Sometime between “Leprechaun” and “Leprechaun 2” it became fashionable, or a smart career move, even, to concoct a horror film that people would label “so bad it’s good.”

It never made much sense, and there’s always been junk cinema that some fans embraced beyond the world of “cult film” and “guilty pleasure.”

“Plan Nine from Outer Space” has become legend.

“The Room” was celebrated to the point it led to “The Disaster Artist,” although any horror fan knows that “Leprechaun 2” is much more worthy of “The worst film ever made” than either that, or Ed Wood’s loony “Plan Nine.”

“Devil’s Junction” went through many contortions between concept and screen, title changes from “Handy Dandy” to “Devil’s Junction: Handy Dandy’s Revenge,” a director who wanted to change his name on the credits to the colors in the light spectrum acronym — “Roy G. Biv.”

Seeing “Devil’s Junction” — I think that’s the title they’re hanging onto — one gets it. Alan Smithee’s too good to take the credit. 

It’s about a group of friends trapped in an abandoned Detroit TV station — WOMB (Woot!) — by the ventriloquist dummies left behind from a show that was performed, in studio, in an earlier era.

It was plainly, one of the would-be victims notes, “some f—-d up ‘Howdy Doody’ ripoff.”

The “200 year old” ventriloquist is also out to get them. And some nameless hulk in a welding helmet (shades of “Plan Nine”). And an obese “surgeon” in clown makeup.

None of it makes any sense, but when you’re a screenwriter trying to brush off the unexplainable, “Masons” and “Masonic relics” will do.

Steffan (Jake Red) has dreams that his developer dad will let him turn this property into an exclusive club, and he lures five of his 20something friends — a fiesty lesbian (KateLynn E. Newberry), the jock with NFL dreams (Kyle Anderson), the automation lab scientist Doc (Danni Spring), the wealthy-enough womanizer (Arthur Marroquin) and his latest blonde conquest (Cody Renee Cameron) into WOMB after hours.

Jostling the stored dummies, making fun of them, triggers the wooden puppets to life. let the torture porn begin!

I laughed at the first time a dummy sticks its head around a corner, snooping on these young folks joking, smoking a joint, on Rick (Marroquin) and Abby (Cameron) getting naked and getting busy. There are two laughs in this thing, by my count.

An alcoholic businessman (horror veteran Bill Moseley, a mascot in horror films since “Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2”) isn’t so drunk that he doesn’t remember what used to happen to kids in the neighborhood while “Mr. Jolly & The Handy Dandy Show” was on air.

He’s set to confront the spectral Mr. Jolly (Bill Oberst, Jr of TV’s “Age of the Living Dead”), only to wind up in the villain’s clutches for a session of tied-up trash talking.

“Who’s gonna win? The man, or the monster?”

“Smart money’s always on THE MONSTER!”

The businessman’s threats — “This ends tonight! You will not succeed. You will not survive!” — don’t hold a lot of water.

“I’m a 200 year old magician with a band of killer puppets.” “You don’t scare me,” in other words.

The puppets stalk and talk and crack wise when “the smart one” takes a shot at stopping them — with mace.

There’s no logic to the “story,” no reason for the hulk in the welding helmet, no performance that matches the freak-the-f-out events befalling them all (well, the women get it), no real budget for effects — save for the ones that involve dismemberment and blood.

“Roy G. Biv” & Co. succeeded in making a bad horror picture. They just didn’t make one bad enough to be so bad that it’s good.

MPAA Rating: unrated, graphic violence, torture, nudity, sexual situations, profanity

Cast: Bill Moseley, Bill Oberst, Jr., KateLynn E. Newberry, Jake Red, Kyle Anderson, Danni Spring, Cody Renee Cameron and Arthur Marroquin

Credits: Jeff Broadstreet, aka Roy G. Biv, script by J.S. Brinkley (story by Donald Borza II).   An Acort International release.

Running time: 1:22

A January release from newish distributor STX, a film that takes Ritchie back to what he does best. “Rocknrolla,” “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels,” “Snatch.”

The horrors of “Aladdin” are forgiven?

Matthew McConaughey, Michelle Dockery, Hugh Grant, Colin Farell, Charlie Hunnam, Henry Golding and blimey, Jeremy Strong.

Check out that damned Hugh Grant in a bad guy beard in the opening!

Henry Golding? Watch to butch up after “Crazy Rich Asians,” mate.

