Bill (Biden Hall) and Ashley (Alyx Melone, “Bloody Bits: Shorts Compilation Vol. 2”) live in Singapore, where Bill has an overseas posting. They have their own live-in maid, an Indonesian woman named Siti (Cynthia Lee MacQuarrie, “Mister John”), and they have a baby on the way. Until Ashley miscarries and sinks into a rather deep depression, sufficiently deep that Bill decides they all (yes, Siti as well) need to head back home to Minnesota, USA to get themselves back on track.

Back in good old Minnesota, Bill and Ashley reunite with Ashley’s best friend Naomi (Charlotte Cattell, “Female Therapy” TV series) and Ashley’s mom Renee (Lisa Kovack, “The Hotel Dieu”). Neither of them particularly care for Siti. In fact, neither does Bill — only Ashley halfheartedly defends the maid while others dress her down for minor infractions. Naomi and Renee are unashamed xenophobes, and they frequently disparage the mostly silent Siti as being from a third-world country. Not an endearing character trait, I’d say.

It’s reasonable to say that none of these people, save for Siti, have any real redeeming qualities. Bill is paranoid, distant, and obnoxious. He leaves very early in the morning to go to work (I don’t believe we ever learn what his job is) and returns very late at night. His lengthy time away from home is largely unexplained and doesn’t figure into the plot. Well, maybe except to give him an excuse to come home late and wonder what’s going on with his distraught wife.

Next, there’s Naomi, who’s every bit the Ugly American. She has a tendency to burst into the home of Bill and Ashley, unannounced. She never seems to take no for an answer, which allows her to run roughshod over Ashley. When things start to get weird (Blood Child is a supernatural thriller, remember), Naomi’s first inclination is to blame the help. And you know the adage about knowing the nature of a person by how they treat the help. Were this not a family friendly review, I’d describe Naomi as a b-word. Yes, I said it. A b-word. She’s one of those people who talk smack about someone else while that someone else is right there within earshot, assuming that since said person isn’t from “around here,” she can’t understand a word. Silly rabbit.

Finally, there’s mom Renee. Her first scene has her arriving to visit her daughter and son-in-law and remarking how she never gets to see them anymore. I mean, there she is visiting them — was something preventing her from doing so earlier? At any rate, she too (inexplicably) despises Siti. And yet, in the grand tradition of poor storytelling, she’s the one who figures out why Ashley’s been behaving so oddly, and why the house is, um, acting up. (In one particularly hilarious turn, Renee calls up a friend who’s an expert in “Southeast Asia mysticism.” You know, as one always does in situations as this.) Renee’s raison d’etre, at least in this movie, is to be a conduit of information that’s delivered too late to make a difference.

Ashley herself does garner some appeal, after all, she’s suffering greatly from the emotional impact of a miscarriage. But since it doesn’t take a normal-intelligence viewer to grasp what she gets involved with in the aftermath, that sympathy stops running at a surplus quickly. It’s also more than a little disappointing that in the face of the abuse heaped upon Siti by her husband, friend, and mother, Ashley says nothing, and thus she is complicit in said abuse. Let’s just say it’s more than a little aggravating. I mean, poor Siti. And not to give Siti short shrift, but . . . well, why not? The writer certainly did. Siti, for all of the sympathy she does garner, doesn’t do too much except cower and perform menial tasks. (Speaking of which: Why on earth do Bill and Ashley even need a maid? There’s only two of them, and one doesn’t have a job. And the house isn’t very big at all. It just doesn’t make much sense). For additional supporting cast, there are Bill’s pals, existing solely to help point fingers at Siti and to point Bill in the direction of extramarital dalliances. I’m not saying they’re successful, I’m just saying that’s their own lame reason to be around.

Now, this whole supernatural angle.

