Movie Nation

Russell Crowe has made many films better than “The Pope’s Exorcist,” and a few one could label as objectively “worse.” But he’s never made a more cynical movie, a shameless late-career grasp at that which he eschewed back when the offers were more plentiful — a “franchise.”

He and the creative team behind this thriller start with the real-life Father Gabriele Amorth, Exorcist of the Diocese of Rome. They fictionalize that biography into a tale of a late 1980s contest between Satan, in his demonic “200 fallen angels” guises, and the Pope’s top demon-destroyer.

The character is canonical and papal and whimsical, with the catch-phrase “Cuck-oo” which he trots out to tease nuns and passersby on the streets of Italy and Spain and in the halls of the Vatican.

He wears a fedora. He totes a big, boxy exorcist’s tool-kit case, filled with talismans, crucifixes, papal seals and the like. Father Amorth also keeps a whisky flask handy and a few choice profanities on the tip of his tongue.

And he rides into battle with an Exorcist-mobile, an ’80s Vespa in the white and red livery of the Holy See, a vehicle which takes him to Italian house calls, and all the way to the north of Spain.

Father Amorth must have a chiropracter on call, wherever he goes.

All he lacks is a Marvel cape and some DC tights and we’d have ourselves a priestly superhero — CatholicMan!

The thriller’s opening gambit has the Vatican send Father Amorth into the Itialian countryside where a young man is possessed, and the priest comforts the lad’s much younger sister by imploring her to recite “the Our Fathers” over and over again as he sets about his work.

Heaven help her future feelings of guilt if the swaggering priest fails.

Amorth teases the demon, baits and antoganizes “him” as a member of the family brings a prized hog in and we see where this is going before the Dark One does. “Satan,” as the demon identifies himself, is tricked into taking possession of the pig instead of the young man, a pig which is promptly dispatched.

Crowe’s Father Amorth smiles wryly with the audience at this turn of events. We know what he must have figured out long ago. Satan or Lucifer or Old Scratch as he’s called around the globe, is something of a dumbass.

The main test of the narrative is an American family — a mother (Alex Essoe), her rebellious teen (Laurel Marsden) and the little boy (Peter DeSouza-Feighoney) who hasn’t spoken since his father’s gruesome death a year before, but who takes up talking when another of heaven’s “fallen angels” takes possession of him in a mysterious abbey that the family inherited in Spanish Castille.

Daniel Zovatto is the young Spanish priest who has the process explained to him (as the audience’s surrogate) as he witnesses this horrific battle of wills and suffers at the hands of the demon. Father Amorth — with a little help from a Pope (Franco Nero) who does his “own research” — uncovers the truth about this demon and that piece of Spanish real estate.

Crowe seems to impose his own sense of fun on the proceedings, which gives it a light touch even when it should have fear-for-the-victims’ lives gravitas.

The film that starts Father Amorth’s saga has a wink here and a sign of the cross there, Latin and Italian dialogue and accents, a “modern” sensibility.” Tis exorcist understands psychology, and that most of his “possessions” are people in need of counseling, group therapy and medication, not having demons cast out.

But as “The Pope’s Exorcist” settles into key conflict, exorcist vs. a Devil who wants revenge for his losses, the plot loses track of the victims Father Amorth is supposed to be helping and “saving” for stretches.

Crowe may have a bit of fun with this, but state-of-the-art effects don’t necessarily translate into shocks or frights, which are kind of the point.

Maybe “The Pope’s Exorcist” will inspire sequels, setting up Crowe for life. All I took away from it was a curiosity about whether Vespa actually offers a “Vatican edition” paint job. I can find my own Ferrari sticker to decorate it.

Rating: R for violent content, language, sexual references and some nudity

Cast: Russell Crowe, Daniel Zovatto, Alex Essoe, Laurel Marsden, Peter DeSouza-Feighoney and Franco Nero.

Credits: Directed by Julius Avery, scripted by Michael Petroni and Evan Spiliotopoulos. A Sony/Screen Gems release.

