Kiah Roache-Turner’s Sting teeters between promise and frustration, delivering a giant spider flick that struggles to break free of its own constraints. The premise—an apartment block under siege by a grotesque arachnid menace—should have been a thrilling descent into chaos. Instead, it becomes a mostly static affair that squanders the potential for horror on a grander scale.
The film’s claustrophobic setting, while initially effective in creating tension, ultimately becomes its Achilles’ heel. Roache-Turner’s decision to restrict the action to a single apartment block feels like an artificial barrier, limiting both narrative scope and the monstrous terror promised by its premise. The titular spider, a grotesque and visually striking creation, rarely gets the opportunity to fully unleash its horrifying potential. What could have been a citywide nightmare is confined to a smaller, less engaging canvas.
Performances from the cast are serviceable but fail to elevate the thin material. The human drama, meant to serve as a counterbalance to the creature feature chaos, feels underdeveloped, making it hard to invest in the characters’ survival. Even the moments of visceral horror and grotesque effects—which Roache-Turner has previously executed with glee in films like Wyrmwood—feel muted, as though constrained by the film’s own premise.
There are flashes of creativity, particularly in the creature design and some tightly constructed suspense sequences, but these are too few and far between. Sting is a film caught in its own web, unable to deliver the giant spider carnage fans might have hoped for. It’s a disappointment from a director who has previously shown a knack for blending horror with frenetic energy.
For arachnid horror enthusiasts, Sting may still hold some appeal, but the film’s inability to break free of its own limitations makes it feel more like a missed opportunity than a triumphant monster movie.
Horror fans rejoice! The holiday season isn’t just about cheerful carols and warm cocoa—it’s also a time for blood-curdling screams, sinister Santas, and festive frights. To celebrate the darker side of Christmas, here’s our countdown of 12 horrifying holiday films to make your season as chilling as it is merry.
🎄 On the First Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A Mogwai in a gift box! Start your holiday horror binge with Gremlins (1984), a delightful cautionary tale about the perils of ignoring pet care instructions. Joe Dante’s classic perfectly balances humour and horror, as the adorable Gizmo spawns a mischievous army of creatures that turn Christmas into a chaotic nightmare. The snowy town backdrop and holiday decorations make it the quintessential dark Christmas treat.
🎄 On the Second Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Two sinister phone calls! Black Christmas (1974) is often credited as one of the earliest slasher films, and for good reason. Its chilling premise—sorority sisters stalked by an unknown killer during the holidays—still holds up, with terrifying phone calls and a tense atmosphere. A precursor to films like Halloween, it’s a must-watch for those who like their Christmas with a side of terror.
🎄 On the Third Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Three masked killers! Forget holiday cheer—Don’t Open Till Christmas (1984) delivers sleazy, grindhouse-style carnage as a masked killer targets anyone dressed as Santa Claus. Set in London, this cult favourite oozes low-budget grit and delivers some gruesome kills. It’s the perfect antidote for anyone who finds mall Santas a little too jolly.
🎄 On the Fourth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Four killer Santas! Few holiday horror films are as infamous as Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984). This controversial slasher caused outrage upon release with its tale of a traumatised young man who becomes a murderous Santa. Despite its campy premise, it delivers genuine chills and has earned its place as a cult classic that’s both terrifying and absurdly entertaining.
🎄 On the Fifth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Five undead dance routines! Anna and the Apocalypse (2017) is a genre mashup like no other—a Christmas zombie musical filled with catchy songs, heartfelt moments, and buckets of blood. It’s the kind of film that shouldn’t work, but somehow does, offering a unique spin on holiday horror that will have you singing along while reaching for the popcorn.
🎄 On the Sixth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Six buckets of gore! Terrifier 3 continues Art the Clown’s reign of terror, this time with a Christmas twist. If you’re a fan of extreme gore and unrelenting scares, this sequel delivers in spades, taking holiday horror to new, grotesque heights. It’s not for the faint of heart but will delight those who thrive on boundary-pushing frights.
