Producers: Scott Bernstein, Roy Lee and Seth William Meier   Director: Floria Sigismondi   Screenplay: Carey W. Haynes and Chad Hayes   Cast: Mackenzie Davis, Finn Wolfhard, Brooklynn Prince, Barbara Marten, Joely Richardson, Niall Greig Fulton, Denna Thomsen and Kim Adis   Distributor: Universal Pictures

Grade:  C-

Henry James’s chilling 1898 novella “The Turn of the Screw” has been adapted many times in numerous forms; among the finest are Benjamin Britten’s marvelous 1954 opera and one of the cinematic versions, Jack Clayton’s eerie 1961 “The Innocents.”  This misguided updating of the tale, unhappily, does not join their illustrious company; it reduces James’s classic to a fairly typical modern haunted-house movie, with lots of pro-forma jump scares and cheap gotcha moments.  

For some reason screenwriters Carey and Chad Hayes, who scored big with “The Conjuring,” have chosen to situate the action in 1994, referencing the suicide of Kurt Cobain repeatedly to pinpoint things.  The decision does allow for the inclusion of some period grunge rock on the soundtrack, though, which is perhaps all the reason they felt they needed.  Or maybe they were trying to establish a mood of foreboding via a quick pop culture reference.  (One might note that given the film that follows, an opening tone of foreboding is quite appropriate.)

In any event, the updated “governess” is immediately introduced—she’s Kate (Mackenzie Davis), a young girl with a perpetually downcast look, perhaps because her mother (Joey Richardson) is in a mental institution.  She informs her incredulous roommate/best friend (Kim Adis) that she’s taken a job as tutor to a young girl named Flora Fairchild (Brooklynn Prince), who’s recently lost her parents.

So Kate goes off to the opulent but depressing Fairchild estate, where she finds the child in the care of flinty housekeeper Mrs. Grose (Barbara Marten), who’s for some reason the sole British character left by the Hayes brothers.  Kate and Flora seem to be getting along reasonably well until the girl’s older brother Miles (Finn Wolfhard) arrives, having been expelled from boarding school for attacking a classmate.  He dotes on his sister, but has a vaguely sinister personality, is subject to sudden mood swings and eggs Flora to collaborate in wicked pranks, mostly directed against Kate. 

It eventually becomes clear that the children were deeply affected by their former governess Miss Jessel (Denna Thomsen), who disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and their riding instructor Peter Quint (Niall Greig Fulton), described by Grose as a malevolent fellow who died suddenly in a fall from his horse; Flora is terrified to leave the estate, certainly that she’ll die if she tries to, while Miles’s brooding, often nasty conduct seems inspired by his idolization of Quint.

But it’s not merely the memory of Jessel and Quint that haunts the place; Kate becomes convinced that their spirits are actually present, threatening her.  The rest of the film is basically devoted to watching Kate become more and more unhinged as her fear escalates.  She thinks she sees phantom figures and in one instance actually finds Jessel’s drowned body in the lake.  She finds herself trapped in horrifying situations—which, of course, turn out to be that old horror-movie standby, nightmares.  When she tries to take the children beyond the grounds, Flora demands to be let out of the car.  And though she tries to reach Miles, he remains hostile and at times positively dangerous.  It’s obvious that the film is careening toward a tragic outcome, and it does—or at least perhaps does.

To give the picture credit where it’s due, it looks quite attractive in David Ungaro’s lustrous widescreen cinematography, and Paki Smith’s production design is fine.  But editor Glenn Garland has trouble giving shape to the individual episodes director Floria Sigismondi has fashioned, and both the visual effects and Nathan Barr’s score are at best adequate.

Among the cast Wolfhard, who’s becoming the go-to teen for roles requiring an aura of strangeness, comes off best, though Prince pulls off Flora’s changes of mood.  One might also enjoy hollow-cheeked Marten’s portrayal of stern, stuffy Grose (a very different character from the one in most versions of the tale).  As for Davis, the poor thing shows a willingness to be put through the emotional wringer again and again, but comes across as a rather simpering sort.       

“The Turning” ends on a note that will leave most viewers muttering “What the [expletive deleted]?” as the final credits suddenly roll.  One can interpret it as representing either the filmmakers’ throwing up their hands in despair, or as the logical, if rather silly, conclusion to the story that’s been told for ninety minutes—in which case it’s just about as satisfying as Bobby Ewing’s infamous shower reappearance in “Dallas.”  In any event, it’s likely to send you home wishing you’d watched “The Innocents” instead.

In fact, it would be best to wait to catch the movie later on television, if you watch it at all.  Then you could turn “The Turning” off.       

