Movie Nation

And it isn’t just Miley Cyrus who says so, either.

This mobster with amnesia thriller is earning late August (dumping ground) release.

But we’ll see.

Anthony Anderson shakes off the cobwebs of sitcom acting and goes back to the hip hop hustling of “Hustle & Flow” for “Beats,” a rock-solid Netflix original set on the meanest streets of Chicago.

That would be Roseland, where gunfire echoes in the night often enough to startle but no longer shock.

Anderson brings his easy way with street slang and flippant flair for making a comic put-down sting to Romelo Reese, a “manager” who used to be big, but now works as a security guard at his wants-to-be-ex-wife’s high school.

He’s not much of a guard. But the school is about to lose funding for all the kids who’re truant. So Principal Vanessa (Emayatzy Corinealdi) sends him out door-to-door to round up missing warm bodies.

“I’m a security guard. I secure s—!”

“Then secure your job.”

That’s where he overhears young August (Khalil Everage of TV’s “Cobra Kai”) whipping up beats on his elaborate sound system. No, his mother (Uzo Aduba) says, he’s NOT going back to school. We already know why. In the opening scene of “Beats,” we’ve seen August’s older sister (Megan Sousa), who passed on her love of mixing to him and was his best sounding board, murdered in a shooting that also wounded August.

Gang-related. Teens provoking a gang not from their ‘hood. Stupid. A waste.

That trauma and his guilt gave him PTSD, which has turned him into a recluse, and Romelo’s intrusion and compliments freak the kid out. But being a hustler, Romelo isn’t taking “Get out of my HOUSE!” from Mom seriously.

“So, you going to take a bullet for him? Y’all want me to send my son off to the slaughter?”

He starts the courtship, but only when Mom is at work.

“I’m not supposed to talk with you!”

“Man, Harriet Tubman wasn’t supposed to run. Doesn’t make it a bad idea.”

Romelo “used to be big,” but something awful went down. He’s still got a good ear, still connected enough to a record label protege (Paul Walter Hauser of “I, Tonya”), still able to sweet talk a gang banger with a studio (Dave East) out of a little recording time.

The kid taps his forehead nervously and furiously whenever he’s stressed. He listens to the “I’ll make you the most famous 17 year-old in Roseland!” pitch. Sure. OK. But only if he can do it all from his mom’s apartment.

Music video (and the movie “ATL”) director Chris Robinson infuses Miles Orion Feldsott’s salty script with a vivid sense of place. Chicago rappers (Dreezy plays even more colorfully-named Queen Cabrini) are scattered into the cast, and the parties, dank pool halls and school corridors ground the picture in geographical and gritty reality.

“Lock-down drill — attendance is mandatory” announcements underscore the school scenes, newscast accounts of shootings provide a backdrop that shows every life there touched by violence.

Ashley Jackson brings judgemental fire to Niyah, the girl who might help lure August out of his safe space.

Evan J. Simpson gives a scary edge to his turn as a former running mate who had a hand in precipitating the violence that broke August’s life and ended his sister’s.

Young Everage suggests fragility and naivete as August, the sort of boy cowed by Niyah’s furious “This is CHICAGO” blast of misguided tough-love about him phobias and fears.

And Anderson was born to play Romelo, a broke man brought low but still remembering the good times and willing to do most anything to get them back. Watch Romelo play the “When I got back from Iraq” card with August’s war-widow mom, hear him plead “I’m gonna be the man you want me to be” to his near-ex and serve up a little “old head, old habits” old school advice to the kid about to overproduce a killer beat.

“The hit is never when the producer puts the entire kitchen sink in there.”

The plot is seriously conventional, even though it packs more darkness into the third act than one might expect.

The music by Siddhartha Khosla and a sampler of local talent is woven through the picture with care.

“Beats” might not have made much noise on the big screen. But it’s just the sort of modest-ambitions winner that Netflix can make instead of those pricier sci-fi bombs that show the service is still years away from competing with the theatrical studios in that genre. This works, and a TV actor in a “Black-ish” rut sometimes makes it sing.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, profanity

Cast: Anthony Anderson, Khalil Everage, Uzo Aduba, Emayatzy Corinealdi, Ashley Jackson, Megan Sousa, Paul Walter Hauser, Davcve East, Evan J. Simpson and Dreezy

Credits: Directed by Chris Robinson, script by Miles Orion Feldsott.  A Netflix Original.