Running time: 1:40

“Hands on a Hardbody,” the story of Texans competing to win a new “pick’em up truck” by seeing who could stand up and keep one hand on it the longest was a documentary that was excerpted for a “This American Life” radio essay, and even transformed into a Broadway musical. So it’s understandable that German writer and director Bastian Günther (“Houston,” “Autopilots”) would want to do a little something different in filming his “inspired by true events” take on the the material.

But “One of These Days,” his fictionalized take on just such a contest, loses its way as he goes beyond the psychological and physical toll of such a contest and lapses into melodrama and a sort of “what if” finale. It’s interesting and thought-provoking, even if that thought is “You almost spoilt your movie, meine Freund.”

A few quick strokes establish a sleepy, dying rural town through weed-covered lots, discount stores and struggling, working class Texans and their housing, much of it sampled via Google Street View. Wherever this dead end is, Bubba Boudreaux of Boudreaux Auto & Truck puts on a show, once a year, that gets folks to talking for miles around.

It’s the annual Hands on a Hard Body give-away, an annual contest in which 20 “lucky” contestants get a chance to win a shiny new “Matterhorn” edition pickup (it’s a Ford dealership) just by outlasting each other in a test of stamina and just plain stubbornness.

Promotions manager Joan (Carrie Preston of “True Blood,” “The Good Wife” and “Claws”) runs this show, an ever-smiling fixture in town and on local TV, which covers the hell out of this spectacle. Joan is divorced, we gather. She has a regular “nooner” whom she hooks up with over lunch. And her smile and positivity aren’t shaken even when her paramour (Cullen Moss) callously tells her “I’ve met somebody,” and their assignations must end.

Joan’s sweetness extends to all those folks picked to compete, starting with discount store clerk Kyle (Joe Cole of “Peaky Blinders” and “Gangs of London”). He’s married, with a working wife (Callie Hernandez) and a baby at home.

And they could really use a reliable new “ve-HICLE” as we say in the rural South.

“No sugar,” Joan advises him. “No fatty foods. Lots of water and bananas.”

This isn’t her first rodeo. She not only has “perfected this contest,” with scheduled bathroom and meal breaks, live entertainment and food and drink give-aways designed to draw a crowd, judges working in shifts around the clock and all of it taking place under a tent on the lot. She knows how past winners managed the 50-100 hour ordeal.

Kyle will be facing 19 other people, a real cross section of the community, from aged Bible quoter Ruthie (Lynne Ashe) and bullheaded old coot Walter (Carl Palmer)to telegenic but intense veteran Derek (Evan Henderson) and a Louisianan jerk’s jerk Kevin (Jesse C. Boyd of “Outer Banks” and “Halloween Ends”).

Walter may annoy and Derek threaten. Others may even trot out the race card. But Kevin is goading, taunting and provoking his way to that truck, determined to get inside everybody else’s head, especially the desperate Kyle.

Over the course of this ordeal, fights and compassion, mutual respect and deeply personal contempt will come out as one and all try to endure or bait the others into quitting or simply forgetting what they’re doing and where they are as hallucinations replace recriminations.

That’s a fairly conventional narrative, but it’s interesting enough that it would have made a solid, suspenseful and possibly even “feel good” movie, one about 90 minutes long.

Günther goes for something beyond that Limits of Human Endurance tale for a third act that starts with the melodramatic and turns towards narrative cheats, folding flashbacks in to make one question just how “desperate” someone should be if there wasn’t some salesman waving a shiny new truck in front of everybody’s face, creating relative deprivation and a sense of want.

The actors do a great job establishing characters and Günther nails this milieu as we follow Joan through this “My time to shine” bit of logistics and “managing” her contestants. And then Günther moves on from that, and I thought, loses his way.

Not a bad movie, but a better one plays out and ends before a final 15 minute anti-climax.

Rating: unrated, violence, sex, nudity, profanity

Cast: Carrie Preston, Joe Cole, Jesse C. Boyd, Lynne Ashe, Sam Malone, Amy Le and Callie Hernandez

Credits: Scripted and directed by Bastian Günther. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:59

Say what you like about “Florida Man,” a riff through a lot of familiar action comedy/caper comedy/film noir tropes. It keeps you just invested enough to figure you’re going to have to finish it. Kind of. More or less.

