Review: It’s nonstop gore (and a bit of brain freeze) in Eli Roth’s splatter-happy ‘Ice Cream Man’

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.

The kid in the candy shop is Eli Roth with a gore budget and in the “Hostel” director’s latest bloody romp, “Ice Cream Man,” there’s a decidedly childlike giddiness from behind the camera to accompany the sicko suburban carnage depicted onscreen. Where others might view a “Village of the Damned” scenario as dread-inducing, Roth hears the bell for recess.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful film. Little things like style, narrative command and character still matter, and Roth, who wrote “Ice Cream Man” with Noah Belson and even gives himself a role, is decidedly more of a smart-ass vaudevillian than a skilled filmmaker. (“Thanksgiving” was better as an impish sideshow teased as a trailer in “Grindhouse” than as a standalone feature years later.) And while that same belief in the lasting entertainment value of jokey splat-itude gives “Ice Cream Man” its occasional well-churned moments, it eventually undercuts Roth’s own semi-worthy bid to rattle us as the best horror movies can.

With its sunny elevator-music-scored opening of cheery park scenes and leafy residential neighborhoods, “Ice Cream Man” sets itself up, not unappealingly, like a Norman Rockwell painting asking to be vandalized. Next comes the arrival of a tinkling blue ice cream truck manned by an eerily silent, smiling, wraith-like purveyor (Ari Millen) with a John Waters mustache. He hands out his goodies free of charge, and the town’s children converge excitedly, then head home with colorfully smeared faces and a peculiarly quiet demeanor — except for easily bullied Jared (Charlie Zeltzer), who’s lactose intolerant and nobody’s friend anyway, after losing the ballgame for his team.

But when his ice cream-eating schoolmates begin slaughtering their parents overnight, seemingly fueled by the wafting sound of the truck jingle and old-timey black-and-white animations invading their phones, Jared seems like the lucky one. At school the next day, the cold-eyed stares of dairy-slopped grade-schoolers befuddles the teachers (“Is this some sort of zombie pajama day challenge?” is one of the better reaction lines) as well as unsuspecting Jared, along with two other unaltered classmates, Mia (Kiori Waldman) and Tommy (Shiloh O’Reilly). Then the ice cream man returns to refuel his targeted customers, who try to convert our well-cast, engaging trio of young double-scoop holdouts. Things get sticky.

A daytime massacre, built around gleefully homicidal children in full kill mode against adults, contains visuals designed to forever alter how you see tetherball, rope-skipping and cat’s cradle (plus a quasi-amusing shout-out to “The Birds”). It’s clear Roth was aiming for a blood-and-guts tour de force, which this both is and isn’t. Even after Jared and the gang escape the slayground to a church where they get the ice cream man’s backstory from a cowardly priest (Benjamin Byron Davis), genuine scares aren’t really in play here, just taboo snickers.

Then again, the carefully calibrated blend of dark humor, weirdness and sheer terror that made last year’s “Weapons” a rapturous nightmare about creepy children isn’t what Roth is after (or cares to do). He’s got a super-soaker “Goonies”-meets-early-Peter Jackson mindset and a list of clever kills to execute. Time’s a wastin’.

So a pinch of surprising depth proves to be the most unwieldy move when Roth unveils a resonantly nasty surprise for his story’s endgame. The impact is muted because it instantly clarifies how needlessly trivial everything before it was. Maybe someday, Roth will temper his empty-calories instincts and make more of a meal out of his twisted ideas.