Note: This review was done off of theatrical viewings of the film and as such the review does not feature images or extended granular analysis. Once I am able to get a physical copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from, the review will be updated to match the site’s standard review format.
Pino Donaggio operatic score immediately graces our ears, evoking the wondrous, mysterious, as we’re greeted with Blade Runner-ensue futurustic cityscapes, towering above the clouds. A large building in the center of the frame, surrounded in neon hues and wisps, is constructed like a person from the chest-up, staring forward. Is this a real building, shaped in this recognizable fashion built in recognition of some other figure? Is it a representation of our capacity to shape our environment, a symbol made maximal?
Then another set of buildings, large towers scattered with neon windows and two large crystalline hands cum claws, shimmering in a haze which obscures the architecture lurking deeper in the background. Another representation of personhood, this time reaching out, grasping towards the indescribable right above it. Yet, the questions persist, accrete towards the increasingly opaque: Where exactly are we observing?
If the traditional establishing shot is meant to ease the viewer in, allow them to establish a tether to the world that the film inhabits, Her Private Hell’s maneuvers act in perverse acceptance of the norm, informing the viewer that this is world that cannot be made precise, a place that exists out in the beyond.
Then, from the fog, a line is thrown – a vantage point for the audience to latch onto. Elle (Sophie Tatcher) a woman who seems to be the only entity capable of persisting through the fog, traverses the unseen cityscape, partially captured in silhouette, as Donaggio’s composition employs fairy tale motifs imbuing this figure with an ethereal transcendence.
With this anchor established, understated as it may be, we follow as she approaches a building who seems to stretch endlessly into the skies , lit by neon pink on both sides. There are two signs in front of the structure lit in neon blues: on the right, the word “Tower” and on the left, the word “Hotel.” Two explicit signifiers in this byzantine world, but their representation still allows interpretative room. Are these words meant to be read separately in that this building is both a hotel and a tower? Are they meant to be read as the “name” of the building, a thought expressed as singular: “Tower Hotel”? And why are we to presume that these words, spare symbols they are, should be read left-to-right instead of right-to-left. Is this a “Tower Hotel” or a “Hotel Tower”? The lexical priority of the nouns implies a different purpose for the building. One can read the “Hotel” as dominating or the “Tower”, but what would the difference in those readings entail?
There are no answers. At least, Elle isn’t here to answer those kinds of questions. As she stares up at the ever-stretching tower, whose phallic construction is certainly more tongue than cheek, it’s apparent there’s something more important on her mind. Her face is captured in close-up, and her background is split between the building’s colors: pink on the left and blue on the right. She’s at a cross-roads even if she doesn’t know it.
She enters the building and the mysteries of the fog give way the golden opulence of the hotel. Elle walks towards the elevator but pauses and returns to make acquaintance with another young woman, Hunter (Kristine Froseth) lounged in a chair in in the lobby.
Hunter starts to fawn over Elle as we gain crumbs of context. Elle is a movie star. She’s here for a project. Hunter is set to act in it.
Elle senses the desperation from the ingenue and offers a comfort, delivered in a slow, detached coolness to not “sell herself.” At first glance, the words seem innocuous, but there’s a sinister underpinning to their implication, one that threatens to become clearer when Hunter indicates that her room is no longer available and her luggage has been consumed by the fog: a young girl in distress, trapped a Hollywood environment that looks nothing like one, surrounded by a mist, who despite being off-screen, now feels increasingly encroaching.
Then, another lifeline, this time to a character inside the film. Elle offers Hunter access to her hotel room, an offer which the latter immediately jumps onto.
The duo enter the elevator and the framing, which places both girls on the sides of the elevators, ensures we’re aware of the haze’s presence, everlasting through the glass windows in the center of the structure and frame.
The camera takes Elle’s point-of-view, lingering on Hunter’s ‘s body in a close tracking. There is potential for desire in the purview of the mist. Hunter smiles.
Then, they arrive.
And Hunter realizes just how immense the presence Elle and her stardom are, absolutely in awe at the space and its luxurious decor.
But Elle could care less about this newfound encounter. Her interest has waned. Her gaze has shifted. This is not what she desires. There are more pressing things on her mind.
Or rather, more pressing persons, one of whom, Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), enters the suite and offers Hunter, who worries about her “relatability” to the fans, advice, delivered with a solemn earnestness, to affirm her singularity as a person. We’re all “stardust”, wholly unique and to ourselves and have a responsibility to recognize that.
But Elle isn’t buying what’s being sold, and the words take on a different feeling when she reveals that Dominque, a contemporary with the other two young women , is in fact Elle’s new step-mother and is married to Johnny Thunders (Dougray Scott), a man who has enticed his daughter back to this location to make a movie under his purview, one which he hopes will tidy over things with his newly affirmed nuclear family. It’s apparent there’s a history, a story, between the freshly signified “mother” and “daughter” which has now been threatened and forced into a fight-or-flight reaction by this attempt at stabilizing the status quo signification.
This is Elle’s hell, one made all the more menacing when her father reveals at a gathering of young starlets, the story of the Leather Man, a father turned supernatural slasher, who lost his own daughter, and in a karmic transformation, is now an entity who hunts lost daughters, serving as a warning to negligent fathers on the consequences of their actions.
It’s after his symbolic integration within the narrative schema, that the Leather Man makes his presence known, brutally eviscerating a young woman with giallo panache , in view of Elle, and disposing of the body in the mist, tossing it from the windows and letting it fall out of view, out of memory.
This act of violence serves as metaphysical segue to the film’s other narrative strand which follows Private K. (Charles Melton), a man who certainly feels in line with Refn’s mythological fetish of super-hero (the “super man” so to speak) starting with Old Eye in Valhalla Rising and last culminating with Lieutenant Chang in Only God Forgives. This is a man, stuck in distinctive location also covered in the same mist, tackling the underworld of trafficking in a desperate attempt to eventually get to Hell and find the Leather Man who he claims as responsible for the disappearance of his daughter.
But just like the signs in front of the hotel, the manner in which the narrative should be read, the tales of Elle and K and the many stories in between, is elusive, offering the viewer a canvas with detritus of what would otherwise be called plot points. Symbols transform, taking on new media and representations depending on point-of-view.
The only true constant is the mist and the presence of Leather Man, both of which operate as antagonist on the one hand and suturing presence on the other. The effect is a matrix of implications. Characters are cyphers, bridges to ideas less than fleshed out persons who would be recognizable in any other space. Beats echo as they reverberate against one another, the plot engendering its own ghost as it attempts to shore against the schism constituted by its wholehearted embrace of the surreal. The conceit of the Leather Man reveals as much: he is a father who punishes other fathers for the sin which led him to become what he became. He is a walking Grandfather paradox, a symbol who becomes entangled in an ever-increasing assemblage of meaning as characters attempt to grasp as his mythology and the film intercuts his violence with perspective in a manner that blurs the line as to where to couch reality.
But the resulting effect is as powerful as it is hermetic. Simple movements, eyes turning, hands reaching, suggest psychic entanglements, projections, realities converging. Sex becomes violence. Murder becomes a shooting star. Space becomes a film. And film becomes a hell. Privacy becomes public as the boundaries between where we start and the Other begin are ripped apart, broken down to their gory stardust.
That Nicolas Winding Refn’s first foray back to the cinematic screen in a decade since The Neon Demon feels like a double down on the auteurs penchants starting with Drive – neon lighting, stoic acting, drained like Bressonian models, slowly paced dialogue, immaculate compositions – also feels his most experimental, seemingly gallivanting between genres – horror, opera, science-fiction, crime, fairy tale – is a balancing act to behold. He’s taken the fetishes which have occupied his work up to the point and stripped the elements to their most impressionistic, an decision reflected most heavily in the film’s aesthetics which obscure all but glimpses of details, hieroglyphics waiting to be interpellated by the audience. Viewers willing to grab onto the swirling images and associations and layer the artifice onto a scaffold in spite of the metaphysical uncertainty, will find meaning leaking, or more accurately bleeding, out between the films poetic, oneiric shifts and reprieves.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Her Private Hell serves as a triumphant return for one of cinema’s great enfant terribles, demonstrating that while his fetishistic occupations remain squarely fixed within the neon fugue established in his oeuvre starting with 2011’s Drive, his method for exploring them has become dreamier, willing to experiment with freer association between narrative threads and the symbols populating them. This is Refn at his most fluid, shifting genres on seeming whim, employing an operatic score to ratchet up the fairy tale gestalt, while hiding pointedly iconic images and their echoes in the set-design, hidden in obviously tantalizing fashion, challenging the viewer to piece the puzzle together.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Note: This review was done off of theatrical viewings of the film and as such the review does not feature images or extended granular analysis. Once I am able to get a physical copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from, the review will be updated to match the site’s standard review format.
We sit with a man in a car. Every part of hims is out of focus, even his reflection in the rear-view mirror. This is a man who is barely here.
This perspective is maintained as we cut between alternating shots of reflective surfaces: his rear-view mirror, the side-view mirror, his sunglasses which in turn reflect his rear-view reflection from yet another angle. This is a man who is an enigma, a reflection of his environment.
He pulls past a cop.
We sit and wait for the cliche. For the cop to turn his lights on. For the driver to nervously speed up. For the cop to respond in haste. For a chase to ensue.
The cop, Michael (Stephen Adekolu), pulls out of his post and begins to follow. But his lights do not turn on.