Running time: 1:50

I don’t know. But the world survived “Secret Life of Pets 2” so maybe this will surprise.

Anna K. and JTimberlake are back. More singing trolls.

“The Dead Don’t Die” is a slow-motion disaster about a slow-motion disaster.

It’s about a zombie infestation that slowly–oh-so-slowly–devours a town, and the ineffectually slow response of those charged with stopping it.

Yes, Jim Jarmusch is attempting a commentary on Trump Era America, something he underlines with the occasional racist wearing a bright red hat and the mumbling musings of a hermit/sage on a distracted, acquisitive culture helpless in the face of an existential threat. It’s just that Jarmusch (“Night on Earth,””Broken Flowers,” “Coffee and Cigarettes”) isn’t really the right guy to pull this off.

We’ve already had zombie comic satires (“Zombieland,””Warm Bodies”). Watching this deathly dull 104 minute experiment in “Let’s see if the droll Jarmusch can make a BIG HIT for once,” I couldn’t help but think it only worked in the trailers.

A “Funny or Die” or “SNL” short film riff on “Jim Jarmusch makes a Zombie Movie” was the best destiny of “Dead Don’t Die.

Instead, we have members of his rep company (Bill Murray, Tom Waits, Tilda Swinton, Steve Buscemi) and newcomers anxious to have a little fun/add-a-little-hip-cachet to the resume (Selena Gomez, Adam Driver) performing in that slow double-take/deadpan Jarmusch style.

Here, it is tedium itself.

Centerville, Pennsylvania has 789 residents and three cops — Murray, Driver and Chloe Sevigny. Chief Cliff Robertson (Haw. Haw.) is the sort who won’t draw his gun even when Hermit Bob (Waits) fires his DIY rifle at him.

“Don’t break any more laws,” the Chief (Murray) begs, a cop who dare not shoot back, because you know, the shooter’s white. “Just calm down.”

Driver is Deputy Ronnie, who drives his SmartCar (best sight gag in the picture) like an emergency vehicle. He’s the one who decides the fact that the sun isn’t going down when it’s supposed to, the loss of cell and police radio service means “This isn’t gonna end well, Cliff.”

We take the time to absorb the irony of the racist MAGA farmer (Buscemi) tetchily talking up the hardware store owner (Danny Glover) at the diner, embarrassed to admit he can’t drink any more coffee because it’s “Too black for me,” or the comic book nerd (Caleb Landry Jones) clerk at that hardware store asking his WU-UPS (Whoops?) delivery man (RZA) to “drop a little wisdom on me.”

“The world is perfect. Appreciate the details.”

And then there are the young “Cleveland hipsters” (snort) rolling into town in Zoe’s (Gomez) mid ’60s Pontiac LeMans, the local TV news anchor (Rosie Perez) noting the strange things happening to pets, livestock and wildlife.

Only the hermit/sage sees it coming. A reckoning.

AARP punk Iggy Popp rises from the dead. As does the town alcoholic (Carol Kane) in the drunk tank.

The cute wrinkle in this version of The Walking Dead? They mutter a single word, reflecting their obsession.

Iggy: “COFFEE.”

A long-deceased skinny teen: “FASHION.”

A dead picker: “GUITAR.”

Carol Kane: “Char-DONNAY.”

Tilda Swinton plays “Our unusual, new undertaker” — Scottish, fond of clown makeup for her corpses, and oh yeah — a master swordswoman.

Tilda Swinton stars as “Zelda Winston” in writer/director Jim Jarmusch’s THE DEAD DON’T DIE, a Focus Features release. Credit : Frederick Elmes / Focus Features © 2019 Image Eleven Productions, Inc.

The guitar zombie is played by musician Sturgill Simpson, whose tune “The Dead Don’t Die” the hipsters and Deputy Ronnie identify as the movie’s “theme song” and are obsessed with. They also discuss the script and Jarmusch as a director. Because, you know, they’re self-aware and above all this.

That’s kind of funny, and truthfully, little moments and portions of scenes land laughs.

None as amusing as the lanky Driver unfolding himself from a SmartCar.

The problem with “Dead Don’t Die” is that it just doesn’t play. Jarmusch’s style doesn’t fit the material at feature film length. The long double-takes and slow-burn reactions, in this context, don’t delight, tickle or amuse.

