The Machinist

Until now Bale's screen persona has been defined by a graceful athleticism; here his physicality is repellent, yet he carries the occasionally creaky plot of Scott Kosar's unsettling screenplay to a resonant finish.

A few scenes into the gloom and you'll have a good idea what is generally up, if not the specifics, making the journey toward the eventual, inevitable twist fairly one-dimensional.

One can't deny the dubious appeal of the spectacle of the skin-and-bone Bale, quite possibly endangering his health for the sake of his art.

Some people will pick up the clues early in The Machinist and some won't. I got some, not all, but I remained unengaged throughout, largely because of the film's deliberateness, which feels like lack of passion.

A gimmick with no real payoff.

Bale's performance has the emotional weight to substantiate this body-art spectacle, ranging from prickly self-righteousness through panicked self-doubt to morbid self-pity...

"The Machinist" is a well-crafted psychological thriller about self-deception and tragedy, told against an eerie landscape of terrifying dislocation and isolation.

This is one effed up horror movie.

If Nine Inch Nails, Swans and Ministry ever loomed large in the landscape of your imagination, Anderson's gloomy aesthetic may exert a sour but lingering pull.

A brilliant, harrowing performance by Bale.