I Think We're Alone Now

Peter Dinklage and Elle Fanning bravely face the end of the world, but they can't overcome a barrage of clichés in a plot that ties up loose ends without a single surprise or a scintilla of genuine emotion.

A story that grows frustratingly conventional.

A post-apocalyptic tale with a late plot twist that feels as if it comes out of left field. And right field. And center field, the stands and the dugout, too.

There's nothing here about the necessary rudeness of companionship that wasn't more entertainingly addressed in the first episodes of the comedy series "The Last Man On Earth."

Morano's film wants to examine the emotional consequences of immersing oneself in trauma, but Makowsky's script merely paws at the edges of the idea rather than diving into the knottiness of it.

I felt cheated by a film that should be about relatable issues like loneliness and difficult connections between different personality types but never lets viewers into its world in a way that feels organic or enjoyable.

Strong language, drinking in post-apocalyptic drama.

I Think We're Alone Now is still three-quarters of a good movie, and worth the view if one adjusts one's expectations down a few notches.

There's a claustrophobic comfort to it... Yet there is space for silence and reflection, and many shots are quietly beautiful - until a Rush song blares, puncturing the meditative mood.

Descends into illogic and inscrutability.

[Peter] Dinklage's magnetism in these opening moments pave the way for what becomes a beautifully cathartic meditation on the nature of loneliness.

Quiet, reflective, and intimate, I Think We're Alone Now is an exceptional exhibition for Dinklage and Fanning and a further illustration of the dynamic talent of filmmaker Reed Morano.