Here’s the issue I have with it. It doesn’t play as big of a role in the plot as it should have — in fact, as I suspect it was supposed to. I mean, after all — Blood Child is a supernatural horror movie. But most of the film concerns people being mean to Siti and the level of belief/disbelief between Ashley and the rest of the gang who couldn’t think straight. There are weird things (including visions) that occur around the house, a tried-and-true plot device if ever there was one, but they almost seem incidental. What’s worse, the denouement is arrived at too hastily, wrapping things up as if someone were late for a meeting. Director (and writer) Jennifer Phillips tries to create suspense throughout the goings-on, but when that suspense doesn’t lead to much, the viewer is left unsatisfied and, worse, bored. In my case, I wasn’t bored so much as I was angered by how the characters behaved themselves. Just terrible, terrible people. You remember how the family in “Poltergeist” moved into a house built over an Indian burial ground? That family was a nice family, and you were bummed when bad things happened to them. That’s not the case here. But the so-called bad things that happen to our bad characters here aren’t just anticlimactic, they’re inconsequential, robbed of any meaning. The supernatural angle of the entire film feels like it was lazily added on to a subplot about discontent spouses and the people who enable them.

Ultimately, Blood Child was a struggle to get through. It’s more of a mark of endurance than a source of entertainment, a slog of sludge atop a dung pile of chaff. It is definitely not so bad it’s good, either, and it’s not destined to be a cult film down the road. It’s destined to be forgotten.

With this iteration, Academy Award nominee Bryan Cranston (“Trumbo”) plays Phillip, a best-selling business mogul who becomes a quadriplegic after a tragic paragliding accident. Despite the contrarian advice of his close confidant and company executive, Yvonne (Nicole Kidman, “Boy Erased”), Phillip curiously hires Del (comedy superstar Kevin Hart, “Ride Along 2”), an ex-criminal trying to redefine himself, to be his new life auxiliary caretaker.

From the moment Phillip and Del meet they become fast friends, even though the true intimacy developed between best friends never fully resonates on screen. This deep connection, nonetheless, becomes an oasis from their current problems.

This gloss over, however, can be easily overlooked because Cranston and Hart are so likable. And yet, their sincere efforts aren’t enough to make the chemistry memorable. For Hart, this is his first chance to play a more grounded character, but there aren’t any scenes that offer any deep dramatic range. And though Cranston enjoys a more complex role, it’s one that doesn’t challenge him like some of his past performances. Regardless, the film is earnest in establishing these sympathetic characters.

Del we learn is an estranged father who constantly disappoints his frustrated teenage son Anthony and irritated wife Latrice (Jahi Di’Allo Winston, “Proud Mary,” and Aja Naomi King, “The Birth of a Nation,” respectively in scene stealing roles). Meanwhile, Phillip questions the purpose of his life in his current condition while grieving the loss of his wife, Jenny (Genevieve Angelson, “Spare Room”).

The greatest problem with The Upside is not the characters or the lack of conflict around Phillip and Del, but the lack of conflict between them. Considering the very real differences between both men, no buttons are pushed or boundaries crossed that threaten the growth of their friendship, which defies established behavioral logic.

The film doesn’t deny the surface-level ramifications of class and its effect on Phillip and Del. However, when it comes to racial issues, the film awkwardly side-steps it. Just as Del is painted to be a good-natured, non-stereotypical ex-con, the filmmakers don’t want Phillip to imbue any sense of racism, bigotry or discrimination because he’s a nice rich Caucasian guy. Instead, screenwriter Jon Hartmere pushes those sensibilities to come from the one-note Yvonne (Kidman is sadly wasted in this role), but mostly from Phillip’s conceited neighbor, Carter, (Tate Donovan, “Elvis & Nixon”).

Further blemishing The Upside — it arrives at a time where there is much backlash and scandal surrounding it. It was supposed to be released by The Weinstein Company in 2017, however, when the Harvey Weinstein scandals arose, the film was put aside. In December 2018, Kevin Hart was selected to host the Oscars until criticisms from old homophobic tweets reemerged. Since then, Hart has had a roller-coaster apology tour that has dwarfed this film’s promotion.

Cranston doesn’t get away unscathed either. Some fans and members from the disabled community are upset that a non-disabled man is playing a quadriplegic character. And while the film misses the opportunity to hire a disabled actor for Cranston’s role, it offers reconciliation with several touching moments which includes a pivotal and somber date scene with Cranston and Julianna Margulies (“Stand Up Guys”). It’s Cranston’s best moment although a disappointing reminder of what The Upside could have been if its characters were more vulnerable.

The plot of It Lives in the Attic is comprised of three interwoven stories, each led by a different character: Andy (Michael Coon, “The Caretakers”), Ellie (Jessica Leonard, “Frances Stein”) and Barney (Hudgins himself). We begin with Andy, a young backpacker who encounters some dodgy yokels and ends up in a violent confrontation. So far, so backwoods cliché. But within minutes we have the film’s central twist, as it is clear that Andy is mentally ill, and what we’ve seen may not be the objective truth.

