Take a witheringly prosaic story that's been done more times than a street-walker, throw in a couple of old pros to help steady the shaky lead protagonists (even if the hubby, a French guy I've never seen before, and probably never will again, is scorchingly hot), set it in a beautifully rain-lashed out-dated country-pile, then market it like the ghost story it's assuredly NOT so it sits in the horror section of any HMV dumb enough to get it in-and sometimes even a seasoned veteran like me will get suckered in by yet another cheating dud that stinks to high heaven of sheer routine, unimportance, and enough duplicitous advertising to make you think, even if the last dozen releases were soap/bulletin drama turkey dressed as horror peacock, odds are a real raptor has to jump out somewhere.
Well, no actually, the only jumping I did was a leap of rage when the giant shape in the upstairs corrdior slowly revealed to the light was a bloody carving, and it says it all when the best scene 'Knife Edge' has to offer is Natalie Press's husband getting his top off. A recent short article on Natalie Press fretted why her 'My Summer Of Love' co-star Emily Blunt had flown into the stratopshere, while she's been grounded. Duds like this are the answer, plus a performance veering from too good for the material to achingly embarrassing Joan Plowright shines best in this puddle of ineptitude, if only cos she did 'The Spiderwick Chronicles' the same year-kid's film it may be, but as is so often the case it delivers more for the horror fan than these overworked adult cheats. High time it was declared illegal for every overstretched Midsomer Murders episode and brat documentary to be instantly packaged 'horror' by way of simple exposure to the market. Anthony Hickox may have directed the fun-horror 'Waxwork' and its sequel, but that was two decades back and on this evidence, he might want to try a remake.
Really this is just unrecommendable, except, perhaps for the pretty-ish yet unspecial photgraphy. I couldn't wait to bin it, even the title's falser than a Hollywood bust; blunt as a cheap razor and less edge than Spongebob. But if you sit on a knife's edge while viewing, you may approach a quarter of the pain I felt for 90 mins of being had-AGAIN! Though such a knife might be better off recommending certain directors/scripters/distributors and a fair amount of a blinkered audience that they remind themselves of what REAL horror is supposed to mean and be and to feel that pain every time they deliberately forget to take a stab at it.