The impromptu father-daughter therapy session on the bench is one of the best scenes in recent memory - it's human interaction and character psychology captured like lightning in a bottle.

It was released in the year of Forrest Gump, yet it could be in theaters today and nobody would notice it's almost a quarter of a century old, thanks to hot-button topics as in vogue as gender politics, political correctness, and sexual misconduct allegations. In essence, however, the underlying theme is timeless: human communication, or lack thereof.

Although it might take a while to acclimate to the rather exasperating cadence of Mamet's dialogue, the minimalism of the mise-en-scène only makes it all the more unnerving.

Tongue-in-cheek, it disembowels the conventions of the 'Evil Dead'-type of horror stories and, surprisingly, makes for a frightening self-reflexive indictment of the audiences' thirst for human blood onscreen - all masked as silly entertainment.

Majestic, dead-serious epic about innate decency and innate treachery in intelligent species. Character interaction betrays not a hint of foolishness - they all survived devastating tragedies and still manage to go on, even if unable to be completely happy or carefree again. A summer blockbuster tinged with melancholy.