The Shrouds

In a weird way, I was glad Cronenberg shared this with us.

It’s Cronenberg’s Finnegans Wake. He’s speaking his own cinematic language now.

The Shrouds’ true center is Kassel’s performance. He translates grief into a restless electrical energy; you can practically feel it vibrating through his agile, lanky frame.

The pace feels deliberate throughout, almost at times ceremonial. Karsh describes himself as “a non-observant atheist.” The Shrouds is a bit like that, too.

Cassel and Kruger give haunting, strangely electrifying performances in this flawed but affecting work. "The Shrouds" casts an odd spell: Its details fade away, while its essence lingers.

At its best, [The Shrouds] throbs with raw, human, horrific honesty.

There's a lot pieces that are working, but the film keeps spiraling out of control.

The body can decay, and as a filmmaker, Cronenberg pioneered new ways of showing audiences just how nasty that can theoretically be. But the horror explored in The Shrouds is what comes after for those left behind — and that’s truly terrifying.

A minor Cronenberg movie is still a major event.

Still, the film is expertly crafted, down to another top-notch collaboration with composer Howard Shore. It's an intriguing footnote for a brilliant career rather than an all-timer, but it'll do.