I’ve been a fan since “Mystery Train” (His earlier break-out arthouse hit “Down by Law” did little for me.), and have interviewed him several times over the years. He’s stumbled before, and the wide release of this one suggests a cynical effort to sell-out and make easy money off people who will see anything with “The Living Dead” in it.

But adding overt social commentary on a genre that has ALWAYS been social commentary by definition is too heavy-handed, and the deadpan just doesn’t deliver the same comic counterpoint when the whole enterprise is deadpan by design.

MPAA Rating:R for zombie violence/gore, and for language

Cast: Adam Driver, Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Chloe Sevigny, Danny Glover, Steve Buscemi, Selena Gomez, Carol Kane, RZA, Caleb Landry Jones and Iggy Popp

Credits: Written and directed by Jim Jarmusch. A Focus Features release.

Running time: 1:44

It’s been a long dry spell since I’ve seen one that scared me. That didn’t have Dane Cook in it, anyway. But we’ll see what Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson get the big bucks for. We will.

Here’s a sweet, slight little samosa of a Euro-Indian comedy, a tale that’s a little bit topical, a tad picaresque, with just a hint of Bollywood thrown in spice.

“The Extraordinary Journey of the Fakir” takes a poor Indian boy from Mumbai to Paris and beyond, hoping against hope that whimsy and a charismatic star will put it over.

They don’t quite manage it, but clocking in at roughly half the length of a Bollywood musical, it makes a nice sampler — Anglicized — of the frothy fare that India’s musical romances offer to the locals.

The singing actor Dhanush plays Ajatashatru Lavash Patel, who shows up one day to pass along a little advice to three street urchins who have just been sentenced to four years in prison.

His story, he says, “is a tragedy,” about how we all come into this world “equal,” and then “the tyranny of chance steps in…no more level playing field.”

He was a doting son whose laundress mother (Amruta Sant) got him to eat, if not stay out of trouble, by promising to take him to Paris with her someday.

But a chance glance at a swami’s “act” — levitating, thanks to a cleverly engineered chair that passed for a cane — led Aja and his cousins to steal the chair and set themselves up as magician, with Aja a poor “fakir” hustling the tourists with fake magic and not-fake-enough poverty.

Aja became a lifelong trickster, with just enough sleight of hand at his command to pocket change from the gullible. His mother dies before they can go to Paris, but after her death he discovers her reason for wanting to make the trip. And that becomes his mission, by hook or by crook.

He tumbles into town, tumbles for the first American tourist (Erin Moriarty of “Miracle Season” and TV’s “The Boys”) who will play act out a “marriage” with him in his favorite furniture store — Bergman Bogärt (think IKEA).

They plan to meet at the Eiffel Tower, but darned if he doesn’t find himself shipped (in a furniture crate) to London in a truck filled with desperate migrants.

Remember Barkhad Abdi from “Captain Phillips?” “I’m the captain, now!” He plays one man anxious to reach “the land of milk and honey.”

They’re busted. “But…but…I’m a TOURIST! I don’t WANT to be in England!”

“Is it the weather?”

“NO!”

A comically cranky customs agent (Ben Miller of the “Johnny English” movies) launches into a little song and dance about shipping them all to an unsuspecting EU country.

“You’ve got to go back to Spain…”These kids love churros! How many times must I explain? You’re all going to Spain!”

And off they go, with Aja finding himself in a Spanish detention facility, caught up in the whirl of a movie star’s (Bérénice Bejo) studio negotiations in Rome, and so on.

It’s a picaresque journey, or would be with a lot more laughs and comic edge.

Dhanush has presence and skills, but his performance only comes to life when he breaks into song and dance at a disco.

His character is somber, delivering lines about fate and chance — “We play with the hand (chance) deals us.” — and karma.

As in he’s got to build his up if he expects that airport detention center door that he checks every night to be unlocked that one time he needs it to be in order to escape.

I kept thinking “Eugenio Derbez would have made this guy funnier.”

Still, there’s a warmth throughout this not-as-extraordinary-as-you’d-hope “Journey of the Fakir” thanks to the impromptu family of refugees he joins, the easy charm of the Not-IKEA furniture store courtship (he literally “steals” a kiss, #IndiaToo).