🎄 On the Seventh Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Seven blood-stained axes! Christmas Blood (2017) brings a Scandinavian flavor to the killer Santa trope. This Norwegian slasher follows a maniacal Santa spreading holiday carnage across snowy landscapes. With its moody atmosphere and brutal kills, it’s a grim reminder that not all Santas are bringing gifts.
🎄 On the Eighth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eight clever traps! Better Watch Out (2016) is a home invasion thriller with a devilish twist that’s best experienced without spoilers. What starts as a typical holiday babysitting gig takes a sinister turn, with clever plotting and sharp performances that elevate it into one of the most entertaining Christmas horror films of recent years.
🎄 On the Ninth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Nine rampaging reindeer! Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (2010) reimagines Santa as a terrifying, ancient figure unearthed from the ice. This Finnish gem mixes dark humour with genuine scares, creating a unique holiday horror that’s as magical as it is menacing. And those reindeer? Let’s just say Rudolph wouldn’t stand a chance.
🎄 On the Tenth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Ten deadly robots! Christmas Bloody Christmas (2022) answers the question: What if a robotic Santa went on a killing spree? This grindhouse-style horror revels in its absurd premise, delivering over-the-top gore, neon-soaked visuals, and a punk rock attitude that makes it a wild holiday ride.
🎄 On the Eleventh Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eleven festive frights! Krampus (2015) brings the European legend of the titular Christmas demon to life in a darkly comedic tale of family dysfunction and festive punishment. With stunning creature effects and a sly sense of humour, Michael Dougherty’s film is a modern holiday horror classic that reminds us to stay on Santa’s good side.
🎄 On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:A Ghostly Carnage for Christmas The premise of Carnage For Christmas is deeply intriguing. True crime podcaster Lola returns to her hometown for the first time since her gender transition, only to uncover a chilling mystery: has the ghost of a historic murderer risen again? This film offers a thoughtful blend of social themes and supernatural horror, making it a perfect capstone for our list.
Celebrate the Season of Screams From murderous Santas to zombie musicals, these 12 films prove that Christmas doesn’t have to be merry to be memorable. So dim the lights, grab some eggnog, and settle in for a holiday marathon that’s as horrifying as it is holly-jolly.
Ryan Kruger’s Street Trash boldly picks up the grotesque mantle of the 1987 original, delivering a sequel that is equal parts homage and evolution. This grimy, grimacing venture into the underbelly of society thrusts viewers into a world of chaotic survival, vivid visuals, and unapologetic depravity.
A Grimy Glimpse of Society’s Margins
Set against a backdrop of urban decay, the film plunges into the lives of the downtrodden as they face not just societal neglect but a new wave of bodily horrors. Kruger maintains the anarchic spirit of the original while updating its themes with a sharper edge. Beneath the layers of viscera and outrageous visuals lies a commentary on the cyclical struggles of poverty, addiction, and survival—a grim reflection of a world that often ignores its most vulnerable.
The story, while secondary to the spectacle, acts as a loose framework for the carnage, following a ragtag group of outcasts contending with an insidious threat that consumes them from within. Much like its predecessor, Street Trash revels in its over-the-top nature, embracing absurdity and shock value as core tenets of its narrative.
A Grotesque Visual Feast
Kruger’s directorial flair is undeniable, with a relentless onslaught of visually arresting sequences. The practical effects are a glorious throwback to the heyday of 1980s body horror, drenched in fluorescent gore and surreal transformations. The cinematography veers between claustrophobic and chaotic, perfectly capturing the world’s filth and desperation.
However, the film’s relentless aesthetic, while impressive, often overshadows its characters and narrative depth. The grotesque imagery can feel gratuitous at times, leaving little room for the emotional resonance that might have elevated the film beyond its shock-factor roots.