Looks like fun. Jan. 24.

I had hoped that the cringe-worthy comedy that took its place as a TV genre would confine itself to the short doses-long format of the sitcom.

But no. There’s a bit of cringing involved in most every film that alumni of “The Office” or “Veep” bring with them to big screen projects.

On rare occasions — a Steve Carell movie here and there, Paul Lieberstein (“The Office”) in “Song of Back and Neck,” for instance, “Cedar Rapids,” the only worthy star vehicle on Ed Helms’ resume — the squirm-inducing persona that hangs around a performer’s neck makes for something amusing and rewarding spread over 90 minutes.

Every other time? Ugh.

Case in point? “Under the Eiffel Tower,” a star vehicle for Matt Walsh of “Veep” that has many a cringe and barely a laugh. It starts with a huuuuuge cringe, and no comic payoff, and spirals down the drain like wine in the spit-sink of a tasting gone terribly wrong.

Utterly without charm? Close enough.

Walsh plays Stuart, a Louisville bourbon salesman who drinks his way out of a job and is inexplicably rescued by a “join the family on our trip to France” lifeline tossed by friends.

Even less explicably, he betrays the friendship of Tillie (Michaela Watkins) and Frank (David Wain) by turning a lifelong “Uncle” Stuart connection to their new PhD daughter (Dylan Gelula of “The Unsinkable Kimmy Schmidt”) into something icky beyond measure.

He proposes to this woman he’s known since childhood, someone half his age, “Under the Eiffel Tower” and in front of her dismayed dad and comically furious mother.

Watkinsm, of “Good Boys” and TV’s “Transparent,” is the best thing in “Under the Eiffel Tower,” and after that abortive, friendship-killing debacle, she is rarely seen again as the movie leaves that tower and proceeds, in the most trite and contrived ways, to pair up Stuart with a roguesh Scottish footballer stereotype (Reid Scott) as traveling companion, and lovely and sophisticated vintner Louise (Judith Godrèche), whom they meet on a train and proceed to compete over for the rest of the film.

Romance is in the air, or in the wine, in “the land that gave us Piaf, the guillotine and Andre the Giant.”

The “meet cute” debate over the relative merits of wine and bourbon is almost clever (Godrèche had a hand in the script), if an inaccurate oversimplification.

“Wine makes you feel warm and sensual. Whisky dills and agitates.”

Stuart is a tactless schlub, Liam is an arrogant, hustling douche, and we run into a Frenchman or two who fits that feminine hygeine description as well.

Everything happens inorganically, with little regard for amusing twists, fated “connection” and the like. No, this French beauty must be drawn to the boorish alcoholic Lousivlle doormat because…he can cook and she can’t? He’s a born salesman and she isn’t, improvising a plummy wine-tasting spiel for moronic American and British tourists?

One day, after she’s let them stay at the winery owned by the infirm American Gerard (Gary Cole), she asks, “You’re still here?”

That’s the perfect question to ask the movie, and the best spot to dump out of it lest you waste another 45 minutes on this directionless “road comedy,” this unamusing and unromantic “romantic comedy.”

Love the scenery (not enough of it), hated most everything else about “Under the Eiffel Tower.”

MPAA Rating: Unrated, adult situations, alcohol is used and abused

Cast: Matt Walsh, Judith Godrèche, Michaela Watkins, Reid Scott, Dylan Gelula, david Wain and Gary Cole

Credits: Directed by Archie Borders, script by Archie Borders, David Henry and Judith Godrèche

An Orchard/Netflix release.

Running time: 1:27

“The Joker and I? Broke up.”

And so Warners launches the breakout character from “Suicide Squad,” the one bit of casting that paid off, into a spinoff Margot Robbie star vehicle.

“Birds of Prey: And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn” is being released in the film release year’s sleeperland, Feb. 20.

Dazzling trailer, in an eye candy sense. Very “Sin City” — lush, saturated colors, etc.

Mary Elizabeth Winstead and her sometime co-star and paramour Ewan McGregor are also in the cast of “Birds of Prey.”

In America and much of the rest of the world, the Battle of Inchon is celebrated as the masterstroke of General Douglas MacArthur’s career, a surprise United Nations amphibious assault behind enemy lines on a beachhead with some of the highest tides in Asia.

But in Korea, they remember a pivotal diversionary attack that made Inchon (or Incheon) possible. That’s why “Battle of Jangsari” is already a blockbuster south of the 38th parallel on that peninsula.