The series isn’t a laugh riot or anybody’s idea of a deep dive into its genre or genres. And it isn’t as “authentic” as say, Elmore Leonard or Carl Hiassen’s “authentic” takes on the screwiness of The Sunshine State. But it does tease out its tale in that “limited series” way, even if the tale itself is as surprising as finding gator jerky next to the oranges and orange blossom honey at every gift shop from Cocoa Beach to Daytona.

Series creator Donald Todd (“This is Us,” “Hart of Dixie,””Sleepy Hollow”) did just enough research to land a few Florida zingers and get a general feel for Central Florida, the Orlando-Sanford-New Smyrna Beach/Coronado Beach setting. I know because I live here.

But the series is shallow and untidy and drawn-out, with some good players popping up in a few episodes and neglected for a few others. Many of the easy laughs don’t land.

Still, it makes a fine vehicle for Edgar Ramírez, a softer, edge-free “Bloodline” that jabs at Florida weirdness, Florida gun-nuttery and Florida corruption — just a bunch of shady characters trying to get their hands on — wait for it — Spanish treasure.

Ramírez is Mike, the ex Philly cop and gambling addict working off his debts to mobster Moss (Emory Cohen) by collecting on others’ debts, and running errands.

One of those little jobs turns out to be following Moss’s moll, Delly (Abbey Lee of “Lovecraft Country, “Mad Max: Fury Road” and “Old”), a skinny blonde femme fatale who skipped off to Florida.

Turns out Mike had a “thing” with the boss’s gal. Turns out Mike used to live in Florida. Turns out, he’s estranged from his shady-ex-cop Dad (Anthony LaPaglia, terrific). Turns out, Mike’s ex (Lex Scott Davis) is on the Philly PD task force investigating Moss.

And it turns out Delly was on to something big, a staggering fortune of undeclared treasure that is set to entangle Mike, his dad and an NC sheriff’s deputy (Clark Gregg) just visiting Florida with his family, the guy whose gun Mike stole out of baggage claim at the airport.

Double-crosses, back-stabbing, deaths and faked deaths and a treasure hunt play out against a backdrop of ditzy, giggling local TV reporters commenting on the goofy stuff that Florida Man in all his many moronic incarnations gets himself involved in — convenience store stick-ups with a sword, breaking INTO a jail, etc.

It’s jokey and occasionally those jokes land, or at least ring true — tweens firing a .22 at a “Welcome to Florida” sign, rednecks shooting at manatees.

“You can’t shoot manatees.”

“Not with this piece of sh– (gun), you can’t.”

Gregg the deputy’s daughter wants to ride “the zipline” at Gatorland.

“Hell No,” he says. “God only knows what meth-head screwed that together. But when it comes down in a pool of alligators, you can bet we WON’T be on it!”

That’s as close to “edgy” as “Florida Man,” and only in a “We could sue over that” sense.

Mike, who finds himself in a state he vowed never to return to, tells someone “I had to go to Florida.”

“Why?”

“So I could LEAVE Florida.”

There’s not a lot here that’s fresh or new. The whole enterprise feels like a manuscript Hiassen churned over out a long weekend, and stuck in a drawer as “Not quite there yet.”

Floridians and anyone who’s vacationed in the sink hole capital that’s home to Disney World may get the occasional kick out of it. But like the national punchline the “shaped like a gun” or “limp” phallus-shaped state itself, “Florida Man” can’t help but make you to ponder just what all the fuss is about, and think, “That’s not funny, that’s just…off.”

Rating: TV-MA, violence, sex, nudity, profanity

Cast: Edgar Ramírez, Abbey Lee, Paul Schneider, Clark Gregg, Lex Scott Davis, Judy Reyes and Anthony LaPaglia.

Credits: Created by Donald Todd. A Netflix release.

Running time: Eight episodes @:42-53 minutes each

A 19th century charter voyage from Romania to…HELL?

Well, trapped on a sailing ship with a vampire seems close enough to that.