A Tribute That Stumbles on Its Own Excess
As a sequel, Street Trash lovingly pays tribute to the down-and-dirty chaos of the original, amplifying its grime and gore for a modern audience. But in doing so, it occasionally loses the balance that made the 1987 cult classic memorable. While Kruger captures the anarchic spirit, the film’s pacing and tonal inconsistency detract from its overall impact, making it feel like an extended spectacle rather than a cohesive story.
The Prognosis:
For fans of the original, Street Trash (2023) is a welcome return to the absurd, oozing with nostalgia and creativity. It’s a visually disturbing treat that revels in its excesses, delivering everything you’d expect from a sequel to one of the most outrageous films of the 1980s.
Yet, its dedication to pushing the boundaries of grotesque spectacle leaves little room for nuance or emotional depth. While it’s a solid continuation of the cult classic’s legacy, it struggles to transcend its status as a niche curiosity.
Kruger’s Street Trash is messy, wild, and unapologetically outrageous—a glorious descent into cinematic filth that will delight fans of the original and shock newcomers in equal measure. It may not redefine the genre, but it certainly leaves an impression, for better or worse.
Saul Muerte
Street Trash will be streaming on Screambox from Dec 27th.
José Mojica Marins, the macabre mind behind the infamous Coffin Joe persona, takes an ambitious meta-narrative turn with The Bloody Exorcism of Coffin Joe. This 1974 feature is a surreal descent into madness that blurs the lines between reality and fiction, combining bizarre horror and religious allegory. While not officially part of the “Coffin Joe trilogy,” the film captures the spirit of Marins’ grotesque vision, albeit with mixed results.
A Meta-Horror Experiment Marins portrays himself, crafting a narrative where his fictional alter ego, Coffin Joe, transcends the screen and manifests in terrifying reality. This meta approach is intriguing, allowing Marins to explore his own creation’s mythology while engaging in self-reflection. The plot, however, is a chaotic jumble of satanic rituals, black masses, and exorcisms, all set against a backdrop of low-budget effects and erratic pacing.
The film’s most striking moments occur during its feverish black mass sequence, where Coffin Joe emerges to preside over a cacophony of torture, topless dancers, and surreal imagery. These scenes are unsettling and unrestrained, evoking a visceral reaction, but they teeter on the edge of indulgence, making the experience feel more disjointed than cohesive.
Strengths and Shortcomings Marins’ direction is unmistakably his own—raw, eccentric, and unapologetic. The use of practical effects and atmospheric lighting imbues the film with a haunting aesthetic, despite its glaring technical flaws. However, the inconsistent sound editing and awkward dialogue often break immersion, highlighting the limitations of its production.
The performances range from passable to over-the-top, with Marins commanding the screen whenever Coffin Joe is present. The supporting cast, including Ariane Arantes as Vilma and Wanda Kosmo as the witch, deliver spirited performances, though they are often overshadowed by the film’s chaotic narrative.
Themes of Faith and Fear The juxtaposition of Christian iconography and satanic rituals provides a thematic backbone, exploring humanity’s eternal struggle between good and evil. The climax, where Marins wields a crucifix to vanquish Coffin Joe and his followers, is as absurd as it is symbolic. Yet, this resolution feels rushed, leaving the philosophical implications of the story underdeveloped.
Legacy and Impact The Bloody Exorcism of Coffin Joe is a fascinating yet flawed entry in Marins’ oeuvre. It doesn’t reach the heights of his earlier works like At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul but remains a testament to his audacious creativity. The meta-narrative approach was ahead of its time, paving the way for modern genre films that break the fourth wall.
For fans of Coffin Joe, this film is a must-watch for its exploration of the character’s mythology. For others, it might feel like an incoherent fever dream, held together by flashes of brilliance amidst the chaos. Regardless, Marins’ ability to provoke and unsettle ensures that The Bloody Exorcism of Coffin Joe retains its place as a curious artifact of Brazilian horror cinema.