It’s a solid combat film, a visceral, sentimental account of that assault by the Republic of Korea Army, another battle against impossible odds and one fought by teenaged volunteers, most with only 10 days of training, soldiers too green to even have been issued service serial numbers.

Releasing it in North America (in Korean, with English subtitles) reminds us that whatever the differences in training and tactics from nation to nation, modern war films have the same tropes, values and action beats the world over.

In combat film buff shorthand, it’s a a “Saving Private Ryan” styled story of ptriotism, heroism, sacrifice and viscious hand-to-hand combat on the beach at Jangsari and in the trenches that overlook it. The youth of the “assault team” is treated with “Field of Lost Shoes” reverence. And there’s plenty of “Gallipoli/Hamburger Hill” cynicism, too, the callous high command, the ally (the United States) that might not be the omnipotent, righteous savior that we here in the U.S. like to attach to our intervention there.

The “men” of Captain Lee (Kim Myung-Min) are not even old enough to wear that label with confidence, most fresh-faced kids not even of shaving age yet. The 772 student volunteers are seasick as they ride out a typhoon on their way to the beachhead.

The ship’s captain can’t believe the “suicide mission” these kids have been ordered to undertake, distracting the North Koreans, who’d invaded South Korea three months before, while MacArthur’s armada slipped north to cut most of the enemy off, a trap that would all but destroy the North Korean army.

Neither can an American reporter, Marguerite Higgins (Megan Fox) embedded at HQ and privy to the particulars of the attack. The CO (Robert Eads) she gets her scoops from tells her to “keep your bags packed.” If this attack, and then MacArthur’s fail, the North Koreans will finish overrunning the country.

There’s talk of spies everywhere in this newly-independent, newly-divided country. “Battle of Jangsari” reminds us that this may have been a Cold War “test” between the US and Russia and China. But in Korea, it was brother against brother, cousin against cousin — personal and bloody and bitter.

There’s promise of air support and a naval bombardment. But mere radio contact is hard to maintain en route. Captain Lee knows its all on them and trots out the “Can you exist without a country?” pep talk. The boys are fired up, if not exactly “ready” for all this.

The first big act of sacrifice is when the ship’s captain is convinced to run his vessel aground rather than let the troops be slaughtered on their way to shore in the few tiny inflatables they’ve been alloted for this attack.

Just getting to the beach is as nightmarish as every resisted beach assault in history, “Iwo Jima” awful.

And once there, the carnage doesn’t let up. We’re treated to a truncated version of “The Longest Day” as the Captain and an enterprising sergeant or two strategize, improvise and give their young charges a fighting chance.

The uniforms are different, but so much of what’s shown here will be familiar to anybody who’s ever seen a combat film. Grunts boast of their sharpshooting prowess, curse and bully each other and make clumsy mistakes the way kids who have never held a rifle before 10 days do.

There’s more weeping than your average American war movie, and a little hand-holding. The Captain administers corporal punishment, at one point.

One of the recruits, the one who can recall his “northern accent,” is Choi Sung-pil (Choi Min-ho), a refugee from the north. Some don’t trust his loyalty, but the Captain leans on him to fool North Korean patrols when he leads a foraging party into the nearby town.

“Are you guys butchering that dog? Could you share?”

Relax, ASPCA fans.

The fighting? In your face, gory, with action broken up into groups of two, three or four, comrades saving each other, or failing to. We get back stories from the plump private who worries about the lack of food, from the bully with a sad back story that explains his bullying, a sad story that will change “when I come back home a hero.”

Yes, some of the cast is fleshed out with K-Pop stars turned actors, just as in Christopher Nolan’s “Dunkirk.”

And then there’s the whole “suicide mission” that the pushy American reporter keeps throwing at American and Korean brass. They’re under-equipped and under-supplied, with no prospect of evactuation, resupply or reinforcement, with only a badgering journalist to appeal to the conscience of HQ.

There are some grand action sequences, an “ambush” built on a ballsy bit of bluffing from a sergeant (Kim In-Kwon) who’d be right at home in a John Wayne movie.

And it’s striking how much the real Korea looks like the one most Americans have seen in reruns of the movie or TV series “M*A*S*H” — shot in Southern California.