Next up is Barney, a meek and pathetic research scientist. Bullied at work, where he nibbles the world’s smallest sandwiches, he finally makes it home to a most disgruntled carer, who is looking after Ellie, someone we assume to be Barney’s wife. Ellie is in a vegetative state. In one of the film’s few inspired moments, we’re shown a sentimental montage in which Barney feeds and bathes her — only to follow it up with some decidedly more sinister intentions.

Thereon, the good will garnered by the unpredictable storytelling so far begins to fragment, as we see how the three characters’ lives overlap. Hudgins chooses to jump about, spatially and temporally. The intersection of stories occurs at a place called “Club Fun” — presumably an attempt to inject a surreal, Lynchian quality to proceedings, but it comes off like bad performance art in a school hall. There’s even a bit of laughable animal mask tomfoolery, fresh out of the Overlook Hotel.

To his credit, Hudgins admirably strives for visual storytelling, eschewing found footage temptations and aiming for formalism, and he is committed to laying out the plot in a non-linear way. The dialogue is not good, but it could have been worse — there is at least a semblance of ambiguity. And I would concede that the central premise — a series of situations observed from the differing perspectives of the three main characters — is decent.

It’s just that the execution is so poor. For a micro-budget veteran, Hudgin’s film looks horrible. Bad acting is only made worse when it’s framed almost exclusively in flat medium shot. In practice, the promising perspective-hopping structure simply lumps us with a series of repeated scenes, which weren’t much fun the first time around, let alone the third. Faux tension constantly builds to doom cuts pertaining to nothing. It’s wrapped in a puzzle narrative, but a puzzle only a masochist would enjoy.

And what of the attic of the title? Let’s just say it’s more Richard Kelly than revelatory. We see elusive snatches of the doorway to the titular room; sometimes one of the characters even emerges from it. Yet somehow, for all its pointless vagueness, there’s an inevitability about the ending that renders it both ambiguous and meaningless, provoking thoughts not metaphysical but of a more immediate nature: Why did I commit myself to the past 85 minutes?

Upon reflection one accepts that the construction of the film has undergone consideration, even if the end result is entirely unsatisfying. Junk can be arranged as art, but at bottom it is still junk. There is no atmosphere or genuine tension-building to intrigue slow-burn horror fans, and precious little gore to thrill the more viscerally-inclined. Amateurishly played and narratively nonsensical, It Lives in the Attic is student-level filmmaking in both craft and approach.

One afternoon, she spots a pretty brunette as she’s driving along, and decides to follow her. Once she determines where the young woman lives, she returns day after day, and begins tracking her every move. In one instance, Janie falls asleep in her car outside the house and is discovered by the woman, who knocks on her window in concern. Janie is thrown, but recovers enough to tell the woman, who introduces herself as Savannah (Sara Malakul Lane, “12/12/12”), that she’s just waiting for a friend. However, her obsession intensifies as Janie peers into Savannah’s window at night, uses her hidden spare house key to stealthily enter Savannah’s home, and even tracks down Savannah’s boyfriend’s home. Each day, she returns home later and later, and Irma, her caretaker, becomes more agitated about her adventures. She warns Janie to be careful, because “there are a lot of ways this world could hurt you.”

Irma’s treatment of Janie is intense (while strangely unclear); there are therapy/punishments that involve Janie lying on the couch reacting in the form of seizures to the high pitch of a tuning fork and Irma’s yoga sessions are extreme and forceful, rather than relaxing and focused. It doesn’t appear that Irma is a healthcare professional of any kind, but the established situation is never fully explained. As Janie begins to feel more and more like herself, she starts separating herself from Irma’s grasp, despite Irma’s warnings that these behaviors are what led to her illness concerns before. Irma forebodingly tells her that she promised Janie’s father years ago that she “. . . would spend the rest of my life worrying about you and caring for you, whether either one of us likes it.”

I think you see where this is going.

