Mostly I felt uncomfortable during Splice. I wrung my hands a lot and rubbed my eyes; the kind of anxious fiddling that should spell trouble for a film. The thing is though, I’m not sure how much of my discomfort was intended by the filmmakers, and how much was just a product of poor decision making. On one hand, Splice is intentionally brimming with disconcerting genetic science, it’s hazy morality and ghastly creatures tantalizing. On the other, it’s lousy with unlikeable characters, maddening choices and awkward exchanges. Trying to gauge what’s intended and what isn’t can be taxing to say the least, which shouldn’t necessarily guide judgment. But it does, and that inconsistency, coupled with the assumption that I probably wouldn’t like the filmmakers all that much, means an unstable experience that’s more down then up.