When the driver slows down and comes to a halt, having taken hold of a gun, the roles have been reversed. It’s the cop who has been stopped by the driver. It is the cop in danger.
But the cop does not know there is a loaded gun waiting. Instead, he presses forward and asks for identification.
We wait for the moment to arrive.
Then, another cop car comes by the scene. The other officer, Jane (Georgina Campbell), greets Michael, her husband.
Suddenly, the stakes ratchet up; there is a couple at risk.
MIchael waves Jane off and tells her he’ll handle the simple issue; clearly based off the driver’s car, the case is clear and shut; there’s a charge waiting to be found and a ticket to be cited.
But Jane’s instincts won’t let her leave. She turns her car back around and bears witness as the gun finally goes off and her husband’s body flies back to the ground.
She takes aim and fires at the driver repeatedly but none of her shots are able to do anything meaningful.
She goes to her husband who passes in her arms. And so begins the cat-and-mouse scenario between Jane and the driver, the infamous “Satanic Slasher” (James Preston Rogers).
Unfortunately, the electricity in the opening sequence is never again captured as Psycho Killer, Gavin Polone’s debut feature struggles to balance the two halves of its narrative.
The opening half of the film, which predominantly follows our murderous antagonist, is filled with cinematic intrigue. Polone and cinematographer Magnus Jønck consistently utilize mirrors and shadows alongside careful blocking to ensure that we are never granted a glimpse at the killer, never once allowed a kind of humane reprieve.
The reflections only give way to the physicality of the killer when he dons his mask and goes on his sprees. We bear witness to the ritual — the mask with tinted goggles, the sudden explosiveness and commitment to violence, the symbology permeating both the killer’s body in the forms of tattoos and graffiti he paints onto the scenes of his crimes with his victims’ blood — and though there are some choices that will alienate some viewers (the killer’s voice is certainly a commitment) and some decisions that seem there are no great excuses for (ex: CGI blood), the tenacity of the formal rigidity makes for compelling cinema
This same care is not extended to our protagonist, Jane, and her arc or lack thereof.
Her single-minded quest for revenge feels flatter than our killer’s quest to mindlessly slaughter (even if it is in the name of the devil). Every attempt at giving her character some kind of humanity to serve as contrast, comes off either contrived or is given so little care in the script, that it feels farcical.
Instead of her counterpart’s rituals, her time is spent mostly running through the procedural motions of 2000’s horrors: Googling obvious terms and finding hilariously precise websites, being conveniently given information, and lucking into locations and through situations through sheer narrative brute. That these sequences are often captured with little if any cinematic vigor only hammers the dichotomy of the film harder.
Ultimately, it is this imbalance that makes Psycho Killer both intriguing and frustrating. Its portrayal of ritualistic murder is gripping but is couched in a crime thriller that operates on the basest of levels. There are echoes of bureaucratic conspiracy and true crime sensationalism, neatly presented in the diegetic discussion of the films’ murders via television and radio, that beg a question of intent: is the plot taking these asides seriously or treating them as surface dressing the milieu it wants to evoke?
The film is unable to make up its mind and as it discordant parts grind against each other, the ultimate consequence of trying to have its cake and eat it, the end of the film happens in a manner that both feels a predictable bore and irritatingly interesting. For many viewers, especially those hoping for a the taught thriller akin to screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker’s previous body of work in the genre (Se7en, 8mm, The Killer), the frustration and unevenness of the narratives plodding will deter them from considering what the film has to offer. Yet, those willing to bifurcate the films parts and take the highs in spite of the lows, will find there is surprisingly more than meets the surface.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Half an great film and half a dreadful bore, viewers willing to handle the lows of Psycho Killer’s inane plotting and contrivances will find an uneven but formally energetic portrayal of a ritualized killer.
Rating
8.1/10
Grade
B+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Welcome to the Critic’s Sanctum’s 7th Annual 31-Day Horror Marathon!
This year, I will be curating gialli, an sub-genre of film hailing from Italy, often combining mystery, thriller, and horror elements. These films, earning their names from the yellow (giallo) pulp books from which they draw inspiration from, have become a staple in my horror diet in no small part due to their focus on sumptuous camerawork and soundtracks packed from start to finish with high-octane earworms.
And I’m clearly not the only one who has been taken under the spell of the gialli, its (lack of) plotting and all. The genre’s fingerprints are pressed all over modern cinema especially horror . There are no modern slashers without the gialli’s posturing of sensuality and gore at the forefront of dramaturgy.
As more modern homages rear their heads in mainstream offerings (Edgar Wright’s Last Night in Soho and James Wan’s Malignant spring to mind), I feel it ever more incumbent to get the good word out.
In that spirit, this year’s list is meant to serve as both an introduction to the gialli, touching on key touchstones in the history and evolution of the genre, and a showcase of some of the very best it has to offer. The final few films are modern interpretations of the gialli and reward viewers’ knowledge of the genre’s proclivities and fetishes.
In order to keep the list diverse, I have limited entries from any particular director to FIVE or less. Otherwise, there would be an Argento and Bava for every other director.
The List
DATE
FILM
DIRECTOR
YEAR
10-1-2025
The Girl Who Knew Too Much
Mario Bava
1963
10-2-2025
Blood and Black Lace
Mario Bava
1964
10-3-2025
The Possessed
Luigi Bazzoni, Franco Rosselini
1965
10-4-2025
Orgasmo
Umberto Lenzi
1969
10-5-2025
So Sweet… So Perverse
Umberto Lenzi
1969
10-6-2025
The Bird With the Crystal Plumage
Dario Argento
1970
10-7-2025
Hatchet for Honeymoon
Mario Bava
1970
10-8-2025
The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh
Sergio Martino
1971
10-9-2025
The Cat O’ Nine Tails
Dario Argento
1971
10-10-2025
A Lizard in a Woman’s Skin
Lucio Fulci
1971
10-11-2025
The Fifth Cord
Luigi Bazzoni
1971
10-12-2025
A Bay of Blood
Mario Bava
1971
10-13-2025
Short Night of Glass Dolls
Aldo Lado
1971
10-14-2025
Four Flies of Grey Velvet
Dario Argento
1971
10-15-2025
My Dear Killer
Tonino Valerii
1972
10-16-2025
All the Colors of the Dark
Sergio Martino
1972
10-17-2025
What Have You Done to Solange?
Massimo Dallamano
1972
10-18-2025
Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key
Welcome to the Critic’s Sanctum’s 6th Annual 31-Day Horror Marathon!
With Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu on the horizon this Christmas, a remake of one of the most (if not the outright the most) famous vampire films to grace the big screen, I thought it fitting to explore the vampire sub-genre through history and the manner in which the creature has both been mythologized and deployed.
The initial entries present unique visions of the vampire from the earlier ages of the cinematic medium. These films form the template that a large host of the sub-genre has lifted from since.
After this introduction, the entries focus on re-articulations of these classic tales. These films are attempts at either differently representing the origin stories or hyper focusing on certain aspects to exaggerate a feeling or set of themes.
With the figure of the vampire more clearly defined, we will move to an exploration of the monster and the manner in which it’s deployed in more traditional narratives that are less focused on articulating an origin story. Some of these entries are art-house leaning while others are more conventional in order to thoroughly examine the narrative potential the vampire opens up.
Finally, the marathon concludes with experimental explorations of the vampire. These films may or may not include “real” vampires as we’ve been accustomed to up to the point, but they do explore the vampire as a conceptual metaphor or conceit.
Renfield’s name tag. Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) listens attentively. Dracula (Nicholas Cage) gets ready to unleash his bite. Renfield heads to Dracula’s castle. Dracula (Nicholas Cage) hypnotizes. Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) is a familiar which is defined on the screen. Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) stands between the light and Dracula. Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) plans while sitting in the mouth of a monster. The opening sequence sees the film at it’s most kinetic. We proceed from our titular character’s name tag and see him captivated by a speech given by a woman who describes her boss as a monster. This is a self-help group, one whose depressing content is reflected by the hazy, disgusting green lighting which gives the film an iconic, campy texture. Renfield addresses us in a 4th wall-breaking manner and we’re privy to an intense action scene followed by edits of the 1931 Dracula which quickly recount the previous film and establish this film as a sequel. We learn that Renfield is stuck in a toxic cycle that sees him in the world’s worst employer-employee relationship possible.
The film opens on a name tag: Renfield.
The camera slowly pans up from this moniker to its recipient who looks up to a speaker talking about a “monster” whom she can’t seem to get away from. We’re made aware that this is a self-help group of sorts and the crowd of persons there listen fully invested in this monstrous metaphorical dressing of a toxic employer.
The lighting is a sickly, neon green, accentuating the toxicity of the discourse in the environment and highlighting Renfield’s pale, emaciated visage.
This young man then proceeds to address the audience in a fourth-wall breaking speech, explaining to the viewer that he, like the rest of the group, persons who he describes as “decent folks”, is in a “destructive relationship.”
We quickly flash to a supernatural action set-piece, an environment which is lit more “normally” than the self-help group, and a man runs off walls while being assailed and then stares at the screen with his fangs flashing. But before we can feel the bite of the moment, the frame pauses on this monstrous visage and lets the terror sink its teeth.
Renfield quickly shifts gears in order to provide context for the visceral flashback and the film cuts once again, moving to grainy black-and-white footage inspired/edited from Browning and Freund’s iconic 1931 film, Dracula. The pieces come together: we’re watching a sequel and the character addressing is us none other than the iconic Renfield of old, the salesman-turned-assistant to the legendary Dracula.