Corey Hawkins (“BlackKklansman,””In the Heights,” “Tragedy of Macbeth”), Aisling Franciosi and Liam Cunningham star in this salty take on the Dracula legend.

August 11.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

A serf, a samurai and a Jew walk into an oligarch’s Ukranian manor house…

“Once Upon a Time in Ukraine” is a Syrnyky Western, a Slavic stroll down Sergio Leone Lane. It’s just gonzo and goofy enough to make one peruse the credits for the surname “Tarantinovich,” because that’s what writer-director Roman Perfilyev is on about.

It’s an 1844 story about as historical as anything Leone or Tarantino turned out, a tale of a “bondsman” or serf named Taras (Roman Lutskyi) out to free himself and his lady love (Kateryna Slyusar) from bondage and a half-Ukrainian samurai (Sergey Strelnikov) determined to avenge himself on the samurai (Gen Soto) who murdered his mentor and took that father figure’s Katana sword.

The Jewish gun dealer who throws in with them could be an ally, or an opportunist living down to the “sneaky” stereotypes Taras doesn’t hesitate to trot out.

There’s a Cossack bandit, Bogdan Chuba (Yakov Tkachenko) leading a revolt against the landlords, oligarchs (Russians, maybe?) who enslave and sell serfs, sometimes to Japanese sex traffickers. But you know Cossacks. You either join him or face his wrath.

“Those who advocate equality present a threat to the system,” one of the fat cats reminds his fellow feline, in Ukrainian with English subtitles. As they ride around in sedan chairs and exploit the people, you just know they’re going to get theirs.

But our story has a lot of obstacles to the samurai and the serf getting what they want. At least the samurai is “an artist” with a sword. But as Taras thinks of himself as “a different kind of artist, a poet, a writer” how much help can he be?

There’s nothing for it but to acquire guns (the gun dealer, an Adrien Brody look-alike) and train Taras in using a Katana sword, which our samurai, Akayo, can weild to dismember his enemies and in a pinch, even fend off bullets.

“The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” tone is set early enough and underscored by Akayo’s complaint about the script’s tight time frame for “training.”

“You haven’t learned a lot in two days,” he gripes in Japanese-accented Ukrainian.

Ninjas, opium smoking, duels, serving a meal on a naked woman, all manner of historically dubious firearms and anti-Semitic insults (“You circumcised schnitzel!”) pass through the sometimes jaunty 90 minutes of this Eastern/Western. We’re treated to a Ninja hiding in the pit of an outhouse, deciding who to shoot with a Cossack version of “Eenie meeny miny moe” — “A sackfull of crayfish rolled down the hill, one, two three, which one do we kill?” — and an amusing version of a “Raiders of the Lost Ark” gag.

It doesn’t all work, and the pacing isn’t as brisk as the material demands. But the swordfight fights are furious (Wirework!), the shootouts noisy and bloody and the third act provides a couple of genuine bellylaughs.

Tarantino may be retiring, but let’s hope writer-director Roman Perfilyev gets to roll cameras on more gonzo, bastardized history in a free Ukraine. He’s got the touch.

Rating: unrated, graphic violence, nudity

Cast: Roman Lutskyi, Sergey Strelnikov, Kateryna Slyusar, Yakov Tkachenko and Gen Seto.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Roman Perfilyev. A Samuel Goldwyn release.

Running time: 1:30

A “mad” teen and madder-than-mad “mad scientist” thriller, this one opens June 9.

Yeah, this looks seriously messed-up.

“Sweethurt” is a scruffy, fitfully-amusing Aussie indie that’s basically a soundtrack in search of a better rom-com.

It’s a post-breakup farce set to the music of The Skategoats, Midimachine, The Struts, Better Luck Next Time and Third Eye Blind. Yeah, Tom Danger’s picture is nostalgic for the ’90s, when Alt Rock was a thing and naming your band Harvey Danger (No relation, I trust?) was considered cool.

Two years ago, Jacob (Rav Raynayake) broke up with teacher Olivia (Alannah Robertson), and she’s still in his nightmares. He dreams he’s the biggest kid in her class, propeller beanie cap, confessing his love and regret, mocked for it by the other kids.

