Self-reflexive horror movie in which the director of the original Nightmare on Elm Street grapples with the monster that he unleashed ten years earlier, and that now has a life of its own. "I thought Wes stopped doing horror movies," observes Heather Langenkamp (as herself); she at least, now a mom, has serious qualms about the genre. The movie gives you more to chew on than all previous Freddy adventures combined. There is a creepy spatial illusion at the bottom of an open grave ("only" a dream) and a hair-raising scene of an eight-year-old boy crossing a busy freeway with his mother in hot pursuit. The finale, though, is unsatisfying, overblown, tedious, and ugly-as-sin. With Robert Englund, John Saxon. (1994) — Duncan Shepherd
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