We see our hero’s doomed journey to the vampiric overlord’s grand manor and are treated to scenes, digitally altered to change the actors of both Dracula and Renfield to the modern actors playing them in this film. This quick summation of the older film is narrated in quirky fashion by our protagonist who takes the words of the weary woman which we previously heard and applies them directly to his own situation thereby literalizing the monstrous metaphor.
He described the process by which he was turned into a “familiar” that includes a quick textual definition which pops onto the screen to explain the terms of his “employment” and dresses up the evil machinations of his master with a modern parlance that belies the situation and injects a wry comedy to the moment.
With the set-up complete, we cut back to the first flash-back and witness as Dracula is manipulated and nearly beaten in battle. But just as he’s about to taste defeat, he looks at Renfield and implores his most loyal employee to help. Renfield is caught in Dracula’s gaze and his silky words, a commentary on the codependence and abusive nature of their relationship. Then, we’re able to witness an absolute bloodbath filled with comic amounts of gore and effects which accentuate the campy nature that the film is aiming at.
Dracula wins the battle but suffers debilitating injuries due to being exposed to the sun and Renfield explains that this is just a cycle repeating. As he explains: “At the peak of his powers, Dracula goes on a full-tilt blood-sucking bender, the good guys show up and do their thing, and then it’s up to me to clean up the mess.”
During this explanation, the two are framed by a circular door, a subtle affirmation of this cyclical explanation, where Renfield stands in the middle, straddling the line between Dracula, the prince of Darkness, and the light emanating from the window, beams which would have killed the evil if not for Renfield’s intervention. The stakes are established: Renfield is not one of the “good guys” but thinks of himself as a “decent” person who is struggling now to make the correct decision.
We cut back to the present day where we learn that as part of his duties, Renfield is tasked with moving Dracula, finding a new locale to store his batty boss, and then help him gain power while waiting for it the inevitable moment where the endeavor goes sour and the entire process has to be started once more. It’s no coincidence that that our unwilling employee is framed in a restaurant with a horrific, monstrous head behind him, consuming him just as he’s consumed by his master’s orders which are oriented around the act of consumption.
Yet, when asked to explain this story to the diegetic audience of the self-help group, Renfield shies away and claims that the group would never be able to understand the specific nature of his trauma; after all, there’s a difference between a cranky boss and a literal demon who yearns for the blood of innocents.
However, in spite of his reluctance to explicitly share within the catharsis offered by the setting, Renfield doesn’t leave the meetings empty handed; he doesn’t give his stories, but he takes his fellow cohorts’ tales of victimhood as signals by which to select targets for Dracula; the morality of the situation gels with him easier knowing that he’s taking out minor “monsters”, the only fitting dish for the heinous gourmand giving him these murderous orders.
Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) punches a head. Teddy is scared of the carnage. Rebecca (Awkwafina) arrests Teddy (Ben Schwartz) Renfield’s mission has him crossing paths with the righteous Rebecca. Thus, the vampire story crosses path the crime genre and the framework of the narrative is established.
Immediately, we see the employee of the century spring into action.
He ingests insects which give him his supernatural powers and proceeds to hunt down a target. In the first of many action set-pieces, we’re able to witness campy and kinetic action induced by the absurd neon lighting flourishes, kinetic yet quirky camera movements, and gratuitous injuries with blood abound. It’s a whole host of fun which is then accentuated by the introduction of the film’s B-Plot, a crime family who has dealings with the same cretins that Renfield finds himself dispatching, and suddenly, our vampire acolyte finds himself facing off with a masked, lumbering foe in raucous aplomb.
The violence of the encounter is felt by the son of the crime family in charge, Teddy Lobo (Ben Schwartz), who swiftly departs the scene of the butchering and ends up being accosted and then arrested by a traffic cop, Rebecca (Awkwafina), desperately searching for a way to apply her skills in a more meaningful manner in her efforts to clean the streets of crime. Thus, the supernatural vampire story becomes inextricably tied to a light, crime narrative.
Renfield takes the bodies to the new abode. Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) sets up the bodies for Dracula (Nicholas Cage). Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) bows while Dracula (Nicholas Cage) sits on his blood throne. Dracula (Nicholas Cage) asserts his dominance in close-up. Renfield drags the bodies to his master’s abode depicted a wide-shot that emphasizes the grandiose nature of the latter. He drags the bodies through a miserably foggy green environment that exacerbates the disgusting feeling. We see Dracula’s bloody red throne which creates a contrast with the green lights which make the milieu pop. The moment ends with Dracula asserting dominance in close-up, his prosthetics in full glory. He forces his liege to re-affirm his commitment to the cause.
It’s with this dichotomy in place, that the film ventures to more ambitious grounds.
We see Renfield drag the corpses from his battle to a decrepit building high in stature, a call-back to the castle shown in the opening flash-back, and he proceeds towards his master’s lair which is lighted by neon greens and reds which accentuate the sickness of the milieu.
It’s here where Dracula, dressed in a disgusting half-formed prosthetic showcasing his lack of power and injured state, dresses Renfield down for not bringing good enough victims, innocents whose blood would truly fuel the dark lord, and proceeds to abuse his liege until the would-be hero re-affirms his role in life and pathetically pledges his allegiance once more.
Teddy goes to his family’s manor. Teddy goes to his mother’s torture lair. Bellafrancesca (Shohreh Aghdashloo) lays down the law for Teddy (Ben Schwartz). Bellafrancesca (Shohreh Aghdashloo) asserts her dominance in close-up. This movement is repeated with the Lobos. Teddy goes to his family’s manor which is depicted in a wide-shot that emphasizes the grandiose nature of his family’s status. He proceeds to his mother’s torture lair which is colored in exaggerated blues and reds, a counterpoint to Dracula’s room’s red and green. The moment ends with Bellafrancesca asserting dominance in close-up. She forces her son to re-affirm his commitment to the cause. Thus, Dracula’s empire serves as an analog to the Lobos and the dark lord becomes transfigured into a godfather.
Meanwhile, the exact same scenario plays out with Teddy. He is freed from the police building, enters his family’s large mansion which is grand and opulent, and then goes to meet his mother, Bellafrancesca (Shohreh Aghdashloo), the leader of the group, who is busy torturing unseen victims behind a screen which leaves only their silhouettes for us to witness. This space is also dressed in distinctive neon lights, red and blue, and she similarly takes her liege, her son qua employee, to task for his failures in maintaining the family name and the fearful deterrence that it ought to evoke in its foes.
He too is forced to re-affirm his dedication to the family’s cause and is told to right the situation which he’s so badly botched, an order which forces him to confront Renfield, the man who got in his way and stopped his goon from carrying out the previous evening’s mission.
Thus, the two genre perspectives are formally married as complimentary sections, and Dracula is rendered as an analog to a Godfather figure, a crime lord in his own right (though his proclivities and activities make the Lobos pale in comparison). This posturing is intriguing and gives the film and its respective narrative an interesting position by which to couch itself within the horror genre as less a rote vampire story and more an examination of the commonplace structure that governs vampire mythos.
Unfortunately, where the film stumbles the most is precisely in this area due to its inability in highlighting the most interesting aspects afforded through this juxtaposition.
Instead of honing in on the idea of Dracula as a crime-lord looking to build his analog to a mafia-like empire and Renfield as the “rat” who threatens to bring it all down, focus is given more so to Renfield’s journey and entanglement with Rebecca, a morally upstanding officer who motivates him in his journey for redemption and who is unfortunately the least interesting and compelling character within the narrative proper.
Her goody-goody schtick gets boring quickly especially once she’s played her role in motivating Renfield to better herself, rendering her mostly superfluous to the narrative. With nothing else to do with her character and no interesting developments in their relationship, the sections between these two characters quickly devolve into quips and ham-fisted attempts at a light romance that undermine the tension, momentum, and obscene fun of the moments involving Dracula and his attempts at becoming a legitimate name in the vein of the Lobos.
It’s a bloody shame because Cage’s Dracula is absolutely a gonzo villain, a madman dripping in menace and condescension. He’s campy and mean-spirited in the best way and elevates the film whenever he appears. The way he rides Renfield and simultaneously reinforces and exposes the toxic, interdependent nature of their relationship, an extension of the help-group’s commentary on bad bosses, is the heart of the film; yet these moments, far and few between, are rarely given their moments to shine in the sun.
This uneven feeling is due to the film’s inability to translate its formal and stylistic tools evenly throughout the film. At a larger level, the care demonstrated in the stylizations of the Dracula vs non-Dracula sections is lop-sided. The intensely neon lit set-pieces, the energetic camera work, the 4th-wall breaking meta-commentary, and the endearing splatter effects all but disappear whenever the vampire mafioso is not present leading to a feeling of relative apathy when we’re stuck dealing with entire chunks of the film which are played closer to the stylings of an inert rom-com, one that is replete with moments of random humor (a diatribe regarding ska music is groan inducing in particular) that have no bearing, clever or otherwise, in regards to anything else going on in the screen; the passion or energy that would help these sections compete with the Dracula moments is simply missing.
Yet, even the Dracula sections feel like they could pack more punch as they lack the kinetic momentum and rapid-fire stylistic flourishes of the opening which neatly utilizes textual interludes and edited flash-backs of the older Dracula film to position the film as a sequel and examination of the lore underpinning it. Instead, the Dracula sections, fun as they are, rely entirely on Cage and Hoult playing out their abusive coupling and carnage candy, a formula which is entertaining but doesn’t have nearly the bite that was initially promised.
