With a running length of two hours, it's hard to cite this movie's limited charm as a sufficient reason for enduring all the self-indulgent bloat.

This is a clear example of a story being thrown together to serve the special effects, not the other way around.

Watchable but by no means worth the money and effort necessary to see it theatrically.

A regurgitated product, familiar bits and pieces of teen-friendly “scary” stuff that mimics horror in disappointingly superficial ways.

Kaufman once again reminds us that, without someone to shape the writer’s constructs, we’re destined to become stuck in a frustrating morass of eccentricity and self-indulgence.

A by-the-numbers chronicle of the rise and fall of Whitney Houston, the film struggles to find a reason to exist beyond providing an opportunity to listen to her music.