“Yer gonna die ALONE!” the little Bruces and Sheilas shout. And maybe they’re right. His grandpa did.

Jacob is sent on a road trip to Broken Bay to see to some of his late grandpa’s affairs — settle up bar tabs, etc. Mate Mike (Mehdy Salameh) comes along, as does buddy Drew (co-writer Logan Webster).

And much to Drew’s horror, Jacob’s blonder-than-blonde and “thirsty” teen sister Abby (Sam Germain) is along as well. She’s not the least bit subtle in her Drew lust.

Meanwhile, out in Broken Bay, Skye (Tyra Cartledge) is bingeing on “wine cream” — red wine soaked tubs of Neapolitan ice cream — and worryting and irking her “68% gay” (based on her sexual encounters history) roomie Carly (Rhiann Marquez).

“Best way to get over someone is to do ‘anal’ with a stranger,” she offers, helpfully.

What “Sweethurt” boils down to is pointing these randos — dorky looking guys who are usually the writer/director’s alter ego and a collection of impossibly beautiful young women — into each other in a new variation of the endless male cinematic wish fulfillment fantasy, this time with “shrimp on the barbie” accents.

That’s not literally true here, as Tom Danger has a cameo (a bartender) and he’s blonder and fitter than virtually anybody he cast. But the formula’s the same as it ever was.

Funny stuff flits around the edges of these more genial-than-comical leads. The frantic Max (Dylan Lee) shows up at the dead grandpa’s door with a goat in his arms, a panicked look on his face and a tale of a date that ended badly and a cult’s goat sacrifice interrupted.

Olivia happens to be in Broken Bay, too, setting up Jacob’s confession that he’s got “absolutely no soul crushing regrets.” That’ll win her back.

And there’s an impromptu rave, with lots of tunes from the aforementioned bands energizing it. Kind of.

Death and mortality hang over this, but not in any elegantly-managed way.

All of which adds up to an odd funny scene, the rarer funny line, and a lot more reasons to self-Spotify the soundtrack than sit and wait for “Sweethurt” to get better.

Rating: unrated, profanity, sexual situations

Cast: Rav Ratnayake, Tyra Cartledge, Rhiaan Marquez, Mehdy Salameh, Sam Germain, Alannah Robertson, Dylan Lee and Logan Webster

Credits: Directed by Tom Danger, scripted by Tom Danger and Logan Webster. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:32

“Mafia Mama,” long review short?

“Vino, Vespas, violence and vulgarisms.”

Sadly, if we’re staying alliterative and offering value judgements on this Toni Collette “validation” star vehicle, we can’t leave out “vapid.”

But who doesn’t adore Toni C? Even if the film is a throwback to her mousy “Muriel’s Wedding” persona, she’s sure to give us something to chew on.

She plays a pushover marketing exec, always getting bowled-over by her boss and male co-workers, cheated-on by her “grown ass man working in a Starbucks” husband (Tim Daish).

But Kristin’s long-abandoned maiden name was “Balbano,” and her maternal grandfather back in the Olde Country has passed. She must return to “settle his affairs,” as she’s his last direct heir.

With her job a misery and a husband a soon-to-be-ex and their kid in college, why not? A quick funeral, a little sight-seeing, maybe a little “‘Under the Tuscan Sun,’ ‘Eat, Pray Love'” vacation tacked-on.

“Eat, Pray F—,'” her bestie and Krav Maga class pal Jenny (Sophia Nomvete) corrects. Kristin is thirsty and everybody knows it.

That’s often a sign of a strained comedy — by the way — putting too much effort on making a sea of F-bombs funny, each and every one of them.

In Italy, Kristin bumps into one smoldering Italian stranger (Giulio Corso) fresh off the plane, but finds herself in the care of a couple of others. “Soldatos,” it turns out. Nope, she doesn’t speak the lingo.

Her long-estranged grandpa? He wasn’t “a vintner,” as she was told. Don Guissepe didn’t die of natural causes, either. For that matter, her dad didn’t die “in a construction accident.” And this “secretary” who summoned her isn’t just a secretary. Bianca, played by the great Monica Bellucci, is a consigliere, a trusted advisor. Don Guissepe was a mafia kingpin.