Consequently, the scattered pieces of the film never coagulate into something that quite rises to the amount of blood being spilled. The entanglement of the sub-genres comes off as clunky instead of nuanced and at times it almost feels like one is watching two different films which were forcefully smashed together instead of one compelling piece using its different aspects in an intertextual manner which the initial formal structure of the piece would otherwise suggest.
Thus, while the greatest bits of the film feel in line with the best of director Chris McKay’s work in The Lego BatmanMovie, the lesser sections are at best mildly entertaining and at worst act as bogs that we’re forced to wade through. And though the plot beats eventually congeal into a memorably carnivalesque finale loaded with absurd moments and wonderful comedic beats, it’s hard to shake off the bad blood of the lesser sections holding the film back from rising to its potential.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Renfield attempts to marry the crime and vampire genres but is unable to fully tap into its mixture to examine the idea of Dracula as a godfather-type figure. Yet, the film does endear itself to the audience during its kinetic, carnage-candy moments and the interactions between Dracula and Renfield provide enough bite for audiences who can wade through the less inspired, rom-com sections that the film is unfortunately bogged down by.
Rating
7.9/10
Grade
B
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Closeup of Bee and Sophie making out. The focus is on the erotic element. Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) and Bee (Maria Bakalova) passionately kiss. Sophie (Amanda Stenberg) declares her love. Bee (Maria Bakalova) smiles back. We start on a shot of pure passion, lust and love in the center of the frame, which then pulls back to reveal the subjects of these affectations. This couple, Bee and Sophie, is in the throes of amorous passion and are operating on purely basic, animalist drives as they seek to satisfy one another, feeling up each other’s bodies. This is Eden and these Eves are enjoying their time in paradise. Sophie declares her love for Bee while the latter smiles back, pausing in the moment.
The soundscape is littered with the sounds of birds and bees, animalistic noises and the symbols of sexual euphemism come to life, as the camera focuses on a fitting image of a loving, lustful engagement – a gratuitous make-out session – whose noises enter into the cacophony. The frame’s first focus is the encounter, the experience and not the experiencers – an intentional choice that affirms a “living in the moment.”
Then, the camera pulls back to reveal the subjects of this amorous encounter, Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) and Bee (Maria Bakalova), who are caught in the throes of passion, their desire for their respective partner’s body overwhelming any other drive – humans rendered as their basest selves.
From this vantage point, the greenery surrounding the couple in the backdrop shot out-of-focus to render it into a hue of colors, an impressionistic embrace and framing by nature, calls back to the idyllic Eden, this time populated by two Eves.
This paradise continues for a while until Sophie declares her love to Bee, the latter of which smiles back without giving a verbal response.
The title card drops as the duo looks at their phones. Bee looks up Sophie’s friends. The couple drives through mountain ranges.An aerial view of the mansion. The girls find themselves whisked away from a world of instinctive, animal passions to one where technology reigns. Phones serve as a conduit for online personas, disseminating artificial images created by persons to impress others – inauthenticity. The camera reveals both the power of the phone through close-ups and the distance the couple is traveling before we finally see their destination location: a huge mansion. This is Eden no longer.
The enunciation is immediately interrupted by the harsh musical tunings of Slayyyter ‘s “Daddy AF” and we cut to the two characters, previously protected by the lush greens, now encased in a metallic husk, a car, with phones in their hands as opposed to on one another – technological transmutation, a counterpoint to the openings positioning of the human as pure animality freed from anthropocentric constraints.
With the shift to this “hi-tech” humanity, we see new concerns bleed into the environment, replacing the love from before with a sense of worry. Bee looks at her phone with concern, scrolling through it with a sense of dread. Sophie attempts to assuage her, claiming that her friends’ digital personas, profiles Bee is looking over are not as “nihilistic” as portrayed and are indicative of what said friends want others “to think” of them.
Thus, the phone is rendered as a barrier to unfettered love, a portal to false images by which persons can look at others in an artificial, distanced manner.
The camera cuts from the inside of the vehicle to wide shots of the vehicle traversing lush, green mountains before a nice aerial shot reveals a wide-spanning mansion, the location of the get-together that Sophie is taking Bee to, a party with the aforementioned friends that Bee feels the need to research before meeting in an attempt to not make a fool of herself. We’re a far ways from the idyllic Eden where love can find and cultivate itself without regards for the thoughts of outside observers.
Bee (Maria Bakalova) and Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) kiss in front of the greens. Bee (Maria Bakalova) opens up the rear-view mirror. Bee (Maria Bakalova) fixes up her appearance. Bee (Maria Bakalova) dissapears behind the mirror which obscures her. The arrival at the mansion signifies the end of Eden’s powers and protective domain. The couple attempts to kiss again but the same intensity and glow of the greens doesn’t operate the same anywhere. There’s a discrete space interrupting the continuity, one that becomes more explicit as Bee runs back to the car by herself to fix up her image. We’ve moved from nature to civilization, a realm where images born from the ego reign supreme. This is signified by Bee’s entrance into the house. She leaves the car, enters the background of the frame, and is obscured by the mirror in the foreground, the ultimate symbol of this new domain.
The couple gets out and heads to the luxurious abode but Bee hesitates and claims she has to retrieve something from the vehicle. Sophie rushes over, tells her not to dally for too long, and kisses her partner once again. But this attempt to channel the Edenic opening fails. There’s a space here made all the more poignant by the greens around them which are now fully in focus: discreteness generates distance.
Bee goes back to the car and immediately checks her face in the rear-view mirror, touching up her image to ensure that her ensuing meeting with the persons she’s spent time researching will come to joyous fruition. The reflective surface serves as an analog to the phone from earlier, an interface by which the ego can render itself into its most pleasing form.
Satisfied by her appearance, she finally gets out and begins to walk into the abode. The shot frames her in the background with the car’s dashboard and mirror in the foreground. We watch her move towards the house and cut right as she disappears behind the mirror she’s just spent time consulting with: she’s entered the mirror world, the realm of appearances.
David (Pete Davidson) and Emma (Chase Sui Wonders) float. Jordan (Myha’la Herrold) floats. Alice (Rachel Sennott) and Greg (Lee Pace) float. Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) interrupts the space and her wavy reflection disrupts the continuity. The pool becomes a man-made analog to the nature of Eden, humanity’s attempt to capture and compartmentalize nature in a manner which suits them. In this fashion, the pool becomes a type of womb, holding the members of the party in its seemingly protective grasp. This moment of peace is interrupted by Sophie, whose reflection disrupts the flow of the scene and reveals that this seemingly idyllic moment was nothing more than a competition between the members to see who could hold their breath the longest.
Meanwhile, the mansion’s inhabitants peacefully float around in a pool, a man-made approximation of nature, of Eden, that can’t recreate the same idyllic peace but serves as a temporary reprieve, a metaphorical womb of sorts. This moment is interrupted by the presence of Sophie; she appears at the edge of the pool, her image distorted and shifting, and disrupts the reflection of those below. Confrontation looms at the boundary of the water qua mirror, a counterpoint of sorts to Bee’s earlier moment by herself.
The crew comes up and engages with Sophie. Alice (Rachel Sennot) eagerly greets her friend while the rest of the group slowly acclimates to the presence, treating their supposed comrade more like an intrusion, questioning her presence at their get-together. As all the characters pop out, Greg (Lee Pace) pops out of the water and reveals that the paradisal picture was merely a competition ground; the group had been testing the limits of their breathing capacities and he’s won the competition. The game of compare and contrast has already started.
Bee (Maria Bakalova) is framed alone in the house. Bee (Maria Bakalova) meets the group. Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) introduces Bee (Maria Bakalova) to the group. The group and the couple are partitioned in the frame. We see the logic of the outsider continue to develop as Bee is framed alone in the house and outside of it. Her connection to this group, Sophie, is the only bridge to acceptance and she eagerly awaits the group’s response to her newfound presence within their social scene.
While this group converses, Bee enters the house, a moment which showcases the opulence of the manor in a wonderful tracking shot that starts on the ceiling and goes to Bee’s face as she gazes around entranced. A cut shows her framed by the doors of the house, a new entrant to the world of the bourgeoise who finds herself held in its purview. She enters the backyard pool environment and is initially cast alone, her outsider status re-affirmed.
Sophie quickly runs to her partner’s side, wraps her arms around her, and begins to introduce her to the rest of the crowd, stopping on Greg who is revealed to be Alice’s most recent beau, another new entrant to this social scene – seemingly obvious given his age gap compared to the rest of the group. The framing switches from Bee alone to Bee with Sophie to the couple now cast to one side of the frame against the already established group – two worlds primed to collide.
Greg’s immediate reaction to learning that thisis THE Sophie immediately informs us of an undercurrent pervading this social scene, one that has been building since her cohorts first became aware of her appearance. There’s a palpable tension building as we wait to learn what Sophie’s done. Just like Bee, we’re outsiders to this group’s dynamic and must learn how to swim in its ebb and flow.
Quickly, thinly veiled barbs start materializing into larger concerns. The group calls out Sophie for being unresponsive in the group chat. She hasn’t been part of the group’s festivities in some time and her presence is a genuine surprise to everyone else. What exactly does she want?
Alice (Rachel Sennott) gets alcohol. Greg (Lee Pace) uses a sword to cut off the blade. The group embraces the hurricane. David holds the sword and challenges the hurricane to do its worst. Property is rendered part and parcel of a game of gender, tools meant showcase one’s power. David is upset at being shown up by Greg, who uses an antique sword to great effect, gaining the admiration of the women at the house. David’s ego can’t stand such the perceived blow and he immediately grabs the sword and challenges nature itself.
