instruction:
In this task, you are given a review of a movie and a boolean question whether this review has positive sentiment or negative sentiment. Your task is to generate answer "yes" when the tweet has that particular sentiment, otherwise generate answer "no".
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Review: Cradle of FearThis isn't a movie where intricate delicate little narrative nuances occupy our attention. This is not a film where the special effects are supposed to leave us slack-jacked uttering that sense of whoa. What it is though is a slice of lo-fi goth horror which leaves little to the imagination, created in the eyes of the director, Alex Chandon, as "a throwback to sleazy '70s and '80s horror".This is a very visceral experience for 2 hours, where four plot lines are connected through lots of watery blood, reams of dismembered body parts and innards, tied by an intestinal thread of revenge. The purveyor of such horrific violence is Dani Filth, lead-singer of the metal band Cradle of Filth, executing a role he was destined to play. As other's have said, there is nothing new about wanting to carryout occultist revenge. In this particular context a convicted sexual predator and murderer, Kemper, the father of our devilish avenging-angel, compels his son to exact retribution on those who are some how connected to convicting him to purgatory within an insane asylum.What this provides for the Chandon, who should be congratulated on also penning and editing this piece, is the opportunity to let his sick mind run free. He seems to take delight in the idea of splattering blood into the orifices of those on screen, and into every nook and cranny that can be reached. We are also treated to close-ups of skull's being crushed, demonic rape, and other assorted imagery to engage those who relish getting up close and personal to their horror. And for some of those who closely follow these type of films, there is the odd sequence which may have you thinking, "Did I just see what I thought I did", because of course Pretty Woman this 'aint. It reminds me of some of the gore-fests created out of Italian horror some 20 to 30 years ago, and a number of other works where disgusting images have left their mark but not the context in which they were viewed.Story 4 of the set is particularly intriguing where the idea of ones obsession can ultimately lead to death in the pursuit of internet violence through the "Sick Room", where the user is in control of how a life can be snuffed out. Further acknowledgements should also go out to a pounding soundtrack that allows Filth to exercise his daytime talent, and an effective use of drum and bass, often overlooked in film-making as a viable form of supporting visuals. Using the city of London as a backdrop with real people as opposed to movie stand-ins also adds support to the commando feel of the film. OK, classic it may not be, but blood, guts, intestines, occult and demons in a slightly perverse unproblematic way it is. Question: is it a negative review?
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yes

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Review: Belmondo is a tough cop. He goes after a big-time drug dealer (played by Henry Silva, normally a great villain - see "Sharky's Machine"; but here he is clearly dubbed, and because of that he lacks his usual charisma). He goes to the scuzziest places of Paris and Marseilles, asks for some names, beats up some people, gets the names, goes to more scuzzy places, asks for more names, beats up more people, etc. The whole movie is punch after punch after punch. It seems that the people who made it had no other ambition than to create the French equivalent of "Dirty Harry". Belmondo, who was 50 here, does perform some good stunts at the beginning; apart from those, "Le Marginal" is a violent, episodic, trite, shallow and forgettable cop movie. (*1/2) Question: is it a negative review?
answer:
yes

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Review: You might be a bit confused if you watch this silly made-for from the beginning, since the credits list Susan Dey as "Special Guest Star." Um, why would a one-off MOW like this have a guest star? Well, if you stick with it, you'll find yourself paying attention to little else but Ms. Dey's butt, wiggling in a flowered bikini as the "Partridge Family" house babe frolics on the beach to which that imaginative title alludes. Susan's derriere is especially compelling when she shakes it at the camera while teasing and tickling her pseudo-disaffected brother in one mildly incestuous scene. Sadly, Susie and her tush fight a losing battle: the jiggle-TV craze that might have put that bottom over the top was three years off, so that sweet booty just gets a supporting role. In 1976 Fat Freddy Silverman would have put that behind right out front and used this flick as Susan's audition tape for "Charlie's Angels." As is, our Susan was denied cheesecake immortality and had to settle for a very commendable career playing somber, neurotic women.The view beyond Susan's heinie, it must be said, is not very compelling. The scenery is nice, and photographed in a bizarre, hazy way that briefly fools you into thinking there might be some quirky creative intelligence at work behind the camera. Nope. It's just a typically suspense-challenged 70's made-for-TV thriller that allowed weekly series stars to make some extra cash(and collect some cable residuals, though they obviously didn't know that at the time) and show off their "range." Here we're treated to a TV-scale nuclear family, squaring off against TV-scale thugs who can't decide whether they're a motorcycle gang or a hippie cult (thus the filmmakers split the difference by putting them in dune buggies) and have never learned one of the primary lessons of 1970s television: don't mess with Dennis Weaver (see "McCloud" and "Duel"). The only potential for depth in this movie is in the aforementioned teenage-son character of Steve, played by the long-forgotten (if ever-remembered) Kristoffer Tabori, who is supposed to be rebellious and troubled and might feel some sympathy for and attraction to the lawless mob that is (supposedly) menacing his family. But Steve, as played by Tabori (gosh, why didn't we see more from this wunderkind?), is actually just grumpy and moody and isn't one bit conflicted when big D gets serious and draws a line in the proverbial (and literal) sand. For the sleep-deprived and Susan Deyniacs (there must be some of you out there) only. Question: is it a positive review?
answer:
no