Shut In

There isn't one genuine thrill in the whole thing. I've had bigger scares from my goldfish bowl.

As Mary loses sleep, her paranoia worsens, yet Christina Hodson's monotonous script fails to make Mary's psychological struggles feel any more severe than a case of misplaced keys.

Watts gives her all to this overheated nonsense, but is powerless to make emotional sense of what turns out to be the story's twisted central relationship, and ends up being just another fiercely maternal damsel in distress.

This hokey horror film should have stayed cooped up.

In this achingly inept thriller, you will see Naomi Watts do what she can to sell a plot of such preposterousness that the derisory laughter around me began barely 20 minutes in.

It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly, scads of cliches appeared on the horizon.

It's the audience that gets locked into a "deep vegetative state."

Shut In feels unfinished and scrappy. If you want to watch Watts wriggling around naked and bound in a bathtub, it may entertain you for five minutes, but the only thing that's scary about it is the waste of talent.

Too generic, and is contained within a genre that needs innovation and resourcefulness to stand out from the crowd, as a saturated market where so few productions feel unique.

It's more likely to have the viewer giggling in disbelief than gasping with shock.

It's low-key and modestly budgeted, but perfectly well made, and Watts maintains a cool and steady presence.

This shockingly empty thriller has a great cast, but, while delivering its jump-scares, it completely ignores the story's looming, daunting psychological and emotional ramifications.