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Right off the bat, Tell Me How I Die has two problems: the title and the premise, which remind me, respectively, of I Know Who Killed Me and Final Destination; that is to say, I haven’t even seen it and I already have bad memories of it.

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What this movie really is about is so convoluted that, even after several explanatory Frank Grillo voiceovers complete with visual aids, it still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense; why complicate it even further with a misleading title?

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Director/co-writer Natalie Morales doesn’t advance the cause of Latin American women by leaps and bounds by naming her character “Cariño.” I mean, you didn’t really take Jessica Alba seriously in Honey, now did you? The character’s actual name, Caridad, is a strong, meaningful name, so why not just use that instead?

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This movie may feel Totally Fine, but there’s something inherently wrong with it. One of the main characters is an alien, and yet what I just can’t get over is something that involves alleged human beings.

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Unlike Exocist II: The Heretic, The Exorcist III looks and feels (except for a bizarre dream sequence featuring cameos by Fabio and Patrick Ewing as angels) like it belongs in the same world as The Exorcist; that is to say, it knows the words and the music.

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This is the funniest exorcism movie since Leslie Nielsen’s Repossessed, so it’s hard to believe that no one involved in it had the minimum brain cells required to see that they were making a comedy.

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To not know the Borg is to love them, and I don’t just mean that from the point of view of an inhabitant of the Star Trek universe, who would consider himself lucky never to cross path with the drones; what I really mean is that the more it is revealed about the Borg, the less effective they become as villains.

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The climactic exorcism is so perfunctory that Father Merrin wouldn’t even consider it a warm-up, and it’s all over faster than you can say ‘the power of Christ compels you.’

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The Devil Inside is supposed to be a horror movie, but it might have done better as a comedy; The Fearless Demon Exorcisers, perhaps?

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I’m aware that an artist’s love life, or lack thereof, tends to inform his creative output, but the romance between Wishaw and Cornish is so corny and mushy that we can’t believe such saccharine sentiment could ever translate into Keats’s sublime lyricism.

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The script can’t be said to barely scrape the surface because it’s too shallow to even have a surface to scrape.

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The Words obliquely poses the question, what would have happened if someone had found the suitcase full of Papa Hem’s manuscripts that Hadley lost at the Gare de Lyon, and published the content as his own work? Unfortunately, the answer is: not much.

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Causeway is a promising coming out for its first-time director; exactly the kind of modest effort that all but guarantees she won’t turn out to be a one-hit wonder.
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Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves doesn’t have a lot going for it. It’s too long and too computer-generated, and it has too much Chris Pine and not enough Hugh Grant.

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JP

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