Andy Fickman’s tale of generically ill-fated obnoxious twentysomethings is cursed with thinly drawn characters

If the ritualistic nature of horror means higher tolerance for cliche in the genre, director Andy Fickman runs with that in this brash but increasingly shambolic slasher. You’ve probably heard it all before: a clique of supremely annoying twentysomethings convene for party girl Olivia’s (Crystal Lake Evans) birthday, and head to music festival Blue Light. With the posse packed into her boyfriend Michael’s (Jarrett Austin Brown) RV, Sarah (Amber Janea) and Gaby (Ana Zambrana) – Black and Latina respectively – wind up a couple of bigoted rednecks en route. And that’s before the more cautious Carrie (Bella DeLong) and former marine Jason (John Bucy) ask for directions in the proverbial Backwoods Bar Where Everyone Stops and Stares.

Delivered in an overcranked performance style reminiscent of Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead, there’s something moreish at first about this trope box-ticking. Despite the parodic tang, it never goes full Scream self-referential – though it’s clear what’s coming when the RV breaks down on a country road where there is no cellphone coverage. Under siege from bestial, possibly supernatural forces, latent divisions in the group open up. But apart from straight arrow Jason, Fickman – who also scripted – doesn’t layer in enough contrasting personalities in this mobile bitchfest. Nominal audience-sympathy-anchor Carrie, especially, is badly underdrawn.

The next entry in our series of writers highlighting their go-to comfort picks is an ode to Nora Ephron’s winsome romantic comedy

There’s a montage in the opening of You’ve Got Mail that is so sentimentally sweet that it feels like the cinematic equivalent of a pumpkin spiced latte. As the guitars of the Cranberries’ Dreams jangle, the film’s two leads, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, leave their respective homes and walk through an autumnal-hued New York City with smiles on their faces, their characters unaware that earlier that morning they were anonymously exchanging emails. I must have seen this opening more than 100 times, and while I’d never be so happy to walk to work, it always fills me with a romantic appreciation for life’s potential.

I can’t remember the first time I watched this Nora Ephron-penned and -directed romcom, but I do recall that as a child I would load it into the DVD player at every available opportunity. Based on the 1940 film The Shop Around the Corner, and centred on two competing booksellers – Ryan’s Kathleen Kelly, who runs her mother’s independent children’s bookstore, and Hanks’s Joe Fox, the heir to an impersonal Barnes & Noble-style mega-chain – it’s a standard enemies-to-lovers affair, albeit with a twist that these two rivals are unknowingly emotionally involved online.

Barnicoat’s memoir of early parenthood is funny, unflinching and a welcome corrective to the ceaseless pressures new mums face from social media

It’s a mark of the brilliance of Becky Barnicoat’s Cry When the Baby Cries that it worked for me, testing my patience only occasionally: as I’ve been known to tell people, while I like children a lot, I could never eat a whole one. I have a hunch that her book’s bracingly truthful tone will indeed make new (and new-ish) mothers feel very seen, just as some of the quotes on its jacket promise: no subject is for her off limits, from leaking breasts to dubious stains. But the more important thing by far is that it’s very funny and even sardonic. At her best, Barnicoat reminds me of Claire Bretécher (1940-2020), the great French cartoonist and one of the geniuses of the form.

When I was growing up, my mother hung one of Brétécher’s strips on the kitchen wall. In it, a woman with a baby is visited by a friend who drones on obliviously about her marvellous life. In the last frame, the friend has gone, and the woman, who now looks vaguely despairing, is holding her baby over the bin. (Honestly, I’m not very traumatised.) In Cry When the Baby Cries, Barnicoat is often on similar territory, her attention as much on the isolation that comes with having a baby as on the practicalities (though she’s good on the buggies and bottles, too). She’s lucky: she’s in love with her tiny son, who arrives thanks to IVF. But she’s lonely as well, and scratchy with exhaustion. My favourite page in the book is the one in which she turns the newborn days into modern art. It’s perfect! Why is he crying? is after Edvard Munch. Why am I crying? is after Picasso. Night Feeds is after Francis Bacon. Need … to … Sleep … is after Bridget Riley.

Government hopes to avoid backlash against upgrade of infrastructure as it tries to grow UK economy

• Postcode electricity pricing is a minefield for Ed Miliband
• Business live – latest updates

People living near power cables could receive £250 a year off their energy bills as the UK government hopes to speed up construction of infrastructure vital to the transition away from fossil fuels.

Households within half a kilometre of new or upgraded power infrastructure could receive up to £2,500 over 10 years under Labour government plans that aim to prevent a backlash against increased building of pylons and substations.

What’s the only horror story to have more instalments than A Nightmare on Elm Street? The ongoing saga of readers haunted by the utilities sector

Believe me, I would love to write a drama about something other than the energy bills of strangers, but try as I might to find new inspiration, nothing creates tension, plot twists and psychodrama like the utilities sector. So here we go again …