Brandon Cronenberg's Antiviral is clearly inspired by the early work of the director's father, David, and it has been an intriguing item on the festival circuit, but on a second viewing for its UK release, it ended up defeating me in more or less the same way as before. This is a technically accomplished film with its own intensity and consistency of approach: a body-horror satire about a dystopian future-present in which celeb obsession and identification has become so extreme that people will pay to be injected with viruses that have lived inside the bodies of famous people. It's partly a satirical riff on the HeLa cancer cells famously taken by researchers from cancer patient Henrietta Lacks. That was about cure – this is about sickness. Cronenberg may also conceivably have been inspired by the grim case of 1940s star Gene Tierney, whose unborn child became infected with rubella after she gave an autograph to an unwell fan. But the satire is obvious, laboured and unrewarding.