Despite misleading genre trappings and nasty gore, Exorcist director William Friedkin's film is not a horror piece but an overwrought psychological drama. Adapted by Tracy Letts from his off-Broadway play, it stars Ashley Judd (whose fearless performance is wasted here) as a trailer-trash waitress who is in hiding from her abusive jailbird ex-husband (Harry Connick Jr). Shacked up with her in a tacky motel room is traumatised soldier Michael Shannon (reprising his acclaimed stage role), and the pair feed off each other's paranoid delusions. He starts seeing bugs everywhere, she wraps everything in tin foil and together they discuss aliens, conspiracy theories and secret government experiments. Each becomes more hysterical as manic fantasy takes over from fact, with Friedkin pushing the ludicrous third act into dead-end grotesque camp. It's an alienating and exhausting rant that never escapes its offputting theatrical origins.