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.

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

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

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

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.