Jack (Robert Sheehan) sees dead people – not horrifically scarred murder victims like in ‘The Sixth Sense’, or wispy, shackled ghosts like in a Shakespearean drama. Just bog-standard men in nice shirts who happen to have carked it.
This naturally causes Jack a bit of bother – landlords don’t like it when he has loud arguments with thin air; his mum think he’s crackers; even his psychiatrist is simply giving it the old smile-and-nod. His sister, played by Lily Cole, isn’t really sure what to think. That’s probably because she’s thinking: ‘St. Trinian’s' was eight bloody years ago, why the hell aren’t I starring in something better than this awful supernatural thriller?
But surely a flick through the script is all it would’ve taken? In 90 minutes, ‘The Messenger’ offers not a single fresh idea, nor the faintest glimmer of hope that something smart is around the corner. Between them, the dialogue, story and cinematography deliver more clichés than an entire season of ‘Match of the Day’ that’s been beamed in from a parallel dimension where all of the pundits are Michael Owen. It’s that dull.