Then, Alice goes to get champagne to celebrate the festivities. David (Pete Davidson), the party’s host, chastises her for taking his “dad’s shit”, revealing this abode and everything within as part of the generational wealth he’s been born into, but he ultimately doesn’t push the matter when she exclaims the presence of their seemingly unavailable friend warrants a toast. In perfect synergy with his partner, Greg then comes out into the fray with an antique sword and slices the bottle open in a wonderful show, a demonstration which upsets David even more than the retrieval of the bottle. He not only repeats his warning to not touch his father’s property but goes so far as to act and grab the weapon away from the only other male presence – class and gender become inextricably tied as masculinity becomes coded, albeit jokingly, as a threat.
The subtle interactions of the group reveal their individual relationships to one another and to wealth itself which help inform both us and Bee of the underlying dynamics at work, an interplay which has become more complex as an unseen member, Max (Conner O’Malley) is disclosed to be missing due to alluded antagonisms. Additionally, the group realizes that they too are unfamiliar with the new Sophie who surprises everyone with her announcement of sobriety. Suddenly, the reason for the toast itself, a gesture meant to include Sophie within the festivities with aplomb, is undermined and leaves the group searching for something new to celebrate.
In a sick joke, as if we needed any more proof of the group’s opulence, they choose to then dedicate their drinks to the impending hurricane; a devastating event for commoners becomes a time for celebration for those who are capable of sheltering away from such tragedy. But nature cares not for wealth, and the imposing presence of the hurricane makes good on its promise and forces the group to go inside even as David takes the time, with sword in hand, to challenge the natural phenomena before giving up and throwing the sword on the floor thereby confirming that his concerns over its damages at the hands of Greg were based in pride and antagonism: property is only valuable as an extension of one’s image – a succinct take on the purpose of class.
Bee and Sophie make-out once again. David (Pete Davidson) interrupts the moment. Bee (Maria Bakalova) is left alone. Bee (Maria Bakalova) explores the house and is amazed at its affluence. Jordan (Myha’la Herrold) and Bee (Maria Bakalova) are framed apart from one another as the former gives the latter a warning. The realm of capital, a world completely separated from Eden, allows no room for love to flourish as outsiders can interrupt at any moment. Sophie and Bee’s kiss is interrupted by the party’s host and the latter’s exploration of the house is interrupted by another member of the group who issues an ominous warning. This take on civilization is one that cuts to the chase: human society is one built on antagonism first.
Back in the house, our initial couple attempts to engage in another make-out session, this time framed against the backdrop of the mansion, which is quickly interrupted by the party’s host who takes Sophie aside to learn for the latter’s reason for coming to the event. Class dictates new conventions and the show of nature, initially cast as serene at the film’s start, becomes interrupted and commented on by observers. Privacy no longer exists.
This is confirmed when Bee slowly explores the house, entranced by the images of family and grandeur all around her. She’s clearly alienated by this environment but is unable to even take the entirety of the locale in before Jordan (Myha’la Herrold) intercedes, informs Bee of Sophie’s wealth which is comparatively greater to even David’s, and issues a warning to the newest newcomer: “Just be careful, okay? With Sophie. Just… Be Careful.” As she delivers this cautionary comment, the camera slowly pivots and uses the framing of the wall to divide these two parties into separate partitions – new groupings are being formed.
Suddenly, the mysteries of Sophie are turned against Bee as she’s now thrown into the currents of a group-dynamic which she knows nothing about and is forced to accept that she may not know her partner as well as she previously thought. The previous exchanges amongst the group code this interaction in multiple fashions and transform it into a labyrinth to be navigated with caution.
Is this this an analog to David and Greg’s previous confrontation at the pool, a female antagonism opposed to male, wherein Jordan takes on David’s role, Sophie takes on Greg’s role, and Bee, the seemingly poorest of the bunch, comes to be a stand-in for the “sword”, a symbol of power, in this case companionship, which must be controlled as an extension of one’s image?
Or is this an example of class solidarity, an extension of Jordan’s concern with not dropping the incredibly expensive alcohol, a thought which seemingly crossed none of the other party members’ minds, wherein she is looking out for Bee as someone who is also alienated by the displays of affluence? It would certainly make sense of her earlier, unprompted provocation about the stature of Sophie’s wealth.
We’re left to ponder the intent as Jordan happily hops down the hallway, out of sight, leaving only her eerie words behind.
David (Pete Davidson) obsesses zooms onto his face. Bee (Maria Bakalova) calls her mom. Bee looks at the girls was they record a Tik Tok video. The phone is transformed into the object par excellence, a conduit that allows communication between and through persons. It allows the dissemination of personas, curated images made to influence others’ opinions. It allows the creation of capital in the form of social media contributions which can get influence. It also allows communication to flourish between parties not closely to another. This nuance showcases the powers of phones but heavily suggests that they are more a curse than a boon, a tool which controls its wielder as opposed to the other way around.
As the interactions continue to proliferate, the film’s symbol par excellence, the cell-phone, continues to gain functions and becomes cemented as a pivotal tool in each character’s toolbox. It serves as mirror which can allow one to modify their appearance. It can allow for communication with parties not present within the immediate space, allowing for intimate connection. It can combine these functions and be used as a tool for social capital, capturing interactions meant for large-scale consumption vis-à-vis applications like Tik Tok. Director Halina Reijn imbues the object with nuance, an interface wherein all aspects of identity play around in relation to different socialized systems of power, but constantly demonstrates the way this nuance is discarded in favor of projects funded by the ego, affirmations of selfishness at the cost of everything else, a cost which will the film will explore with relish as its run-time continues.
Eventually, the group, including Bee, fall fully under the influence of their drugs and/or drinks of choice and are fully able to interact with one another, the substances operating as catalysts for interaction that previously was too shy to occur organically. It’s a ritual meant to summon the affects of Eden, nature at peace with itself, into a space that’s anything, the abode of capital and egotistical antagonisms that take priority over everything else.
Bee (Maria Bakalova) kisses Sophie. Jordan (Myha’la Herrold) stares at the couple. Greg (Lee Pace) dances with Bee) Alice (Rachel Sennott) pushes Bee (Maria Bakalova) out of the way. Jordan (Myha’la Herrold) dances with Bee (Maria Bakalova).Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) stares at her partner dancing without her. A party scene which should be the birthplace of community becomes a battleground as individuals feel themselves become partitioned from loving couplings that they see as extensions of their property and seek to redress these wrongs.
Each row in the gallery highlights the power of the gaze in these instances, as loving moments between persons are transformed into stages for antagonism by outside perspectives.
Azelia Bank’s iconic “212” starts to play as the group begins to dance with aplomb while losing themselves in its frenetic energy, but as evidenced by the opening’s musical break, we know this is set to fail. The frenetic hand-held montage can’t sustain the same passion evinced by the opening as the constant-cutting showcases the power of the gaze and its violent powers.
Intimate moments of potential connection are ripped apart as persons are repeatedly transformed into outsiders who project their own fears and concerns onto these new dalliances, transforming would-be encounters into battlegrounds where the excluded participants make themselves known and vie for total control of the situation.
Jordan stares with a fervor as Sophie and Bee dance, her warning looming in the distant background.
Alice immediately pushes Sophie aside when the latter dances with the only other outsider in the group, Greg – a move that immediately stops the establishment of solidarity.
Sophie is prodded by David to look at Bee and Jordan dancing and is clearly perturbed by this interaction. Her reaction marks the beginning of the end and she calls the affairs to a stand-still and proposes that the group play a game, the titular “Bodies Bodies Bodies.”
The rules of the game are explained as the group waits. Bee (Maria Bakalova) slaps David (Pete Davidson). David (Pete Davidson) punches Greg (Lee Pace) as the girls watch in horror. Bee (Maria Bakalova) explores the house with her phone’s light. The rules of the game are explained and its ritualistic role as a conduit for violence and debauchery are fully revealed. This is a game where personal grievances can be “fictionalized” and acted out on. When the lights go out and the game truly begins, Bee’s cell-phone, the ultimate tool of fictional identity, lights the way, ominously informing us what’s to come.
The game, a take on popular games like “Mafia” or “Werewolf”, designates one player as a killer and tasks the other players with figuring out their identity before the players are fully eliminated. The players must navigate the house in the dark with a light and the next session of the game can only start when someone finds a deceased member and calls out the game’s title: “Bodies Bodies Bodies.” Thus, the implicit arena of the dance-floor becomes explicit within a game that actively forces the players to ascertain one another’s true intentions and come to meaningful conclusions as violence looms around every corner.
However, this variant of the game starts off with a ritualized ceremony, a credo of sorts, that sees each player take a shot and then slap the player next to them. The symbolic violence and rush of the game is not enough for these people and they need to ramp up the stakes even more to feel something in their insulated, privileged lives.
The ritual goes along well until Bee, the female outsider, refuses to hit David as hard as she’s expected to, obviously taking the trappings of the game as a limiting factor to the violence, choosing to play within the realm of symbols instead of letting such desires sublimate into reality. But David takes her refusal as a window to showcase what should actually be done – the host enforcing the laws of the land – and viciously punches Greg, the male outsider, the party who already emasculated David unknowingly outside with the display of the sword, giving the audience a taste of what’s to come.
