Jungle

Despite the considerable physicality of the movie, with its impressive cinematography and Radcliffe's believable, all-in disintegration, it's more earthbound slog than psychological deep-dive.

Despite Mr. Radcliffe's all-too-obvious dedication (his increasingly emaciated body, astonishingly, was not digitally enhanced), he can't rescue a screenplay (by Justin Monjo) that cares more about the condition of his flesh than the contents of his head.

Radcliffe convincingly portrays a man slowly stripped to his barest self, driven along by little more than a primal urge to survive.

McLean has picked an opportune moment to demonstrate his skills outside the bloodiest horror wheelhouse. Job done.

This is a survival thriller without much in the way of you-know-what, and seems destined to land in the Amazonian bog into which films that satisfy neither grindhouse nor art house are sucked.

The director of 'Wolf Creek' doesn't need to goose reality to grab us by the collar. Jungle proves it.

...an effective, inspiring bit of endurance cinema. And it has Radcliffe!

Hallucinations and fantasy sequences tend towards the tacky in a film that fails to make the most of an incredible journey.

Jungle attempts to dig into the inner life of its protagonist ... It doesn't succeed...

... feels more like a sequence of box-ticking perils than a genuine survival story, and the female characters (sexy traveller, sexy indigenous woman) are painfully two-dimensional.

It's one of [Radcliffe's] best performances - strong enough to help the film ride out its considerable bumps ...

Strong performances all around keep the story from feeling like an exploitation shocker.