Producers: Arielle Elwes, Veronica Radaelli, David Chackler and Joel Michaely    Director: Mitzi Peirone   Screenplay: Mitzi Peirone and Guinevere Turner   Cast: Bella Thorne, Rebecca De Mornay, Joy Rovaris, Jan Luis Castellanos, Dylan Flashner, Bart Johnson, Joel Michaely, Erica Dasher, Juliet Sterner, Frank Whaley and Ryan Phillippe   Distributor: Quiver Distribution

Grade: C-

Whatever virtues Don Roff’s 2021 novel “Clare at 16” might have—it’s certainly appealed to some fans, evidenced by its having already spawned two sequels—aren’t readily apparent in Mitzi Peirone’s adaptation, a murky, grisly tale of a young woman who sees herself as some sort of composite of Nancy Drew and Joan of Arc.

One of the few smart things about the movie is that it’s removed any reference to sixteen as being the age of Clare Bleecker, since while one could imagine many ways of describing Bella Thorne, who plays her, “sixteen years old” would certainly not be among them.  But Clare is still depicted as a student in a Catholic school, though apparently a college rather than a high school, and a very devout believer whose biblically-based mantra, endlessly repeated throughout the film, is “Everything I have said and done has been in the hands of God,” to which she often adds, “I was born to do this.  I am not afraid.”

What Clare does is rid the world of predators and malefactors, believing it her divine mission.  She’s an orphan: her father deserted the family when she was young and her mother (Erin Eva Butcher) has recently died, explaining why she now lives with her grandmother Gigi (Rebecca De Mornay), a former actress, in a new town and is a transfer student in the school where the choir still sings Latin hymns in an old-style chapel.  Since she was a child—some misty flashback montages fashioned by cinematographer Luka Bazelli and editor Patrick Sanchez Smith show her (Juliet Sterner) prowling about a forest and watching a creepy hunter drown what appears to be a fox—she’s been taking what she sees as her God-given duty to heart.  And she has regular visitations from Mailman Bob (Frank Whaley), the spirit of a man she once watched die deep in the woods, who now serves as a sort of ghostly confidant and conduit to the other side.

It’s not long before an opportunity to continue her work affords itself.  As Clare sits at the campus bus stop, a man in a passing car (Bart Johnson) stops and asks for directions to the place where he’s supposed to pick up his daughters.  Clare’s none too helpful, but climbs in the passenger seat when he offers her a ride.  He’s clearly a creep, up to no good, but Clare turns the tables on him and he winds up dead.

That brings attention from the local cops in the person of Detective Rich Timmons (Ryan Phillippe), who begins interviewing students, including Clare, for possible clues about the murder of the guy, a fellow named Joe, whose body she left in the car.  Her odd demeanor piques his interest, but he has no definite evidence against her.  Meanwhile she becomes best friends with her classmate Juliana LeBlanc (Joy Rovaris) and establishes a modus vivendi with queen bee Amity Liston (Erica Dansher); smoothie Wade Bradon (Dylan Flashner), Juliana’s ex, comes on to her, and photographer Truman Quirk (Jan Luis Castellanos) attracts her interest for the information his pictures can provide.  She’s even cast in the starring role of the campus play—Ira Levin’s “Deathtrap”—which flamboyant director Cole Edwards (Joel Michaely) decides to stage in cross-gender form, with her as Sidney, Amity as young Clifford and Wade as Sidney’s wife.  It’s a dumb idea, and its farcical nature doesn’t really jibe with the rest of the film.

Anyway, the play is of secondary concern to Clare.  She does some research on town history and discovers that dozens of girls have disappeared over the years; and she’s appalled that Timmons seems more concerned about the death of Joe than their fate.  When Juliana goes missing, Clare begins sleuthing herself and winds up at the ramshackle home of Joe’s brother Randall (also played by Johnson), where she finds out the ghastly truth and takes care of business in her own inimitable fashion.  A couple of further twists—one predictable, the other less so—end things on a note that could invite further installments, just as Roff’s book did.

But while the novel is generally pigeonholed as a YA book—and fans have described it as “fun”—Peirone’s treatment is a relentlessly grim, nasty piece of work, with even the streak of mordant humor providing little relief.  The visuals emphasize darkness, gloom, and a mood of implacable dread—and make James Wise’s production design and Louisville, Kentucky, where the movie was shot, seem pretty unattractive; moreover the frequent hazy montages, designed to reflect Clare’s inner visions, are deliberately unsettling, an effect complemented by Zola Jesus’ score.

As for the acting, it’s frankly all over the place, veering from Phillippe’s bored, sleepwalk turn to Michaely’s over-the-top campiness, and while it’s nice to see veteran De Mornay again, her penchant to go for broke in her few scenes is more than a mite grating.  But Johnson makes a perfectly scummy pair of bad guys, and Whaley adds a nicely quizzical tone to spectral Bob.  The younger players tend to archness, but among them Castellanos offers a more naturalistic turn.  And then there’s Thorne.  While admittedly too old for Roff’s idea of Clare, she works diligently to embody the character’s varied facets—her quietly meditative moments, her sharpness when challenged by Bob, and her physicality; Clare is no slouch in a fight, and Thorne and her stand-in make that clear.

In the end, though, “Saint Clare” seems an assemblage of discordant parts that never quite gel.  Perhaps it’s just strayed too far from its source.

