Rupture

It's been 15 years since Shainberg's wonderful "Secretary" and 11 since his lesser, yet still interesting "Fur," but this film replaces his facility with gentle, peculiar inquisitions into fetishism with something much more generic.

It's not involving; it's not scary; it's just kind of miserable.

Dreary, derivative and flat-out dopey, this dragged-out torture tale will disappoint even those whose hearts race whenever they see a female character strapped to a bed.

A diluted interpretation of Aughts torture-porn with a film-student appreciation for Gaspar Noé's color palette, Rupture is a sci-fi abduction thriller that leaves little to be thrilled about.

What sinks the film is Shainberg's insipid direction.

Rupture is the kind of ill-conceived film that gives Michael Chiklis the campy role while keeping Peter Stormare on background duty.

To get it as wrong as Rupture takes quite some skill.

Rupture falls into the very worst category a fim out of the horror genre can be found it: boring. It's wasted potential with a hint of creative bankruptcy, a sour martini that's flatter than week-old beer.

Given an entire facility in a secluded location, Shainberg and Nelson don't come up with that many interesting things to do there.

What we get, essentially, is a plot that exists to prevent itself from actually telling a story.

Not at all satisfying, and as the feature begins to unravel while pursuing impossible visual and storytelling goals, one begins to wonder if the basic atmosphere of suffering isn't feeding Shainberg's personal appetites.