The Quiet Ones

"The Quiet Ones" simply has nothing to say.

The Quiet Ones is a pretty ironic title for a horror film whose primary scare tactic is to periodically crank up the volume, sending the needle to the red with a sudden spike in the decibel levels.

Unfortunately, it's all very familiar and somewhat tediously played out.

"The Quiet Ones" is rated PG-13, but it's scarier than R-rated gorefests, like "Proxy," "Nurse 3D," and "American Mary." Anyone can create disgust; creating slowly-building disquiet is entirely another proposition.

The Quiet Ones is uninspired even by contemporary horror standards - which comes as a bit of a shock, given its pedigree.

A retro possession story that will wind up being best remembered for its groovy '70s setting (lots of mutton-chop sideburns and T. Rex and Slade songs on the soundtrack) and a deliciously sinister performance from Jared Harris.

This one floats right through the eyes, past the brain, and out the other side with little more than a whiff on the old neurons.

"The Quiet Ones" is elegant genre work, and Harris' performance is delightful - over the top, but delightful - his annunciation alone worth the price of admission.

Well-shot, well-acted and, well, kinda boring.

We get the prerequisite booga-booga, often visualized incoherently via grainy footage.

There is a lot to admire as the film embraces a pleasing brand of old-school chills over modern-day, pop-culture hipness.

With its many desperate attempts at scares and a completely lacking narrative, "The Quiet Ones" is a failure on just about every level.