It is inconsistent, but Mr. Jones is a solid and frightening film at its best. Jon Foster and Sarah Jones portray a long-term couple: he is a director of nature documentaries, and she is a photographer. They leave their urban existence behind to live for a while in a cabin. They soon realize a mysterious man is quietly living nearby. The recluse has decorated the landscape with elaborate and imposing sculptures, and she recognizes him as one "Mr. Jones," an anonymous artist notorious for sending macabre pieces to random people in the early 1970s. He is a ghost-story curiosity among museum curators and art critics, none of whom know his identity. The couple decide to investigate further and create a film focused on Jones, but they, of course, discover much more than they bargained more. For the first hour, this 83-minute film is atmospheric and riveting, unfolding as a blend of The Blair Witch Project and Jeepers Creepers. There are eerie shots in which the figure of Jones enters the frame behind the protagonists (unbeknownst to them), and the winding tunnels and expansive rooms beneath his cabin are a triumph of genre production design. The ways in which the mythology of the enigmatic title character—a type of primitive-art Unabomber—is established are neat, too. Alas, the third act descends into dream-versus-reality abstraction, which is conveyed via extra-frenetic editing and disorienting photography. A very tiny bit of this goes a long, long way, so what began as a promising picture ends on a slightly exhausting note.

B-

I thought it started promising but got pretty terrible unfortunately.

5/10 (C-)