Amateurish and undernourished, the acting is weak and the production values limited, resulting in a lethargic thriller that's heavy on symbolism but light on actual shocks. Moore is erratic and Warner sleep walks through his sleaze-bag role; I would've liked to have seen more of Taylor as the sophisticated femme fatale, but she's deprived of the spotlight despite the attention paid to her character in the plot development.
The film has a nightclub feel to it, hard on the eyes for lack of light, big hair and typical 80's gaudy costumes, and deafening to the ears for incessant synthesiser riffs. Even more disappointing is the distinct lack of special effects, just a few freak masks and some little blonde kids dressed in white garbs that suddenly appear in doorways and windows, singing those twisted lullabies over and over and over - you know the ones. I think director Findlay should have stuck to filming loops.