A mesmerizing feat. Dizzyingly joyful and melancholic akin to a fever dream.

James Wan apes his own films, along with Ringu, John Carpenter's Vampires, Evil Dead 2, Total Recall, and several others, to a very...messy end.
The acting is on par with the uninspired direction, while the score feels like a fever dream of a meth-head obsessed with The Pixies.
The supposed saving grace of the film is the third act, which is patently obvious from the beginning of the film, on top of being as boring as possible.
This is almost as "good" as the most recent American "Grudge".