There’s little here that any Westerner who’s seen a few combat films won’t recognize.  The effects and production values (convincing digital transport ships) are pretty good, of a Hollywood B-picture caliber (a film like the Nicolas Cage thriller “U.S.S. Indianapolis: Men of Courage”).

“Jangsari” is immersive and involving, the way the best combats are, and jjust Korean enough to make us appreciate the differences between cultures and alternate views of the history of the war. Sometimes, the country known for coining the phrase, “the cavalry comes to the rescue” doesn’t live up to that.

That’s a message that speaks to audiences in modern Korea and present day America just as loudly.

MPAA Rating: unrated, graphic violence, profanity

Cast: Kim Myung-Min, Cjhoi Min-Ho, Kim Sung-cheol, Kwak Si-EYang, Lee Jae-Wook Lee, Megan Fox and George Eads.

Credits: Directed by Kyung-taek Kwak. A Well Go USA release.

Running time: 1:45

British to a “T,” and so twee you’d swear Wes Anderson had a hand in it, “Sometimes Always Never” makes for a perfectly wistful Billy Nighy star vehicle.

It’s so soft spoken and so little happens in this story of the emptiness brought on by loss, fine tailoring and Scrabble that you might miss its whimsy. But it’s there, blended in delicate proportions with the bittersweet.

The sartorially celebrated Nighy plays a quietly-obsessed Scrabble-hustling tailor in “Sometimes Always Never,” a man we meet on a lonely beach, waiting for his son.

Sam Riley (“Pride and Prejudice and and Zombies”) is that son, Peter. Peter’s not quite as buttoned-down as his dad, but neither is all that demonstrative. Peter, the composer of commercial jingles, takes the wheel of Dad’s immaculately-kept vintage Triumph Herald convertible and motors down the coast to the town where they have an appointment.

Government austerity means the office they’ve been called to is closed, but father Allen ( has anticipated that. He’s booked them a room at The Royce, a B & B. He’s methodical, meticulous and fastidious, as you might expect from a man in his profession.

And he’s comfortable with every one of those synonyms, because he is, in American parlance, a word freak. He’s deep into Scrabble.

We aren’t so much told this as we quickly figure it out as he play-acts his way into a hustle at The Royce. It begins when he asks for the Muzak to be turned down.

“I always say, ‘The only good thing about ‘jazz’ is that it scores very highly in Scrabble!”

That prompts a correction from a husband (Tim McInnerney of “Notting Hill”) Arthur, who soon suggests a game to Allen and Arthur’s wife (Jenny Agutter of “An American Werewolf in London”). When Margaret isn’t listening, Arthur proposes that “we make” the game “interesting.”

But it’s only after the hustle is set in motion that Allen figures out they they’re here for the same reason as he and Peter. They’ve been called to identify a body. Their 19 year-old son went missing. Allen’s did, too, some years before.

Whatever the loss of his brother did to Peter — and the uncertainty of his fate is grasped as a last straw — Allen seems lost, embracing the distraction of Scrabble, online mostly. He goes on and on about words, strategies, big-scoring plays and the “101 two letter words” in the English dictionary, because “two letter words are your friends.”

He prattles on to Peter’s wife, Sue (Alice Rowe) and their son (Louis Healy) after passive-aggressively inviting himself to stay with them. He’s full of useless trivia about the reasons Canada doesn’t allow the import of a certain vile English spread for toast.

“The people of Canada,” and all their vast land mass, “don’t have Marmite!”

“How DO they get by?” Sue plays along.

“Vegemite,” Allen says, weighed down with resignation. “Poor substitute.”

That’s the tenor of the humor here — subtle. Words matter to Allen, and they come to matter to his role-playing game-addict grandson. Before we know it, young Jack is correcting his mother’s use of how “inconvenient” it is to have his granddad sleeping in his room. No, it’s “disquieting, disorientating, awkward, destabilizing, unsettling…”

And that’s accompanied by dapper Allen giving a makeover to the kid, making him “spruce” enough to tickle the kid’s girlfriend (Ella-Grace Gregoire).

The mystery at its heart doesn’t so much drive this story as chases that missing-son from a B & B to a marina, never quite achieving closure. It’s based on a script by Frank Cottrell Boyce, the British screenwriter of “Goodbye Christopher Robin,” “Millions” (for Danny Boyle) and many Michael Winterbottom films such as “Welcome to Sarejevo” and “24 Hour Party People.”