“He preferred to call it ‘The Invisible Family.'”

So what we’ve got here is a fish-out-of-water comedy about a milquetoast Americana caught in the middle of a mob war in a country where she doesn’t speak the language, an affection-and-finer-things-starved sensualist who only wants la dolce vita when the locals only want to kill her.

“Mafia Mamma” was directed by Ms. “Twilight,” Catherine Hardwicke, who has no flair for comedy. Collette’s years removed from her bubbly “naive” comedy phase, with her many serious roles having “Oscar or Emmy contender” attached to them as she reaches her 50s.

What they cook up up here is a limp noodle of a farce with a string of tepid running gags — comical killings and attempted assassinations and amusing body dismemberments to “clean up” the crimes, mobsters spitting every time the rival famiglia’s name is uttered and Kristin swooning over dreamy men, yummy wines and “Gnocchi,” most of which remain just out of reach as the business of Famiglia Balbano keeps getting in the way.

The one-liners are of the “Just because you are a mafia boss doesn’t mean you have to be a bad person” quality.

The “solution” to the mob war “business” is obvious, the “heroine’s journey” from pushover to assertiveness just as predictable. A few flashes of humor — in court (Jenny is a lawyer), in the romantic clutches and in (violent) action — and Collette’s career-long likability are all “Mafia Mamma” has going for it. It’s not enough.

Rating: R for bloody violence, sexual content and language

Cast: Toni Collette, Monica Bellucci, Sophia Nomvete, Tim Daish, Eduardo Scarpetta, Giulio Corso, Alfonso Perugini and Francesco Mastroianni

Credits: Scripted and directed by Catherine Hardwicke, scripted by Michael J. Feldman and Debby Jhoon. A Bleecker Street release.

Running time: 1:41

There’s this event our Oscar winning King of the “Just Keep Living (JK Livin’) ethos is promoting.

This trailer or commercial for it gets at the essence of Matthew McConaughey — laid back, cocksure, shirtless if he needs to be, a tad messianic about his way of looking at the world.

He’s like a better looking, kinder, gentler Russell Brand, if no dumber or smarter (which would be news to that delusional Britcon).

You can see the Airstream that MM toured America promoting one of the last bombs he made before transforming into an Oscar winner with a charmingly flaky persona.

One of the times I caught up with him was sitting on lawn chairs in front of that American classic recreational trailer wrapped in a “Sahara” poster — shirtless — of course. This is closer to the”real” MM than your typical chat show appearance.

He’s of the opinion that we’d all be better off if we were a lot more chill. “Be like Matthew,” in other words.

There’s been talk of him running for governor of Texas, an effort to unemploy the hate-filled incompetent tumor who has run the Lone Star state into the ditch.

Let’s see if he does it. April 24 at 10 am Eastern, we may get an idea.

Let it never be said that Nicolas Cage doesn’t deliver fair value every time he pops up on screen. Challenging indie dramedy, chewy support in an A-picture or straight-up vamping as some devilish variation of himself in everything else, he is as much fun to watch as anybody making movies today.

And here he is in “Renfield,” a bloody-minded and bloody-funny Dracula freed of “The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent,” cutting loose in a splatter-comedy that’s fun for the whole family.

Well, if that family is headed by Samuel L. Jackson and oh, Jamie Lee Curtis.

This comic carnage from the director of “The Lego Batman Movie” is bathed in gore and wrapped in the “feels” of self-help speak. And if Cage is free at last/free at last, what are we to make of Nicholas Hoult in the title role? He was stiff enough in the one truly comic role in “The Menu” to make one question his funny bone. But he too is freed in this farce, positively Hugh Grantish as a downtrodden, befuddled underling trapped “in a toxic relationship” with his “master,” something that’s worried him for so many decades he’s sought out a self-help group.

That’s where we meet our voice-over narrator, Robert Montague Renfield, in a DRAAG meeting (“Destructive Relationship” something something “Group,” I think). That’s where he has to listen to others describe what a “monster” this lover, wife, parent or boss might be.

