Mike A.’s review published on Letterboxd:
One of the worst horror films I've ever seen. Visually, it's lumbering and opportunistic; the director stumbles from understated presentation to moments of harsh graphic distortion with no sense of rhythm whatsoever. This aesthetic of awkward lurches is there in the storytelling, too: think of the moment when the hero is questioning a teenage girl in his car, and somehow fails to notice that a handful of her friends have begun to sit in meditation poses (!) right near where he's parked. It's a small moment, but it's telling: the filmmaker wants to drop a sign of menace into the scene, and he doesn't give a damn about plausibility or internal coherence.
I guess the ending story revelations about the falseness of reality blah blah blah could serve as an alibi for any, or all, of the glaring shifts in tone, the awkward inconsistencies, and the rampant moments of dramatic implausibility; after all, if it's all a matter of creating reality through your thoughts, anything goes, right? It's a neat trick: building a cop-out for artistic incompetence right into your film's central theme.