Director Carl Hunter cut his teeth on British documentaries, and seems ill-suited for the material — leaving laughs on the table like a poker player lacking nerve. The central relationship wanders off screen for the middle acts, and for all the minor delights that assorted scenes and the wonderful players hired to perform them (Agutter and Lowe stand out), it isn’t the most coherent story, “mystery” or not.

But Nighy brings so much of himself to Allen that many of those rough, expositional or inconclusive edges are rubbed off, or at least shoved into the background.

Whatever its value to a British audience, “Sometimes Always Never” has enough outside-looking-in charm, and Nighy, to make it nice fit to any Anglophile filmgoer.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for thematic elements and some sexual references

Cast: Bill Nighy, Sam Riley, Jenny Agutter, Tim McInernney, Alice Lowe

Credits: Directed by Carl Hunter, script by Frank Cotrell Boyce. A Blue Fox Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:31

Dystopian and topical as hell, “In the Shadow of the Moon” lacks nothing to be a science fiction film that “speaks to our times.”

It’s a murder mystery that holds our interest long after the mystery — mysteries — have revealed themselves to us, if not our intrepid hero.

Still, the film’s failings, knocked out by two first-produced-film screenwriters, connect to its perceived strengths in ways that are just too pat to ignore.

The viewer is always two steps ahead of it, and it’s SO topical, speaks so directly to America on the cusp of an impeachment, as to (hopefully) be instantly dated, holding little interest for future generations of Netflix streamers.

Boyd Holbrook is Tommy, a Philly cop whose wife (Rachel Keller) is expecting a child just as he hunts for a way off the graveyard shift. “Detective’s just around the corner,” he reassures her on the night that a little slice of Hell breaks loose in Philly, in 1988.

A bus driver, a concert pianist and a short order cook die, each in gruesome fashion — their brains bleeding out from their orifices.

Officer Lockhart (Holbrook, of “Logan” and “The Predator”) arm-twists his partner (estimable screen vet Bokeem Woodbine) into ignoring the chain of command and chasing the clues that connect these deaths on a single night.

That leads them to the mysterious “black woman in a blue hoodie.” And this wily escape artist and trained fighter (Cleopatra Coleman of TV’s “Last Man on Earth”), with her gadget for putting punctures in her victims, gives away the game.

Or rather she does via the script’s opening scene. Usually, you can mention anything up to the one third to halfway through point of a movie and not be guilty of a “spoiler.” Not here. The prologue and our first hard look at the “villain” are blunt, obvious “tells.”

Opening her mouth finishes the job.

“Hello, Thomas. Is this where it happens?”

Lockhart and his partner Maddux get their promotions to detective, and then nine years later, the same crap hits the fan, with a killer sporting the same MO.

The now-grizzled detectives ignore the Cameron-esque warnings of a physicist (Rudi Dharmalingam) who speaks of the same “Moon” of the film’s purloined title — the same as a fine documentary about the Apollo program — and get deeper into the mystery, with more victims to connect to the original crimes.

And this continues to happen every nine years as this “epic” tale unfolds.

Director Jim Mickle did the little-seen horror movie “We Are What We Are” and does entirely too little here to hide his cards. “Moon” manages to throw a feint or two at us in its opening act, and Mickle stages and shoots a couple of really good chases. The first act is far and away the best act of the movie. Pacing is a problem exacerbated by the film’s easily solved Big Mystery.

The casting pays off, with Holbrook and Woodbine in a battle of wits against Lockhart’s brother-in-law, a detective (“Dexter’s” Michael C. Hall) on the force who lets two beat cops beat him to the crime-solving punch.

And if you’re a genre fan, as I am, you’ll stick around even if the 110 minute movie shows you “the future” before 30 minutes have passed.

Despite my relief that my “Oh hell, this isn’t about vampires, is it?” fear was unfounded, I still found “In the Shadow of the Moon” a watchable failure, at best.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, violence

Cast: Boyd Holbrook, Cleopatra Coleman, Bokeem Woodbine, Michael C. Hall

Credits: Directed by Jim Mickle, script by Geoff Tock, Gregory Weidman.  A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:55

Perhaps the biography, the background, the fact that a 19 year old filmmaker directed this, will overwhelm it with hype.

That could turn this atmospheric, setting-centric debut feature into this year’s “Beasts of the Southern Wild” or “Florida Project.” That’s a double-edged sword.