Renfield knows “monsters.”

He isn’t inclined to admit that he eats bugs and serves as “familiar” to his vampire, rounding up victims for him in city after city over the past century, a former lawyer whose life is reduced to “procuring.” In New Orleans, Anne Rice’s favorite vampire haunt, he’s found a shortcut.

All he has to do is hear what “monsters” Caitlyn, Carol and others in the DRAAG group are coping with, track down and anesthesitize them, take them to “The Prince of Darkness” and voila, two problems are solved at once.

But he stumbles into a drug gang situation doing just that, running him afoul of A) gangster Teddy Lobo (Ben Schwartz, bringing his A-game) and B), a traffic cop (Awkwafina, nicely made-up and loaded with F-bombs) out to catch Teddy and assorted corrupt cops (“New Orleans,” remember?) and gangsters led by Teddy’s ruthless mom (the great Shoreh Agdashloo of “The House of Sand and Fog”).

Suddenly, Dracula’s urgent need for the necks of “the innocent,” and not these tattooed thugs Renfield keeps bringing him, doesn’t seem as urgent. Drac wants “nuns” or “tourists” or “a busload of cheer-leaders.” But “Don’t make it a SEXUAL thing.”

It’s just that this is exactly what Renfield does when he sees the brave, righteous and gosh-darned cute Officer Rebecca (Awkwafina) stand up to “toxic” criminals in her life. Renfield will eat a bug (the source of his “power”) and pitch in, maybe make some time with the pretty policewoman and forget all about this control freak who sleeps in a coffin and rules his life.

The manipulations of someone with “narcissistic personality disorder” are trotted out, with Drac degrading Renfield with “I am your only friend…your only SALVATION,” and Renfield needing a self help book (wielded like a vampire-repelling Bible at one point) and bucking up from his sensitive support group leader (Brandon Scott Jones) to stand a chance of breaking free from his co-dependency.

The self-help stuff is a cute hook that isn’t deeply developed here. The story is new-vampire-in-town formulaic and the violence hilariously over the top, with buckets and buckets of guts spilled in bitings, brawls and Slaughterhouse Five, Six and Seven blood-lettings.

But McKay knows where the money is — in Awkwafina’s temper and diminutive, Chaplinesque walk, in Hoult’s semi-lovesick haplessness, and in Cage’s every single close-up. This is Cage at his Nic Cagiest. His fangs are repellently impressive, and he flashes them with flourish after flourish, adding little wide-eyed half-giggles and grand, gruesome gestures that pop an exclamation point on every line.

A delightful touch — McKay has Cage and Hoult act out their “history” in scenes superimposing them on Bela Lugosi’s classic “Dracula” from the Universal Studios horror library.

The jokes are about the nature of the “arrangement,” a job that is horribly messy, dangerous, with “eternal life” as the benefits for “the co-pay is my mortal soul.” There are running gags and we get the impression there is more that could have been made of the ballyhooed “support group” scenes, which have been central to the film’s advertising.

But a little of that stuff goes a long way, and that holds true for the film as well. The middle acts slow things down more than they should. Cage gets things moving again with every appearance, sometimes moving on bat wings.

Splattered geysers of blood, ripped off limbs and the like aside, this is a slight comedy, and McKay has the sense to get in, get gory, get his close-ups and get out of there before 93 minutes have passed. That makes for a vampire comedy everybody can sink their teeth into.

Rating: R for bloody violence, some gore, language throughout and some drug use

Cast: Nicholas Hoult, Nicolas Cage, Awkwafina, Ben Schwartz and Shoreh Agdashloo.

Credits: Directed by Chris McKay, scripted by Ryan Ridley and Robert Kirkman. A Universal release.

Running time: 1:33

Rating: R for bloody violence, some gore, language throughout and some drug use

Cast: Nicholas Hoult, Nicolas Cage, Awkwafina, Ben Schwartz and Shoreh Agdashloo.

Credits: Directed by Chris McKay, scripted by Ryan Ridley and Robert Kirkman. A Universal release.

Running time: 1:33