Wishmaster

Wes Craven's Wishmaster is the latest addition of the Cult of the Gross-Out, dedicated to the principle that if you come up with new and innovative ways to hack the human body to ribbons, they will come. Well, they didn't come in theaters to see this generally tedious tale of an ancient Djinn accidentally released into modern-day America, though they may flock to the video. Wishmaster exists solely to show off a gaggle of grotesqueries: skin flayed from flesh, a skeleton tearing loose from its body, eviscerations by the cartload, all manner of creepy-crawlies emerging from the orifices of human hosts, a face indented by an iron mace like something out of a Warner Bros. cartoon, and a few garden-variety shootings for street cred. Director Robert Kurtzman, a former special-effects man handed a premise, a budget and an R rating, occasionally stumbles across an idea which doesn't involve exposing anatomical features generally hidden by skin; but more often, he just lets loose with the red Karo syrup. Not recommended. (S. Renshaw)