Netflix’s Time Cut ambitiously attempts to blend time-travel mechanics with the slasher genre but ends up feeling like a weaker shadow of last year’s Totally Killer—a film that itself was only moderately successful. Directed by Hannah MacPherson and co-written with Michael Kennedy, the film stars Madison Bailey, Antonia Gentry, and Griffin Gluck in a story about familial bonds, personal redemption, and an overly complicated time loop that never quite clicks.
Set in the sleepy town of Sweetly, Minnesota, the narrative follows Lucy Field (Bailey), a young inventor who accidentally stumbles upon a time machine and travels back to 2003, just days before her sister Summer (Gentry) is murdered by the Sweetly Slasher. The setup initially teases intrigue: Lucy’s quest to save her sister from a grim fate while unraveling the mystery of a masked killer. But what could have been a thrilling fusion of Back to the Future and Scream collapses under a bloated script and inconsistent pacing.
The plot is weighed down by convoluted exposition and uninspired twists. While the reveal of the Sweetly Slasher’s identity—a future version of Quinn (Gluck), driven to madness—seeks to add emotional depth, it feels both predictable and underwhelming. Time-travel paradoxes, instead of enhancing the stakes, muddy the narrative.
On the positive side, Madison Bailey brings a commendable sincerity to Lucy, making her a relatable protagonist. Antonia Gentry, as Summer, delivers an emotionally charged performance, particularly in her scenes of reconciliation with Lucy. Their chemistry anchors the film, providing fleeting moments of genuine warmth.
The movie falters most in its inability to balance tone. The slasher elements lack tension, the sci-fi aspects are half-baked, and the humour—intended to offer levity—rarely lands. Moreover, the production design fails to convincingly evoke the early 2000s, a glaring oversight in a film that relies on its period setting.
Comparisons to Totally Killer are unavoidable, and unfortunately, Time Cut pales in every regard. Where Totally Killer leaned into its absurdity with a tongue-in-cheek charm, Time Cut takes itself too seriously, resulting in a tonal mismatch that alienates the viewer.
In the end, Time Cut is a classic case of wasted potential. While its premise and cast hint at something greater, the execution is lacklustre, leaving audiences with a film that neither entertains nor innovates. For those seeking time-travel thrills or slasher chills, it’s better to skip this cut entirely.
When Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein debuted in 1994, Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation of the seminal novel seemed like a breath of fresh air for gothic cinema. Positioned as a faithful retelling of Shelley’s groundbreaking work, the film’s operatic tone, lavish production design, and reverence for its source material made it feel like an audacious attempt to elevate gothic horror into a grand cinematic spectacle. Thirty years on, however, while the film retains its place as a fascinating adaptation, time has revealed both its achievements and its missteps.
Branagh, who directed and starred as Victor Frankenstein, approached the material with a larger-than-life theatricality, pouring a seemingly unrestrained passion into the story. At the time, this intensity felt like a bold choice, giving audiences a film steeped in gothic aesthetics, from sweeping landscapes and haunting laboratories to thunderous scores and unrelenting melodrama. But in hindsight, the weight of Branagh’s vision comes across as excessive. The film’s relentless emotional intensity often teeters on overwrought, with every confrontation, revelation, and tragedy turned up to operatic levels. While this approach may have felt daring in 1994, it now feels like it undermines some of the subtler complexities of Shelley’s narrative.
Yet, there are elements of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein that remain undeniably effective. The performances of Robert De Niro as the Creature and Helena Bonham Carter as Elizabeth elevate the film beyond its uneven execution. De Niro’s portrayal of the Creature is deeply affecting, bringing an unexpected humanity and pathos to the role. His embodiment of Shelley’s philosophical questions about creation, abandonment, and revenge remains one of the film’s most enduring strengths. Similarly, Bonham Carter imbues Elizabeth with a warmth and intelligence that makes her tragic arc all the more harrowing, particularly in the film’s climactic and macabre finale.