Alice quickly calms Greg down and the game begins. The lights are turned out and the players are told to hide amongst the house. Of course, Bee armed with her cell-phone, uses it to navigate the environment, an abode which already alienates her with its affluence, and determines her allegiances, choosing to try and form a companionship with Alice, who runs away from her, and avoid Jordan, who narrowly misses Bee as she hides.
Suddenly, the call is made. The group convenes. The lights turn on.
And as expected, the resulting conversation immediately devolves into personal slights, indictments based on knowledge that one would never know outside of the game, so called “meta-gaming” moments that reveal the antagonisms within the group that had been swirling up for so long up to this moment. We see the formation of in-groups and the way they determine outsiders and see the ruptures becoming to form, conflicts which break out into reality when the next round starts and a body is found again, this time genuinely dead and un-moving. Now, the game will truly begin as it becomes realized in the flesh.
As this violent investigation continues, conflicts which we had only seen parts of rear their ugly heads. Alliances are tested and at each critical juncture new information is revealed which makes ascertaining the assassin increasingly difficult. No one can be trusted and the character’s, stuck using their own knowledge of one another, information which has been coded by all parties to fit their own self-interests, find themselves trapped in a nightmarish environment where anything and everything threatens to take them out.
With the lights fully out due to the storm, this variant of the game, one enforced by the rules of nature proper, never has a moment of proper deliberation with every encounter taking place in absolute darkness, the state of ambiguity. The power saps the utility of the phones, turning them into pure symbols meant to light the way – a perfect tying of form to content.
The set-up lets Reijn ratchet up tension, shooting the majority of the rest of the film in a handheld manner that reinforces the horror tropes one would associate with such a milieu and leads into moments of genuine tension.
However, as the storm rages on, the tight, intricate brushstrokes the film paints itself with, namely the minute point and counter-points related to class and gender, wash away under the pressures of the narrative and become far less focused and poignant, drowning under the pressure.
Ideas on class and gender become far more overarching than they need be and the manner by which the film demonstrates the logic of alienation is cast aside.
The script’s wonderful Gen-Z slang, awash in the tropes and stylings of online vernacular, previously used to reinforce the shallow manners by which the characters’ code themselves as perpetual victims and as better than one another, eventually becomes superficial in end of itself, servicing the film with nothing more than punch-lines that elicit laughs but do very little in taking the aforementioned sub textual machinations to the next level, a move that would evaluate this horror-skinned murder mystery into the realm of a full-blooded classic.
While the broad splatters the film ultimately uses to finish populating its canvas tie together the plotlines in a formally competent and satisfying manner, neatly calling back to some of the larger overtures established at the film’s start, the ultimate reveal, the film’s punch-line so to speak, may alienate viewers looking for something grander underneath the veneer of it all. And while that particular message and related revelation may be the film’s biggest point, a perfect encapsulation of sorts of its characters and the manner by which it treats them, it’s a shame that it seemingly becomes the only fully developed statement delivered when so much groundwork had been laid down to present a more multi-faceted thesis.
Using the film’s pressing scenario as a metaphor, there’s a hurricane waiting to be unleashed on the viewer, but the film settles for a torrent of rain instead, foregoing the other elements that would augment such a phenomenon and generate a storm that would truly stand-out.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Much like the party and game at the heart of it’s story, the film is filled with an abundance of jokes, kinetic scenes, and moments of grandeur that ultimately delivers goods that should satisfy those looking for a fun horror-skinned murder mystery and satire on the parlance of identity politics, but the vacuous nature of this delivery may disappoint those looking for something a bit more profound.
Rating
8.8/10
Grade
B+
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
The camera tracks through the forest. It goes through a lake, evoking classic horror imagery. It comes face to face with Teresa (Mirabai Pease) The agent of the shot is revealed to be a drone. The film opens with the “spectral” tracking/P.O.V shot made iconic in the first Evil Dead, suggesting the presence of a malevolent paranormal force. It’s not until its first apparent “victim” screams that the ruse is revealed for what it is. The ghost we thought we were perceiving is nothing more than a drone, expensive technology in lieu of the paranormal.
We open with the Evil Dead Franchise’s iconic shot, a spectral point-of-view (P.O.V.) tracking shot, which pushes and bends through the environment in search of an unsuspecting person who will be made the victim of this malignant force, referred to as a deadite, viewing them. The score becomes increasingly unnerving as the camera moves, signaling a terrifying presence. As the soundscape continues to become more disturbing, the camera finishes traversing through a forest and zooms over a lake, traditional horror iconography to be sure, before coming face-to-face with an unsuspecting woman, Teresa (Mirabai Pease), who immediately recoils upon contact.
Based on all the clues, we’re convinced that she’s been destroyed by this otherworldly, cosmic presence. However, a cut to a wide shot reveals that the P.O.V. we were following was not that of a deadite but that of a drone being flown by Teresa’s acquaintance, Caleb (Richard Crouchley), who takes great pleasure in the manner by which he elicited fear from his camera’s subject and captured it on frame. In this manner, the film’s opening subtly equates the supernatural gaze with that of the upper class looking for entertainment at the sake of someone else’s misery.
Teresa (Mirabai Pease) goes towards the distorted cabin. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) is reflected in the clock. The focus shifts from the clock to Teresa’s’ (Mirabai Pease) reflection. A split diopeter of Teresa (Mirabai Pease) and flies. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) enters the room and is framed against the clock once more. Teresa talks to Jessica, whose face is kept hidden from the audience. Teresa’s traversal is littered with a litany of seemingly small, yet effective directing choices that set the mood for the upcoming terror. The cabin she walks to, in addition to evoking the iconography of the franchise, looks wonderfully twisted. When she enters the abode, a looming clock takes center frame and a nice focus re-rack lets us know that Teresa’s time is up. A quick split diopeter of her and trapped insects cements this mood. As she begins to enter the room where Jessica lies, she’s once positioned with respect to the clock, this time next to it as opposed to within its structure. Most importantly, Jessica’s visage is kept hidden even as Teresa continues to talk to her, allowing the tension to ratchet up to the clock’s beating.
Upset at being made a fool of, Teresa walks away from the pier and goes towards a cabin for comfort. The distorted composition along with the context of the genre (and franchise) immediately informs us that this is where things will go wrong. Director Lee Cronin ensures of as much with a series of wonderful aesthetic choices.
When Teresa enters the cabin, we see her reflection in the glass of a clock, whose foreboding ticks slowly encroach and dominate the soundscape. The camera’s focus shifts and her reflection within the domain of the clock becomes a focal point. Her time will run out; this much is certain. The film cuts to a wonderful split-diopeter, one of many that punctuate the film, which emphasizes that this space is malevolent; Teresa is akin to a fly in a trap, waiting to die. As she enters the inner-most room, she is once again positioned in reference to the clock and its sounds fade out as the barrier to the room is opened; the moment is almost here.
She calls out to the room’s inhabitant, Caleb’s partner, Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas), but Cronin deftly avoids revealing the latter’s visage; she remains covered in a shroud of mystery.
Text from Wuthering Heights. Jessica sits up. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) begs Jessica to stop. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) vomits. The film wonderfully sustains tension by dragging out Jessica’s ultimate reveal. We go from close-up sections of Wuthering Heights which set the tone and infuse the mood with a gothic eeriness, hear Jessica speak while being unable to observe her mouth as she does so, exacerbating the horrific nature of what she’s doing, and are finally shown her visage as she begins to profusely vomit a putrid, white stream.
Jessica remains mostly unresponsive to Teresa’s banter, slightly chucking when the former makes a violent joke in response to Caleb. The lack of discourse prompts Teresa to read a book, Wuthering Heights, to pass the time. However, this solitary literature session is interrupted by the previously silent occupant, who sits up on her bed and begins to recite the text on the page – text which the camera cuts to in order to reinforce both the terror of the words being recited along with the action – without any prompts. The sound of the clock violently stops while Jessica’s voice becomes increasingly distorted, causing Teresa to beg for the phenomenon to stop. Time is up.
It’s at this point that Cronin lets us see Jessica’s face, but almost instantly, the demonic sounding girl falls to the floor and begins to vomit a grotesque, vile bile while shuddering violently. Teresa, unaware of what’s to come, tries to help but is caught off guard when Jessica reveals her helplessness was but a ruse; she proceeds to violently scalp her friend by pulling the former’s ponytail with great force.
Teresa’s POV as she stumbles towards the lake. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) informs Caleb (Richard Crouchley) of what’s happened. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) goes towards the drone and drops Teresa’s scalp. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) stares at the couple, and the audience, before engaging in drone violence. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) is shocked at Caleb’s dismembered head. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) rises along with the title card. Once the terror begins it proceeds with haste. Cronin expands on the film’s form with a new P.O.V shot, this time from Teresa, before moving to a canted shot which showcases the possessed Jessica’s control of the situation. She is the dominant element in the foreground and then introduces a new space into the frame before then directly confronting the couple and by extension the viewer with a stare towards the camera. Violence ensues and she rises in spectacular fashion, harkening the start of the film proper as the title blooms up alongside her in the background.
We cut to a new P.O.V. shot that stumbles towards the lake and learn that this is Teresa, looking desperately for help. But before she can get Caleb to act, we cut to a canted shot of Jessica entering the frame. The possessed is now fully in control of the situation and the framing emphasizes as much; her body and the effects of her violence – the bloody scalp – dominate the frame. She moves towards the drone and then stares at the camera, gazing directly at her former friends and the audience proper. She smiles. The violence to come will be enjoyable for her, terrifying for her friends, and will be somewhere in the middle for the audience; after all, what else would a viewer going into an Evil Dead movie expect?