The French Canadian director Ken Scott gave us “Seducing Doctor Lewis” and “Starbuck,” which was remade as “The Deliveryman.” He keeps this sweet-nothing of a comedy light on its feet, but the script needed doctoring — more jokes, more antic sight gags. Heck, even more production numbers would have helped.

This Fakir’s “Extraordinary Journey” needed many things to live up to its title, especially more “magic” to come off.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for some suggestive content and brief strong language.

Cast: Dhanush, Bérénice Bejo, Erin Moriarty, Barkhad Abdi, Gérard Jugnot

Credits:  Directed by Ken Scott, script by Romain Puértolas, Luc Bossi, Jon Goldman and Ken Scott, based on a novel by Romain Puértolas. A Cradle Walk/M! Capital release.

Running time: 1:32

Grimes plays a guy who thinks he’s left his criminal past behind, only to have that scary damned Frank Grillo show up for pay back.

James Badge Dale also stars in “Into the Ashes,” which opens July 19.

In the movie business, you can either wait for a break, to be “discovered,” or you make your own.

So congratulations for Keith Sutliff for getting his own star vehicle, “The Refuge,” off the ground, in front of the camera and into a theater or two.

“The Refuge” is his self-written, self-directed, self-produced, self-released, self-starring heist picture. He also took “casting” and “unit production manager” credits.

That’s one way to flesh in your Linked In profile. Well, if you want something done right…

But who wants to see a thriller where the action — you know, the exciting parts — takes place pretty much entirely off camera?

As the correct answer is “Nobody,” maybe — as the popular inanity goes — “The universe is trying to tell you something.”

“Refuge” is a stupefyingly dull thriller, pretty much right out of the box, from the trite phone call that frames our story in the “present,” to the 95 minute flashback that tells us how our hero (Sutliff) got here.

“You’re f—–g dead, you hear me?”

Markus is an LA getaway driver who often just arranges the jobs he’s commissioned to do.

I mean, he pulls a heavy wrench out of his backseat to walk up on a van carrying stolen cash and the guys who stole it. But that’s almost the only active moment moment we see from this head-shaved man of few words.

Markus gets a call, often from the Russian Zander (sic) played by Martin Copping. He strolls out to his black Dodge Charger, and he’s off.

In my notes for the film, I jotted down that “he wastes a couple of minutes too many on a slow pursuit filmed from the back seat where all we notice is that his satellite radio is tuned to ‘Classic Rock 95.1.'”

That turns out to be most of the movie, Hell, almost all of it — just the star, sometimes unseen, sometimes in profile, driving the empty streets, bridges and nearly-empty tunnel of LA on his way to a meeting, an armed robbery or (on one or two occasions), a getaway.

Gee, we know your character can drive, Keith. We get it. Maybe not a “stick.” But whatever.

The violence of the robberies is off-camera. We cut away from the action just as its about to happen or other characters (Matthew Webb plays a trigger man) leave the frame to do the dirty work. Well, there’s a burst of badly-staged violence in the finale.

There are meetings with assorted underworld folk (played by Julien Cesario and Webb) where their characters chatter on and on and on and Markus/Sutliff just sits there, offering the occasional monotone monosyllable in reply.

Watts (Webb) — You know I love lite beer. It’s my favorite….Keeps you thin. Sexy. Full…Me myself? I try to learn something new every day..”You know this city. Lotta talk, not a lotta walk…try to have fun, live under the sun.”

Markus: “….”

The mesmerizing electronic thriller score by Federico Vaona is a plus. But it’s also a clue. Sutliff was inspired by the Ryan Gosling thriller “Drive.”

But “The Refuge” is like an outtake reel, the dullest parts of “Drive” and that Tom Hardy in an SUV drama “Locke” without dialogue or action or much of anything to hold our interest.

If only, if ONLY the screenwriter had taken his hero’s exhortation to Frank (Cesario) to heart.

“Cut to the chase!”

“All right, all right, I’ll cut straight to the chase!”

MPAA Rating: R (for language throughout)

Cast: Keith Sutliff, Reine Swart,Julien Cesario, Matthew Webb, Tien Pham

Credits: Written and directed by Keith Sutliff  A KS Films release.

Running time: 1:38

The performances anchoring “American Woman” are some of the finest screen acting we’ll see this year.

Sienna Miller and Christina Hendricks play sisters with all the lived-in love and knowing-which-buttons-to-punch of the real thing. Amy Madigan slips into the role of their mother as if she’d had 30 years of practice.