Sun Choke is a potent thriller that moves slowly, yet cuts deeply. Written and directed by Ben Cresciman, the film chronicles the simple tale of a woman struggling with her psychological identity and existence, and mainly exhibits scenes through her distorted points of view and tension-laden experiences. Inside her home, you worry for Janie who comes across as meek and battered at the hands of Irma; however, in the outside world, she gathers her strength and boldly violates the sanctity of Savannah’s privacy time and again. Sarah Hague is extraordinary as the enigmatic Janie, vacillating between a timid woman who answers to “little girl” in her home and an authentic, on-the-brink threat to a kind stranger just trying to be friendly. Her center-parted straight brown hair and icy blue eyes pierce whomever she speaks with, and her descent into psychological breakdown is truly chilling.

The film boasts well-executed technical elements as well. The sound design is masterful, blending a haunting original score by Bryan Hollon and the enhancement of everyday ambient noises by sound mixer Amanda Beggs. The tinkling of broken glass, the slosh of feet walking through puddles, and the swish of clothing all shout through the speakers, adding to the palpable tension. Cinematographer Mathew Rudenberg represents Janie’s weakening grip on herself through medium long shots that accentuate the isolation she feels in her own home, and editor Jason Jones wields a variety of rapid-fire extreme close-ups to amplify Janie’s increasing confusion at the stimuli she encounters, both inside and outside her mind.

While the action of Sun Choke is mostly subdued, it’s engrossing and fascinating, driven by outstanding performances by its lead and supporting actresses. There are elements of the backstory that are left vague and unexplained, but the film leaves a definitive impression on the viewer. The characters and situations latch onto you and refuse to give in, mirroring Janie’s obsession and degrading stability. It is a truly disquieting psychological piece that you won’t soon forget.

Criticized as “women’s cinema” or (worse) for “girls,” the weepie has a reputation for frivolity, excessive emotion and somehow unhealthy manipulation. There are severe problems with the gender attitudes in this view, suggesting that films for women are somehow less worthy of critical attention than other films, presumably for men. Bombastic action films aimed at teenage boys also come in for a lot of stick, but that criticism is closely tied to age — either boys grow out of bombastic action films or the adult men who watch them have failed to mature. The idea that weepies are a lower genre aimed at women of any age is another way for patriarchal hegemony to demean women and characterize them as the weaker sex, open to emotional manipulation whereas men are intellectual, resistant and wise (provided they grow up and stop enjoying robots and superheroes).

When subjected to analysis, these views are rapidly exposed as utter excrement. Films aimed at an ostensibly “male” audience are also highly manipulative, as are potentially “intellectual” films. Furthermore, men can cry at tragic romances as well, as I can wholeheartedly and unashamedly report was the case during my viewing of Me Before You. But I also laughed, as Thea Sharrock’s film of Jojo Moyes’ screenplay balances wit and warmth with the worries and whimpers. All films are manipulative, and the question is whether a film is effective and not exploitative. When a character is disabled — Will Traynor (Sam Claflin, “The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2”) is paralyzed below the neck — exploitation is a genuine risk: Are we being presented with a disabled character solely to feel sorry for them? Furthermore, there are consistent problems with the depiction of disabled people on screen, such as presenting their disability as an insurmountable burden to a meaningful life, or having a person with a disability played by an able-bodied actor. Regrettably, Me Before You does not address these problems and in some ways contributes to them.

Problems of representation aside, Me Before You does work as an emotional drama. The film does not simply present Will’s situation as tragic because he is paralyzed, but ensures that the viewer’s sympathy is engendered by his constant mental anguish, anguish that the viewer can at least sympathize wit even if they have no comparable experience. Crucially, we sympathize with him at the same rate as Lou Clark (Emilia Clarke, “Terminator Genisys”). As Lou learns more about Will, his past and present situations, she and the viewer come to understand his suffering. Clarke therefore carries the dramatic weight of the film, and her engaging performance includes just the right amount of verve and (sorry for using this term) bubbliness. Lou is something of an archetype, an English “rose” who makes a great cup of tea, dresses garishly, loves her family and is loyal to her boyfriend Patrick (Matthew Lewis, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2”), despite Patrick’s blatant disregard and de-prioritization of her. But as with Will, there is much more to her than these traits. Her wardrobe especially is a source not only of comedic delight, but touching personal history and narrative development; a pair of tights serves provides a particular highlight.