Producer: Neal H. Moritz  Director: Jennifer Kaytin Robinson  Screenplay: Sam Lansky and Jennifer Kaytin Robinson  Cast: Madelyn Cline, Chase Sui Wonders, Jonah Hauer-King, Tyriq Withers, Sarah Pidgeon, Billy Campbell, Gabbriette Bechtel, Austin Nichols, Joshua Orpin, Nick Farnell, Georgia Flood,  Freddie Prinze Jr. and Jennifer Love Hewitt   Distributor: Sony Entertainment/Columbia Pictures

Grade: C-

The original 1997 “I Know What You Did Last Summer” wasn’t a very good slasher movie, even for its time.  It felt like a relic of the straightforward horror-fests of the 1980s at a time when “Scream” had already added snarky self-referentiality to the genre, and its fisherman-with-a-hook villain couldn’t hold a candle to Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees.

But this reboot is worse; after more than a quarter-century, writer-director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson has elected to update the material by simply returning to the premise of the original and, with co-writer Sam Lansky, coming up with a scenario that’s even sillier than the one Kevin Williamson devised in 1997—perhaps with tongue firmly in cheek.  Robinson may have her tongue in cheek, too, but the result is a straight-faced slog, curiously old-fashioned and ultimately rather dull.

The movie begins by returning us to Southport, North Carolina, site of the notorious 1997 slayings, where bubble-headed Danica Richards (Madelyn Cline) is celebrating her engagement to rich kid Teddy Spencer (Tyriq Withers), son of town bigwig Grant (Billy Campbell).  Two of their high school buddies are among the celebrants, Milo Griffin (Jonah Hauer-King) and Ava Brucks (Chase Sui Wonders).  The four decide to drive to a spot on the coast highway where they’ll be able to watch the July 4 fireworks in their full splendor, and invite another erstwhile classmate, Stevie Ward (Sarah Pidgeon), who’s working for the delivery/catering service hired for the party, to join them.

On the road Teddy, who’s drunk heavily, as is his habit, foolishly dances in the middle of the road, and though nearly hit by one passing car, taunts another, which veers through the safety fence and winds up hanging over the cliff.  Though they try to rescue the driver they’re unsuccessful, and the car crashes to the rocks below. 

What to do?  Ava’s at first insistent that they call the police, but the others resist for various rather numbskull reasons.  Finally, she acquiesces, and the terrible episode becomes a deep secret they’re all sworn to keep. 

Cut to a year later.  Danica’s broken up with Teddy, who’s sunk into a state of dissipation living on a boat beside his father’s mansion, and is celebrating a bridal shower; she’s now engaged to blankly handsome Wyatt (Joshua Orpin).  Ava’s flown in for the festivities, and on the plane has met Tyler Trevino (Gabbriette Bechtel), a motor-mouthed podcaster who’s come to town to do a series on the 1997 massacre.  Despite the shadow her presence casts on the proceedings, all seems reasonably fine until while opening her gifts Danica picks up an unsigned card with the titular message.

Then, of course, the killings begin.  The first few involve people other than the five guilty parties (a cemetery groundskeeper, a shaggy fellow who apparently works for the state department of crushed cars, a couple of supporting figures we’ll not reveal here), perhaps intended by the villain as hors d’oeuvres to the main course; but they’re all committed by someone wearing a fisherman’s hat and slicker, and wielding a massive hook and a harpoon gun.  Naturally the obnoxious quintet begin feeling the heat and start to investigate.  For insight they consult the two survivors of the 1997 murders, Julie James (Jennifer Love Hewitt), now a psychology professor with a specialization in trauma studies at a local university, and Ray Bronson (Freddie Prinze, Jr.), the head of the delivery service for whom Stevie works and her devoted protector (“I promised your father I’d watch out for you”).

Bodies keep piling up, but by the gruesome standards of today the kills are surprisingly mild and chaotically staged, meaning they probably won’t satisfy the bloodlust of today’s more jaded viewers.  Red herrings are scattered about with abandon—could creepy Pastor Judah (Austin Nichols), who keeps a childish scrapbook, be implicated, or perhaps his oddball follower Hannah (Georgia Flood)?  There are also shout-outs to other, much better movies: a scene in which Ray strides into a town meeting to accuse Grant and the police chief (Nick Farnell) of covering up what’s happening, just as the burg did years back, recalls “Jaws,” in particular Quint’s speech to the municipal council. 

Still, all that might be forgiven if things ended in a revelation that was clever.  What Robinson and Lansky have come up with isn’t.  The movie builds to a series of twists that aren’t just absurd but very badly choreographed, despite the fact that from the look of things—pretty locations (actually Australian and Californian), a nice production design by Courtney and Hillary Andujar, crisp widescreen cinematography by Elisha Christian—it does not appear to have been starved of funding.  Saira Haider’s editing is not as precise as it should be in the action scenes, and Chanda Dancy’s score is generic—lots of sudden bursts to accompany the innumerable jump scares in which the Fisherman appears behind an unsuspecting victim—but some of Mari-An Ceo’s costumes are eye-catching (like Danica’s revealing bridal shower get-up).

The younger cast members do what they can, but it’s hard to generate much concern for your fate when the script has you playing such unlikable characters; the fact that some survive, and that a mid-credits scene threatens a sequel, does not bode well.  Hewitt and Prinze vigorously seize on the opportunity to take center stage again, though, with Prinze in particular going into full scenery-chewing mode by the close.  There are a couple more returnees from earlier installments in the franchise as well, one in a dream sequence and another in that mid-credits scene.  Since they’re not officially credited, they won’t be named here.  But their presence is one more noteworthy bit of slavish fan service.

It might be noted that a couple of new characters in “Last Summer” were reportedly killed off in the editing room.  Lola Tung and Nicholas Alexander Chavez shot a sequence that was to have opened the movie, but Robinson cut it in her final edit.  What can one say but congratulations on your good fortune in not having this stinker on your résumé?