And Aaron Paul, Will Sasso and Pat Healy make vivid impressions as the men in the background, supporting or controlling, defending or abusing these strong, flawed blue collar women we watch weather a dozen years of tragedy, bad choices and tough compromises.

Screenwriter Brad Ingelsby (“Out of the Furnace,””Run All Night”) cooks up a blood, bruises, cigarettes and tears portrait of working class lives gutted but going on after the tragedy that seeps out of the first act. And director Jake Scott (“Welcome to the Rileys”) lets his leading ladies make their statement without fuss, letting the gloom of lives of limited options further scarred by loss settle over it all.

For a summer movie, this picture is something else.

Miller utterly immerses herself in the role of suburban Philly single mom/grandmom Deb Callahan. She never married, gave birth at 16 and she treats teen daughter Bridget (Sky Ferreira) like a sister, consulting with her on her skin-tight mini-dress ensembles before every date.

Bridget herself is a new mother, and living under mom’s roof with her toddler Jesse requires a lot of tolerance, understanding, give and take.

“You make do with what’s left,” is all the advice Grandma Deb has to offer.

But the Callahan women are used to that. “Big sister” Cathy (Hendricks), the responsible one, lives across their beneath-the-water-tower dead end street from them. Cathy’s more Catholic, married with Terry (Sasso) with two tween boys.

And great-grandma (Madigan) is over there all the time.

The women bicker to the point of biting, share glasses of wine, offer unsolicited advice, with Deb re-directing many a conversation into sex and profanity, no matter how she was raised.

She’s sneaking around with a married man, so who is she to judge when Bridget keeps trying to make a go of it with the two-night stand stoner (Alex Neustaedter) who fathered her child?

One night, Bridget doesn’t come home. And if we thought Deb was manic, tetchy and high-strung before, well…

“Don’t do anything stupid, Deb” falls on deaf ears, as it must have for years. And as she frantically searches for her kid herself, roars at the police to get on the case and when a community search is at long last organized, breaks down, we see the beginning of her metamorphosis.

“American Woman” is how life goes on, diminished and deflated, after something like this.

Miller’s character arrives peppery, melts down in all the most wrenching ways, settles into furious and embittered as she takes up with and stays with a man who hits her, just to pay her bills, and finds her way to maturity in baby steps.

She raises the grandkid the way she raised Bridget — with a little wisdom, a lot of resignation and plenty of profanity.

“Ray (Pat Healy, playing a brute) is a hemorrhoid,” she sniffs to little Jesse. “A pain in the ass that won’t go away.

Scott’s elegant, compact drama slips through time easily — days pass here, years pass there.

Nobody else changes much, roles don’t shift. But raising a grandson mellows Deb. Eventually.

There’s little “quiet desperation” to these lives spent in houses with ill-fitting storm windows, late model cars in the driveways and owners wearing nametags to work.

There’s no country music on the soundtrack, but the simplicity of the ambitions and the day to day struggles unfold like a classic country tune — Rolling Rock beer, Parliament cigarettes, waitress or cashier, bad decisions passed generation to generation, salty dialogue and falling for the guy who’s held on to his IROC Camaro long past its expiration date (Aaron Paul).

It’s a kitchen sink melodrama, with too many conversations beginning with “Don’t start, NOT today” and ending with a slammed door, a pesky phone call demanding an apology and no time for reckoning and reasoning out how things are going right, or very wrong.

I love the lived-in reality captured here, lives with limited horizons, addictions, ill-advised tattoos, moments of blame and self-pity and small scale soap operatic struggles.

And in a cinema that strains to find actresses worth nominating for this profession’s highest honor, Miller brilliantly makes her statement in a tiny movie few will see, but which none who see will forget.

MPAA Rating:R for language, sexual content and brief drug use

Cast: Sienna Miller, Christina Hendricks, Amy Madigan, Aaron Paul, Will Sasso, Sky Ferreira

Credits: Directed by Jake Scott, script by Brad Ingelsby. A Vertical release.

Running time: 1:52

The strangers are drawn to the old movie house with Rialto on its marquee.

Maybe the title listed up there grabs them — “”Mashit: With Father Benedict Abuelo,” “Dead,” or more invitingly — “Nightmare Cinema.”