Other archetypal features are the class barriers between Lou and Will. He comes from immense wealth and his family have built a fully equipped annex for him; she has a working class background and lives with three generations in one house. There is even a reference to contemporary economics as her father is out of work and early in the film she is made redundant because the quaint café where she initially works closes down. Whereas the recent “Testament of Youth” was stodgy and stilted in its Englishness, Me Before You makes a virtue of its national identity, with a quirky, self-deprecating humor that provides a powerful contrast to the heart-rending moments. Sharrock paces the film carefully, allowing time for the supporting cast to breathe, including Janet McTeer (“Insurgent”) and Charles Dance (“Child 44”) as Will’s parents Camilla and Stephen, Jenna Coleman (“Doctor Who” TV series) as Lou’s sister Treena and a great turn from Stephen Peacocke (“Hercules”) as Will’s (bewilderingly Antipodean) physical therapist Nathan. The Director of Photography, Remi Adefarasin, lenses the film in seemingly natural light, especially the gorgeous Pembrokeshire countryside and Pembroke Castle (part of the Traynor estate, of course). The charming English environment and winning characters create a sense of place and community where the viewer can feel at home, or at least enjoy their visit. As a result, as events become increasingly unhappy, the viewer continues with the characters in this comfortable environment, able to feel and indeed share their pain.

In addition, and despite its problems with portraying disability, Me Before You is encouraging from a gender perspective. Both writer and director are women, and the central narrative arc is of a woman whose identity is defined neither by relationship nor work. Both these aspects are central to the film, but Me Before You also acknowledges wider horizons and the difficulties of social constraints. While there are aspects of the film that are problematic, there is also much to enjoy. Just remember your tissues.

Naturally, Catherine wants Rachel back and is closing in on her; at the same time, Rachel’s father is also searching for his daughter, and the race is on to see who can find her first.

With The Caretakers, writer and director Steve Hudgins creates a world that works, somewhat successfully, to re-imagine the rules of vampire lore and put a new spin on what we already know. In educating his new apprentices, Jack explains that humans don’t become vampires from being bitten as widely believed. When a pure-line vampire bites a human, a kind of venom is injected into the bloodstream, creating a kind of human-vampire hybrid (like Rachel) whose purpose is really only to serve as a food source for the pure-line vampire. Once this supply runs out, Catherine moves on to a new location, finds new suppliers, and Jack’s role of filling and maintaining the cache of young women begins again. This means, of course, that someone will be looking for the girls, and in this case, Rachel’s father (played by Bill Johnson — famous for his role as Leatherface in “Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2”) has hired some specialists to find her. These specialists (Jessica Dockrey and director Steve Hudgins) are managed by Parker (Joe Estevez, doing an unintentionally spot-on impression of his older brother Martin Sheen) and serve as part of the humorous secondary cast.

In fact, the secondary characters really carry the film; with the exception of Nick Faust’s Jack, most of the main characters are very poorly acted and come across more as cheesy extras than authentic people we worry about. Saylor’s Rachel is a silly caricature of a vampire — hissing at the camera and, on occasion, growling at people who might come near her food. As her caretaker, Michael Coon tries to play an earnest, sweetly honorable Jimmy, but his outbursts turn out to be more comical than tense. Jack’s apprentices, father-daughter duo Scott (Kenneth R. Root) and Jodi (Lucy Turner), are more awkward and in-the-way than they are eager-to-learn and attentive to the ways of their caretaker mentor. Some of this awkwardness is explained away by their backstory, but those scenes are just as awkward and forced. Thankfully, these scenes and characters are balanced by performances by Faust, whose world-weary Jack strikes you as loyal, knowledgable, and patient, and Jennings who brings the regal Catherine to life through minimal movement, simple but very effective facial expressions, and a soothing vocal tone.

While some scenes are awkward or extraneous (or disappointingly rushed, like a few scenes near the end), overall, Hudgins’ complex story is pleasantly well-balanced. There are a lot of characters and sideplots to follow, but The Caretakers manages all of them very well, and neatly resolves each plotline. Despite being very low-budget, the film moves along easily, providing just enough backstory and explanation for each situation, and avoids overdoing any of the action scenes (a pitfall to which many other vampire films have fallen). Even though there’s a sizable helping of cheesy acting, The Caretakers still has enough quality characters and plot points to keep you entertained. Perhaps there are some surprises left in this dusty sub-genre after all.