The Intruders serves as an account of the nightmares of two children: a girl of England and a boy of Spain. Their terror is derived from an ominous, hooded character of the appropriate name, Hollowface, who wants to kidnap them and steal their faces, all in the name of love! This is conditional love in a society that is obsessed with people’s physiognomy.

Mildly entertaining to watch, the film is affecting on rare occasions. For example, when the father of the tormented girl (Clive Owen) is at work in his enigmatic job as a construction manager, a particularly thrilling scene commences. An employee, who is placed on massively high scaffolding, decides to cut himself loose from a safety harness and reach for a nail that is inconveniently placed. The inevitable happens and he is shortly hanging onto a metal bar, on the verge of falling to his death. Cliché but thoroughly gripping; the scene plays on our fear of heights, our instinctual vertigo. Cinema is great when it plays on our most basic emotions, offering something visceral. This is a simple arousal that is captivating, unlike most of this film.

Another problem with The Intruders is that its plotline is so predictable; you watch it with the expectancy of a twist that should come sooner or later. It doesn’t. Additionally, the parallel between England and Spain becomes increasingly convoluted, whilst the Spanish mother’s desire to have her son exorcised is a trite addition to a film that already plays completely by the rulebook.

In the end, Hollowface becomes the fantasy of a child’s novel. Such a story has a simple morale: the love of family will protect one from the bed bugs. A valuable lesson for a child but one that is odd in a film that is adult in theme, with sex, violence and a disturbing analysis of vulnerability. In truth, the film doesn’t know what it wants to be. Randomly set in both Spain and England and conveying subtleties for a mature audience whilst attempting to deliver family values, the film’s confusion makes for a pleasure-less experience.