It’s not often I feel motivated to speak about a movie with pointed disdain. Usually, I can at least say something like, “I’m just not the target audience.”

I can recognize that I’m cynical and short of patience and therefore allow that certain films simply don’t register with me. For example, I detested “The Expendables,” and yet the box office draw (well over a quarter of a billion worldwide) has practically necessitated the impending sequel.

I refuse to believe there is a similarly dedicated audience for a movie such as this.

The movie begins with an obviously fabricated police account of a crime scene – both audible and visual – that features multiple murders. Blunt force trauma type stuff wrapped up in the trappings of an R-rated movie. It sets the table for what at least should have been a decent gross-out picture.

Instead, you get a thin, tinny mockumentary disaster that never comes to the kind of fruition the opening scenes suggest.

Isabella Rossi (Fernanda Andrade, whom you’ve never heard of) is the daughter of Maria Rossi, the perpetrator of the aforementioned murders that, as the movie will tell you at least seven or eight times, took place during an exorcism. The elder winds up in an institution in Italy; the younger grows up effectively an orphan, and upon reaching adulthood embarks on a journey to uncover the mystery surrounding her mother’s “insanity.” Or demonic possession. Or whatever.

The filmmaker (some dickhead named William Brent Bell, whom you’ve also never heard of) establishes immediately the same sort of quasi-documentary landscape as the rather talented Neill Blomkamp did with “District 9.”

Only here, the suspicion that the people sitting before the camera’s lens are complete phonies is masked by nothing. It’s very, very apparent that it’s all bullsh*t.

Wrapped up in this big blundering bundle of pretense is a cast of D-list (at best) actors who sort of scream into the camera and periodically enter fictitious “entries” of their supposed trials as though the audience is supposed to give a damn.

Imagine yourself sitting through a 90-minute episode of some horrible reality show disaster in a theater with a hundred other people with no reasonable means of egress. There you have it.

The characters are painfully thin, the cinematography is embarrassingly sloppy and I can’t even say that I was startled – let alone scared – at any point throughout the process.

My moviegoer friend warned me that she was prone to jumping. She jumped not at all.

So it’s a horror film with no scare factor. It’s a mockumentary with no credibility whatsoever. It is, if I’m being fair, the worst movie I’ve seen in a really long time.

The fact that it ends with an advertisement pointing to a website that most assuredly is also riddled with obviously fake garbage makes it easy for me to say that I regretted the entire experience.

Suffice it to say, the audience around me was laughing both with me and at the screen...and not in a good way.

How this ridiculous contrivance was ever given the green light is well beyond my understanding.

My rating: 0 out of 10.