Haven't Our Soliders Suffered Enough?

It never generates a real sense of dread or building pressure. Instead, it uses its feeble set-up to string together one grisly shock after another.

The roman numeral in the title is the most sophisticated thing about the sequel. Otherwise, this radioactive spawn of Wes Craven is abysmal, stupid and -- horror of all horrors! -- incredibly boring.

Although series creator Wes Craven wrote this sequel's script with his son Jonathan, the film has little of that filmmaker's usual sass.

This team's descent is soon revealed as cockamamie: they're no longer trained fighters with automatic guns but victims in a splatter movie.

The National Guardsmen and -women are picked off one by one in scenes of birth, death, rape and other carnage that aim to be as grotesque as possible.

Cheesy and yucky, it's a guilty pleasure.

A secret comedy lurks within this decidedly shoddy piece of corporate horror.