The fifth film in the series still executes creative kills; if only the same attention were paid to the rest of the movie.

While the film may justify its title in terms of the viscera on display, it is badly in need of a funny bone.

There’s a story, and a mythology, and a prestige actress who knows how to push moodiness to the point that, in this series, it’s just about her only mood, but none of it, in the end, gets in the way of the splatter.

Blood Wars concludes with the threat of further sequels, but this is clearly one franchise that's been fully drained of its blood.

The only notable aspect of the film is that it marks the feature directorial debut of Anna Foerster, a rare example of a woman being allowed to direct a reasonably large-scale franchise film. Alas, all it proves here is that a female director can make a film of this sort that is just as listless, derivative and perfunctory as one made by a man.