She bashes this representative of the faux-spectral P.O.V. shot and proceeds to decapitate her former boyfriend after he tries to save her from the same.
The water in the lake becomes a bloody red and Jessica flies up out of it; there will be no escape. The disturbing soundscape from the opening returns in full force. Then, in a brilliant move, the title card rises up behind her, emerging as furthest back element of the frame in full crimson glory. The film can now properly begin.
Canted shot of Beth (Lily Sullivan) realizing she’s pregnant. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) advises her kids. Danny (Morgan Davies) plays music. Bridget (Gabrielle Echols) holds up her “Eat the Rich” shirt. Kassie (Nell Fisher) cuts off her doll’s head. The principal cast is quickly introduced afterwards and given just enough characterization to drive the story forwards. Beth realizes she’s pregnant and this impending confrontation with motherhood is treated as horrific vis-a-vis the canted angle choice. Ellie is a tattoo artist who is also dealing with her role as a mother – an immediate counterpoint. Then we see her kids in their environments: Danny is an aspiring musician who grinds out on hi-tech sound system, Kassie is a unique girl who cuts her doll’s head off, and Bridget is a social activist who looks for her “Eat the Rich” shirt.
We cut to black, the sound drops, and we change settings entirely. Like the 2013 attempt at rebooting the franchise, the 2023 iteration draws the viewer in with a small helping of violence, a promise that what’s to come will satisfy their desires, before going to develop the primary cast. Here, our first member, Beth (Lily Sullivan), enters a bathroom and takes a pregnancy test. She sees her result and the frame becomes canted as the camera slowly pushes in on her face; the discovery of her newfound status as potential mother is treated as a horrifying event.
She drives to a dilapidated apartment building as the rains beat down on her. We cut to an apartment inside this structure and are introduced to our other primary characters: Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland), a mother who works as a tattoo artist; her older daughter, Bridget (Gabrielle Echols), whose interests lie in political activism; her son, Danny (Morgan Davies), who is having a blast with his state of the art music set-up; her younger daughter, Kassie (Nell Fisher), who seems to be doing her own thing, cutting off the head of a doll as if to remind the viewer of the film they’re watching.
Ellie hears her doorbell. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) sees no one there. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) checks the hallway. Beth (Lily Sullivan) is punched by Ellie. Beth’s attempt to scare Ellie sets the tone, albeit in a retroactively comedic fashion. She wants to scare her sister in an endearing move and is socked in the face for her efforts. The film takes this basic conceit – horror in relation to the family – and twists and warps it from this cuter interaction into something bloody and miserable.
As the chaos in the house enfolds, Ellie responds to a ring at the front door and goes to answer. She opens the door and sees no one. She checks a corner. No one. The camera slowly pushes in on her; for just a moment, we’re concerned that the evil from the opening has come here. But right as Ellie turns to go inside, Beth appears from the other side of the door, shots “Boo!”, and gets appropriately punched in the face by her sister. This inoffensive jump-scare, a trick played by one family member by another in an attempt at eliciting fear for entertainment, hearkens back to the opening sequence and sets the stage what’s to follow: the cute moment’s perversion into the grotesque and macabre.
Thus, the principal characters are established and we’re given just enough bits and pieces to ascertain the family dynamic. We learn that Beth has been distant from her sister and niblings in pursuit of her own career. However, in this time, her sister, Ellie, has had to deal with a separation from her own husband and the responsibility of maintaining a household on her own. To make it worse, Beth learns that her sister is set to lose her residence as the building is set to be demolished. This is a condemned environment.
Unfortunately, Ellie’s previous attempts to convey this information to Beth have fallen on deaf ears, as the latter has been so focused on her craft that she has ignored calls for help. The awkward revelation gives Ellie an excuse to send the kids out for food so that the adults can find a way to deal with the alienating tension between them.
Beth realizes her mistake and is upset with her lack of action. Ellie forgives her sister and subsequently attempts to probe the reason for this surprise visit. However, before Beth can reveal that she’s concerned about her potential tangle with motherhood, an earthquake erupts and disrupts the already shoddy environment further, preventing the conversation from going any further.
Danny (Morgan Davies) decides to explore the hole. Danny (Morgan Davies) goes through the vault. Danny (Morgan Davies) is scared by a statue of Christ jumping towards him. Crosses and religious ornaments decorate the space. Danny (Morgan Davies) continues to explore. Danny (Morgan Davies) finds the book. Insects fly off the book. The book of the dead. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) stares into the screen. Danny’s exploration of the bank makes good on Beth’s earlier light-hearted jump scare. This time it’s the figure of Christ himself who comes out and “warns” this intruder searching for riches to stay away. But Danny refuses to heed this warning and continues to explore in spite of the variety of clear warning signs; this is an Evil Dead movie after all. The damning excursion immediately cuts to Ellie staring at the camera, making explicit the horror to come and clueing us in on who will the be the first victim.
While the adults try and stabilize in the apartment, the children, who are located in the garage, duck for cover. However, the aftermath of the quake reveals the foundations of their apartment building, a bank, lurking underneath. A newly created gap offers a way to untold riches and Danny decides to explore in order to potentially find something of value.
Yet, his exploration, in true Evil Dead fashion, is filled with a litany of symbols and objects that would scream to any other person to “stay out!” In contrast to his aunt’s earlier playful jump-scare, a statue of Jesus Christ literally jumps out from a corner in an attempt to deter him from his ill-founded material pursuits. But Danny persists, ignoring the warning sign of the holy entity, and finds a set of vinyl records before uncovering a grotesque tome, the iconic “Book of the Dead”. This discovery marks the beginning of the end and the film consequently cuts to Ellie staring forward at the camera, letting us know that evil is imminent.
In customary fashion, evil, supernatural hymns are recited, cosmic horrors enter the fray, and our group of characters are forced to find a way to survive against an immensely powerful malevolent force that takes immense pleasure in enacting the sickest, most twisted forms of violence on its victims. From this view, the plotting of this latest entry in the iconic Evil Dead franchise goes mostly as one would expect.
P.O.V shot goes through a lake, evoking classic horror imagery. Spectral P.O.V shot up to the condemned apartment building. Tracking shot of Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland). Disembodied P.O.V shot. The film’s focus is on perspective and it attempts to explore the way one’s vantage point defines violence and explains its effects. There are traditional P.O.V. shots that feel right at home with the franchise’s best, alongside handheld tracking shots, and more subtle uses of P.O.V. shots. The film is constantly reframing things, informing the viewer to pay attention to who’s really in charge of different moments and how those changes in power are matriculated vis-a-vis violence. While some of the more interesting variations on this technique are not as developed as I would like, the effort is more than worthy of praise and study.
However, Cronin distinguishes his rendition of the Evil Dead from the rest of the franchise’s mainstays through his exploration and deconstruction of the spectral P.O.V. shot. If the opening wasn’t enough of a clue, an early conversation between Beth and Kassie draws textual attention to this point of focus, as the former party informs her niece that she doesn’t believe in ghosts because she can’t see them.
Thus, we are made aware that it is the gaze that is relevant and the film serves as an extended analysis of the way that its functions, both in regards to ourselves and within cinema, operate in relation to and through violence of different sorts. We are being asked: In what ways does our perspective of what is and is not violence change based on our perspective in relation to the phenomenon and its effects.
But Michael Haneke’s Funny Games this is not, and the analysis is mostly limited to simplistic thematic domains, namely to traditional thematic overtures regarding the family structure and manner by which it operates a kind of communal barrier. While the film’s set-up includes multiple angles by which to position said discussion and offer nuance into multiple domains, the limited deployment of its techniques ossifies the possibilities inherent within them. The thematic playground the film finds itself playing in is so much smaller than the space its elements give it access to and the way it dances with its cinematographic exploration, though deft, barely scratches the surface of the space it seeks to explore. In other words, the film’s area of focus is compelling and it judiciously utilizes both genre conventions and the franchise’s own history in pursuit of the same, but it limits its purview within artificial-feeling trappings that feel disappointing given the skill on display.
These commitment issues extend to the film’s tone which feels like it’s trying too hard to please all the myriad of fans, all of whom enjoy different aspects of the multi-faceted franchise. At times the film plays it straight and acts like a pot-boiler thriller with terrific pacing and frights abound. Every relevant plot element is neatly set-up à la Checkov’s gun and there’s very little fat as the film moves to its rhythm. The scares are neatly executed with subtle cues, few jump-scares, and mostly excellent sound design which helps accentuate the mean-spirited nature of the visceral horror set-pieces, playing on the ability of the genre to get viewers to imagine such violence’s happening to them. But right as the terror hits a fever pitch, the film will awkwardly toss aside the momentum for strange detours, like slapstick jokes found in Evil Dead II, which completely dissipate the tension and stop the pacing dead in its tracks.
Rises’ reliance on sticking to a formula also prevents it from gaining any new converts or impressing fans who are more so interested in the worldbuilding promised by the franchise. If you’ve seen any of the films before, you’re already going to know where and how the majority of the narrative will proceed which leaves only the spectacle remaining, and while that spectacle is stylized as all hell and is certainly visually evocative, it still does not approach that critical point at which the work feels transformative and wholly its own.
