Apparently, I’m not equipped to review this film for 2 reasons. The first is, obviously, that I’m a colossal dunderhead with sensibilities fit for watching a dwarf eat his own head, but entirely unfit for watching subtle, psychological horror (and that I keep maintaining that Dead Ringers isn’t a horror film, but a tragedy). The second, and far more important one, is that I’m male and therefore the film doesn’t hit me in the genitals the same way that it does with women. For example, I have no fear at all of the gynaecologist.
Therefore, with no further ado, I hand you over to Mrs. Jarv. So behave yourselves, else I’ll set the boreworms on you.