Each of the five takes a seat — trapped in it, is more like it. They sit, transfixed or lashed in, as a nightmare starring them unfolds on the big screen.

And a few — the unlucky — have a little of what’s happening explained to them.

“I’m the projectionist, sweetie pie,” he’ll purr. “I’m the curator of a 100 years of nightmares, trapped on the silver screen that never forgets.”

As that Projectionist is Mickey Rourke, “Welcome to my nightmare” is a threat we take seriously.

“Nightmare Cinema” is a highly-polished, well-cast and acted omnibus horror collection, stories by different writers and directors folded in together far more neatly than is the norm for this genre (“VHS,” “ABCs of Death,” etc.).

Some work better than others, all have a surfeit of blood and gore, a few are visceral even if none are all that frightening.

There’s something too-too right about Richard Chamberlain, once TV’s “Doctor Kildare,” and a great beauty in his own right, as a malicious plastic surgeon out to butcher a scarred young woman (Zarah Mahler) whose fiance wants that scar on her face removed before the wedding. And in the Joe Dante (“Gremlins” ) directed “Mirari,” he’ll make a few other little um, alterations.

Alejandro Brugués of “Juan of the Dead” gives the newly-broken up Samantha (Sarah Elizabeth Withers) a nightmare movie in which she’s dependent on the guy she just broke up with to escape death or worse thanks to “The Thing in the Woods.”

She sits in a cinema seat and sees herself on the screen, chased chased by a guy in boots, metallic apron and welder’s helmet, toting a mattock — ok, pickaxe.

“He killed them! He killed them all! He’s hunting us!”

Who?

“The Welder!” Yes, the victims merely stabbed and bludgeoned are the lucky ones, when the monster has a blowtorch.

We’re treated to Elizabeth Reaser (“Twilight,” “Sweetland”) as a mother in a black and white David Slade story (“This Way to Egress”) in which she’s trapped in the madness of a medical nightmare where her tweenage sons (“Very mature.”) and a creepy doctor have to decide if she’s mad.

“Just TELL me if I’m crazy!”

In “Dead” Annabeth Gish is a loving mother whose keyboard prodigy son (Faly Rakotohavana) is the sole survivor of the carjacking that got her and her husband killed.

She comes to him in the haunted hospital where those with near-death experiences can see the dead, bloodied in hospital gowns, wandering the halls.

“Be with me…forever!” mom urges in Riley’s dreams in this Mick Garris (“Sleepwalkers”) story.

Naturally, there’s a cute suicide survivor (Lexy Panterra) who also sees the dead, a fellow patient and guide to show him the ropes.

“All the best people have been dead and back!”

Then there’s “Mashit,” a Catholic schoolkid tale of demonic possession that goes above and beyond the sexually misbehaving monsignor (Maurice Benard of “General Hospital”) and nuns.

A lot of heads explode in this uneven five-pack of horror, with shotguns and pistols and knives and axes and busted broom handles and swords and blowtorches as the instruments of death.

“Nightmare Cinema” is not totally seamless, but the episodes flow in to one another without changing titles (except on the cinema marquee, on occasion), characters merely wander into the Rialto — some meeting the projectionist — and their horrors unfold before them and us.

It’s more clever than gripping, more gory than scary.

Riley comes in, sees the theater organ, and launches into the Bach “Tocatta and Fugue in D” — the greatest musical horror cliche of them all.

Way too many characters get the drop on their would-be murderers, only to flee before finishing the job.

It all sports a gloss that can fool you into thinking the whole is better than its weaker parts. All of the acting is good, although I found “Egress” and “Thing/Woods” the lesser among these “Last Picture Show” offerings.

But as midnight movies go, it’s not (more than) half bad.

Round up some friends for a midnight movie date, designate a driver and…enjoy.

MPAA Rating: R for horror violence/gore, grisly images, language, some sexuality and brief nude images

Cast: Mickey Rourke, Richard Chamberlain, Elizabeth Reaser, Annabeth Gish, Jamie Lynn Concepcion, Sarah Elizabeth Withers, Maurice Benard

Credits: Directed by Joe Dante, Alejandro Brugués , Mick Garris, Ryûhei Kitamura and David Slade, script by Sandra Becerril, Alejandro Brugués. Lawrence C .Connelly, Mick Garris, Richard Christian Matheson and David Slade. A Good Deed Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:58