Instead of trying to be a terrifying thriller, a gory spectacle for splatter aficionados, a dark comedy for the horror-jaded, an examination of violence in relation to cinema for the theorists, and wholly honest to the plethora of expectations engendered by the franchise, the film should have given upon the juggling act and truly committed to the most congruent of these elements so that it could transcend itself in the way that certain parts of the film would suggest it would be able to do otherwise. Of course, it’s difficult to criticize a film when the criticism is aimed at its desires to please everyone, a task which it mostly does based on discussion surrounding it, but inevitably, upsetting some in favor of experimentation that pushes the needle forward is the only way to make a long-lasting mark and it’s disappointing when a film this fantastic doesn’t quite live up to that type of potential.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Evil Dead Rises is an ambitious, wonderfully stylized piece of work that deftly utilizes genre trappings and the conventions of the franchise to deliver a filmic experience that should please most of the fans it seeks to impress even if its attempt to do the same inevitably lowers its own artistic ceiling.
Rating
9.5/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Welcome to the Critic’s Sanctum’s 5th Annual 31-Day Horror Marathon!
This year’s theme is: debut horror feature films. Every feature selected is it’s director’s debut film and the choices range are split nearly even between seminal classics of the genre and promising modern debuts.
The list is organized by release date to help anyone wanting to join along better appreciate the way the genre develops and builds upon itself.
However, this year’s October brings with it a Friday the 13th. To celebrate the spooky coinciding, I will be revealing a “bonus” film every Friday of this month (6th, 13th, 20th, 27th) that will be in line with the aforementioned theme. Feel free to check back on these dates to see what the respective bonus films are.
The List
DATE
FILM
DIRECTOR
YEAR
TIDBITS
10-1-2023
Black Sunday
Mario Bava
1960
The film would be worth watching for it’s opening sequence alone. This 230- second chunk is not only the most sustained, immaculate piece of film-making in the work proper but also one of the greatest introductions to a film in the history of the horror genre.
10-2-2023
Night of the Living Dead
George Romero
1968
Every time I watch this, I become increasingly astounded by how the limitations and obstacles encountered in the low-budget filmmaking ended up creating a mood and aesthetic and that established an entire-subgenre (zombie). And that’s not even talking about the brilliant social commentary angle introduced via the casting of the lead. Talk about the stars aligning.
10-3-2023
The Bird With the Crystal Plumage
Dario Argento
1970
Another entry that cemented a (sub)-genre (giallo) [1]Mario Bava technically established the sub-giallo with The Girl Who Knew Too Much and then further refined the formula with Blood and Black Lace, but it is Argento’s entry that took these … Continue reading,Argento’s debut is stylized and hypnotic. It’s no wonder everyone wanted to ape it after its release. Yet few entries have ever managed to touch the heights achieved here.
10-4-2023
The Last House on the Left
Wes Craven
1972
Using an early Bergman masterpiece as a starting point for any film, let alone a debut one, seems a foolhardy idea doomed to failure, but Craven’s re-interpretation of Bergman’s The Virgin Spring actually treads new ground and shockingly makes its Swedish progenitor look tame in comparison. There is no reprieve here and the cold-hearted nature of that decision rings is more than makes up for some technical flubs here and there.
It can be overwhelming at times to pick a film to watch when they require a large time investment (especially when following a list like this on a day-by-day basis). That’s why I picked only features with runtimes under 100 minutes for this year’s 31 horror films in 31 days marathon.
To keep the list as diverse as possible, I made sure to limit each director to only one entry and also have at least one film from most of the major decades of film (1920-2020). The assortment of films below explores a wide range of horror sub-genres and themes so anyone following along should (hopefully) find a few entries they enjoy.
This is now my 4th year doing this marathon and I’ve learned that my challenge is less so watching the films on their allotted days(which I’ve managed every year) and more so getting out a review/analysis out within a certain amount of time. To remedy this issue, this year I’ve decided to post minor tidbits regarding my thoughts after watching the day’s respective entry. As opposed to my normal reviews, these comments will be shorter and more casual, so those viewers looking to follow this journey have something to latch onto.
While I’ll aim to get a proper review out for each entry in a timely manner, there’s a good chance delays inevitably occur so hopefully the tidbits can help tide things over till I can post and link the reviews proper.
To those looking to follow along, whether it watching the films in order with me or just perusing my comments, best wishes and Happy Halloween!
There’s something beautiful in how Carpenter is able to take something so seemingly simple and elevate it into a tense nightmare. Even the title credits evoke a sense of dread with the pulsing score and steady camera movement. Never before has a stationary jack-o-lantern evoked as much dread.
This film might as well be a tutorial on how to construct a found-footage film: – have a realistic framing mechanism that explains why the film is edited and presented the way it is –add some improvised acting to inject the necessary realism required – maintain enough narrative/visual ambiguity to force the audience to imagine the worst.
10-3-2021
The Blackcoat’s Daughter
Oz Perkins
Oneiric editing and crisp framing emphasizing the isolation of the characters make this horrific exploration of ennui all the more compelling. I appreciate the way the film tackles (and subverts) horror conventions in regards to its themes more every re-watch.
10-4-2021
Frankenstein
James Whale
Boris Karloff’s performance as the titular monster is legendary as he imbues the creature with a childlike innocence that juxtaposes against its murderous actions, generating both a sympathy and a horror at what follows. Masterful with a capital ‘M’.
NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
A Little League baseball game is underway. The pitcher, Finney (Mason Thames), winds up and throws the ball. The batter, Bruce (Tristan Pravong), swings and misses. Strike one. The crowd cheers for Finney and he can feel their approval hanging in the balance.
He winds up and throws again. Strike two. The crowd’s encouragement increases. A girl within the crowd stares at Finney with affection. He takes notice; the pressure is on.
The ball leaves his hand on the third throw but this time Bruce is ready for it; the bat connects with the ball and it soars over the gates – a homerun. Suddenly, the momentum flips and Bruce becomes the recipient of the adulation while Finney is relegated to the periphery.
We follow Bruce as he leaves the field, glowing in victory. Edgar Winters’ “Free Ride” plays evoking a feeling of jubilation. But then a black van enters the frame and the color and sound begin to fade leaving an all-consuming void in its wake – the happy façade breaks to reveal the grotesque underbelly.
Mark Korven’s unsettling score complete with a rhythmic pulse and discordant fluctuations starts to play as the title credits start to play – it’s time to enter the dark. This montage is presented in an aesthetic fashion similar to director Scott Derickson’s previous horror film, Sinister, utilizing the grainy texture of film stock proper to accentuate the uncanny series of images. In strong contrast to the opening’s evocation of a cheery 70’s milieu, the decisive switch in aesthetic and tone is a grim reminder of the horrors of the time lurking in wait – kidnappings and missing children on milk cartons, and the like.
It’s from this fractured backdrop that we join Finney once again. He’s revealed to be a prime target of hostile forces all around. From a drunk, violent father at home to bullies at school, Finney is constantly forced into compromising positions where he finds himself wholly at the whims of other parties; even when he’s bailed out of the awful situations he finds himself in, it’s due to the efforts of his friend Robin (Cazarez Mora) and his sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw) intervening on his behalf. His own sense of agency is sorely lacking.
But when he’s kidnapped by a serial child abductor referred to as the “Grabber” (Ethan Hawke), Finney is forced to abandon his passivity and discover his strengths or die trying. He finds himself trapped in a seemingly isolated and sound-proofed basement structure with no tools in sight sans a broken telephone attached on the wall. Yet, while the phone isn’t plugged into any power source and seems completely busted up, it still rings, serving as an conduit to unseen forces from the beyond who seek to intervene in the seemingly impossible situation.
The supernatural propels the narrative forward, operating on a mostly demonstrative, seldom explained layer that works to supplement the true-crime horror narrative. While the presentation of this material feels like an extension of Sinister in tone and feel, its use is more in line with Derrickson’s earlier supernatural procedural, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Like that film, otherworldly phenomena – grainy dream-sequences and spectral sightings – are couched within ambiguities which gestures towards multiple different angles of interpretation. This explicative restraint works in the films favor as it lets the characters’ struggles take focus; the supernatural set-pieces are just pieces of connective tissue that characters find themselves working with and through and are not the cause of interest in end of themselves.
The primary source of scares comes from Hawke’s “Grabber”, an masked man teetering on the edge of an emotional meltdown. At one moment he’s coy and wants to play nice. At another he’s downright malicious and one step away from a violent explosion. For every persona, he dons a new mask on, accentuating his instability and giving Hawke ample opportunity to flex his facial muscles in new, menacing configurations. The uncertainty behind what he wants adds to the suffocating feeling as his erratic behavior presents a minefield for Finney to traverse through.
However, while Finney finds himself powerless at the start of the film, he quickly finds himself changing for what the situation calls. His experiences dealing with abuse in more grounded scenarios helps him play the Grabber’s inexplicable games as the latter’s acts just feels like an amplification of the atrocities he’s used to dealing with. Thus, his progression is clearly demarcated; the film uses its opening to demonstrate where Finney struggles and then utilizes the supernatural trappings of his struggle with the Grabber to highlight his growth.
The film does misstep slightly when it comes to wrapping up all the relevant story threads as the manner by which certain narrative parallels made between the domestic and horrific conclude seem incongruous with one another, but the overwhelming momentum of how Finney’s arc culminates more than buoys the issue.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The Black Phone is Scott Derrickson’s best film as of yet and seems him combining the aesthetic sensibilities and sense of unease from Sinister with the narrative ambiguity and supernatural restraint of The Exorcism of Emily Rose. The result is a tense, supernatural, character-driven story that earns its shocks.
Rating
8.9/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
