As credulous — or con-artist cheaty — as its demon-hunter protagonists, but lacking their charm. Worse, it can’t even be bothered to justify and satisfy the procedural approach to its mystery.
Body-horror SF via Lovecraftian grotesquerie, with a now tedious rampage from Nic Cage. As if a man needs to be influenced by unfathomable aliens to turn to violence. I need more from my pulp fiction.