Wendell Pierce is the big name in the cast, a nice break and what looks like his most challenging role in ages. Karen Kaia Livers, Dominique McClellan and Braelyn Kelly are also in the cast of “Burning Cane,” opening Oct. 25 in limited release.

Can this mass murderer be saved?

That’s the rhetorical question of “Wallflower,” a dreamy docudrama about a Seattle mass shooting that is equal parts evocative and provocative.

The “dreamy” part is the setting. This 2006 shooting happened at a rave after party, and writer-director Jagger Gravning goes to great pains in taking us inside Seattle’s rave scene of the day. Whatever else it has going for it, “Wallflower” is the most immersive, critical and flattering picture of the Techno Fans/Friends of Molly ever.

Jumping back and forth in time, losing itself in the asexual sensuality of a vast, supportive crowd, each member dancing with her or himself — lost in MDMA, mushroom and marijuana augmented bliss — “Wallflower” parks a future mass shooter (David Call) in their ranks.

And they reach out to him, welcome him and try to encourage him to embrace their version of chill and mellow.

“You look kinda bummed out,” Noob Girl (Hannah Horton) says, expressing concern.

“We’re trying to create a safe space,” explains Strobe Rainbow (Atsuko Okatsuka, the stand-out in this cast), a lesbian trying to assauge the “bummed” one’s natural suspicions. Young women and underage girls are in the mix, stoned enough that if other ravers don’t look out for each other (they do), seem like rapes waiting to happen.

It’s just that there’s no erasing his general paranoia. “What’s really going on in here?” he asks, more than once.

His permanent scowl didn’t keep the stoner-philosopher Link (Conner Marx) from inviting him, on first meeting, to the rave in the first place, and then to the after party, Sharpie writing the address on his arm, where our would-be killer tries his worst not to fit in.

“I brought enough ammunition for ALL of you,” he hisses into a mirror in a flash forward, as he fetishizes his firearmsloads up his “street sweeper” shotgun and dons his bandoliers loaded with shells.

Tip to America’s gun dealers. Young, frowning white guy in a hoodie wants bandoliers, and/or 100 round magazines for his semi-automatic weapon? Might want to call the cops.

Gravning, with his time skipping — “five years before” the film’s “present,” and years after it — is underlining the blamelessness of the victims here.

The film’s humor comes from the level of conversation one overhears from the juice-boxed, hydrated and apparently inexhaustable ravers and they come down from their all-night “peaking” — mainly at the after-party.

Inane chatter about “D.W. Griffith’s ‘Intolerance'” and things of an arty-ethereal nature dominate conversations. Hard relationship counseling? That’s only for much later, long past the peak.

Link goes on and on about time. “The universe became very CLEAR to me,” he pontificates, although the “I was really high” footnote is all we need to hear.

“It’s sooo not cool that it’s cool” declares the teen who names herself “Noob Girl” amongst the group that includes Optima Prime, Shroom Fairy, Cheshire Kitty and Power Ranger. “I take a lot of Molly ironically,” she rationalizes.

The “sketchy” interloper wanders from room to room, gets embraced and kissed by the friendly stoners and samples a “shroom” himself from the lazy Susan of drugs in Link’s basement.

“Why are you just sitting there like a creeper?” is the rare challenge he hears. Considering his awkward come-ons to various women (none of the onanistic hedonists there seem the least bit interested in hook-ups), he gets off easily.

Call’s “murderer” is a brooding one-note character and is never humanized by the flashing back and forward shown here. The film gives him the luxury of judging the behavior of the others, but not the viewer.

We’re entranced by the pulsing, self-generated light show (glow sticks, glowing hula hoops, glowing gloves) of the rave, the Woodstock Revisited innocence of its inhabitants.

“Wallflower” is a “docudrama,” and while there are righteous reasons for not naming the murderer here, it also excuses any inaccuracy or point-of-view bias the filmmaker might introduce.

But Gravning gives us a fever dream of blameless remorse, guiltless survivor’s guilt and a broken Montana soul that was lost long before he was invited into a world that he chose to shatter, lost at the very moment he stopped in a gun shop and asked for bandoliers.

MPAA Rating: unrated, graphic violence, drug abuse, profanity

Cast:  David Call, Atsuko Okatsuka, Conner Marx, Hannah Horton, Cequoia Johnson, Molly Tollefson

Credits: Written and directed by Jagger Gravning. A Passion River release.

Running time: 1:24

Hard to tell, based on this latest trailer. A February sleeper?