Producers: Jerry Bruckheimer, Will Smith and Doug Belgrad   Directors: Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah   Screenplay: Chris Bremner, Peter Craig and Joe Carnahan   Cast: Will Smith, Martin Lawrence, Joe Pantoliano, Vanessa Hudgens, Alexander Ludwig, Charles Melton, Paola Núñez, Jacob Scipio, Kate Del Castillo, Nicky Jam, DJ Khaled, Theresa Randle and Bianca Bethune   Distributor: Sony Entertainment/Columbia Pictures

Grade:  C-

The sequel to the original 1995 “Bad Boys” was long in coming: “Bad Boys II” didn’t show up until 2003 (and it was so true to the titular adjective, one wished it never had).  It’s taken nearly seventeen years for a third installment, and the time was not well spent: “Bad Boys For Life” is endlessly awful, a throwback that should have been thrown away.

The premise is that long-time partners Mike Lowrey (Will Smith) and Marcus Burnett (Martin Lawrence) are still cruising the streets of Miami in their muscle car, sending their short-tempered captain (Joe Pantoliano) into paroxysms with their rule-breaking ways.  (If the setup reminds you of innumerable buddy movies of the seventies and eighties, let alone tons of TV series from the time, your memory is working fine.)

But Marcus, a first-time grandpa, wants to retire and help raise the new baby, while Mike has no desire to change his routine, intent on continuing his street-wise swaggering indefinitely.  Marcus does exit the force, but, as the saying goes, he’s forced reluctantly back into the game when Mike is targeted by a would-be assassin, and makes a recovery (one depicted as remarkably quick and easy) from what certainly seems should have been a fatal assault.

The question is who’s responsible, and why.  The answer has been telegraphed from the very start, when we’re shown Isabel (Kate del Castillo), the bloodthirsty widow of a Mexican drug lord, escaping from prison in an extraordinarily nasty scene, and encouraging her son Armando (Jacob Scipio) to take vengeance on Lowrey not just by attacking him, but making him suffer by first killing everybody involved in her late husband’s downfall. 

That leads to a string of big set-pieces, including a frantic chase involving cars, motorcycles and helicopters, and a series of bloody killings (including one of a major character) before Mike and Marcus travel to Mexico to take on the dastardly duo in a finale that turns into a literal conflagration, with Mike coming to terms with his past and Marcus kvetching all the way.  It closes, however, with a big revelation about family secrets that might just remind you of that in the last of Smith’s other recent action extravaganza, “Gemini Man” (if you were unlucky enough to see that Ang Lee bomb). 

Along the way the duo pick up a team of Miami cohorts, a special ops team called AMMO headed by Rita (Paola Núñez), who has a past with Lowrey (and she’s not the only one), and including svelte sharpshooter Kelly (Vanessa Hudgens), beefy computer wizard Dorn (Alexander Ludwig) and cocky know-it-all Rafe (Charles Melton).  They all make it south of the border for the finale, too.    

The directing duties of “Bad Boys for Life” have passed from Michael Bay (who must make do with a cameo here) to the Moroccan-born Belgian duo of Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah, billed as Adil and Bilall, but the basic approach remains the same.  They offer up tons of action, shot by Robrecht Heyvaert and edited by Dan Lebental and Peter McNulty in the hyperkinetic style that’s obligatory nowadays and accompanied by an overbearing score from Lorne Balfe.

But they also leave plenty of room for banter between the two stars, which is meant to be explosively funny but comes off as pretty lame, with Lawrence in particular struggling to wring laughs out of lines that wouldn’t even merit inclusion in a stand-up routine (which is what he often seems to be attempting); he also has to try to sell multiple instances of his trying to stifle throwing up at the sight of blood, which seems an odd reaction from a guy who must have seen beaucoup violence during decades on the streets.  (A conversation between the two on their plane ride to Mexico, which sends their fellow passengers into fright at the mention of guns and mayhem, is cringe-inducing.)  Presumably all the gabbing is intended to humanize the characters, but there’s entirely too much of it, especially in the first hour (which frankly tends to crawl along) since it’s mostly composed of stock back-and-forth repartee. 

Perhaps one has to give Smith and Lawrence credit for trying to pull off this old-fashioned blarney  at all, but the fact of the matter is that their reunion doesn’t engender as much affection as impatience, and when the suggestion of a sequel comes at the close, it seems more like a threat.  Enough, already.

As for Adil and Bilall, they’re reportedly also attached to direct another installment of the old “Beverly Hills Cop” franchise with Eddie Murphy.  The last movie in that series came out in 1994, which means that when the new one appears, more than a quarter-century will have elapsed.  Can you smell the mothballs?