Visually, the film continues to impress. Its production design, helmed by Tim Harvey, crafts an immersive gothic world, from the icy Arctic wastes to the shadowy confines of Victor’s laboratory. Patrick Doyle’s score, a bombastic and emotive accompaniment, heightens the film’s gothic grandeur, even as it sometimes amplifies the melodrama.
Ultimately, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is a film of contradictions: innovative yet excessive, faithful yet flawed. Its ambition to stay true to the novel’s thematic depths deserves admiration, but Branagh’s unchecked directorial choices leave the narrative buckling under the weight of its own gravitas.
Thirty years later, it remains an intriguing, if imperfect, entry in gothic cinema, a reminder of both the power and perils of artistic vision. For all its faults, it is still an enjoyable film and one that warrants revisiting—if only to marvel at its audacity and revel in the brilliance of De Niro and Bonham Carter.
“A slow boil of diner terror saved by Jessica Belkin’s fierce lead performance.”
In Last Straw, director Alan C. Peterson takes a stab at rural horror, setting the stage in an eerily isolated roadside diner where chaos unfurls during one fateful night. The film serves up a premise brimming with promise but ultimately struggles to bring its ingredients together into a fully satisfying dish. What salvages the movie is Jessica Belkin’s standout performance, which adds surprising depth and urgency to an otherwise uneven thriller.
The story unfolds at Nancy’s Diner, a small-town eatery with a big attitude problem, thanks to its hard-nosed owner Nancy (Jessica Belkin). After firing her unreliable staff, Nancy decides to take on the final shift herself, unaware that she’s about to endure the longest and most dangerous night of her life. As the hours tick by, sinister forces make their presence known, and the diner becomes the site of a gruesome killing spree.
At its core, Last Straw is a survival horror flick with a claustrophobic atmosphere and a handful of brutal set pieces. The film explores themes of isolation, regret, and resilience, but its attempts to dive into deeper emotional territory often feel half-baked.
Strengths: Jessica Belkin Shines
Belkin carries the film with a steely yet vulnerable portrayal of Nancy, a woman grappling with her own mistakes while facing an escalating nightmare. Her performance is magnetic, injecting the character with a fiery determination that keeps viewers invested even when the narrative falters. Belkin’s ability to oscillate between fear, rage, and resolve anchors the film, making Nancy a compelling final girl in a genre that thrives on them.
Weaknesses: Familiarity Breeds Predictability
Unfortunately, Last Straw falters under the weight of its overly familiar tropes. From the “lone survivor in a remote location” setup to the predictably unhinged antagonist, the film rarely ventures beyond well-trodden ground. The tension is intermittently effective but often deflated by an over-reliance on jump scares and a sluggish pace that drags in the middle act.
The film’s attempts at psychological depth—manifested in Nancy’s flashbacks and inner turmoil—feel surface-level and fail to connect meaningfully with the larger narrative. Supporting characters are largely forgettable, serving more as cannon fodder than as contributors to the story.
Atmosphere and Direction
Despite its shortcomings, Peterson creates a suitably menacing atmosphere. The diner’s confined space and harsh fluorescent lighting lend a sense of suffocating dread, while the sound design amplifies every creak, shatter, and scream. These elements provide occasional sparks of genuine tension, though they’re often squandered by a meandering script.
The Prognosis:
Last Straw is far from groundbreaking, but Jessica Belkin’s commanding performance elevates it above the realm of forgettable indie horror. The film’s hook—a nightmarish scenario in a seemingly mundane diner—is strong enough to keep viewers intrigued, even if the execution leaves much to be desired.
For horror fans who don’t mind a predictable ride with a few sharp turns, Last Straw might be worth a late-night viewing. But for those seeking innovation or depth, this is one diner where the menu doesn’t quite deliver.
Quatermass and the Pit remains a shining gem in Hammer Films’ crown, a film that blends science fiction and horror with cerebral depth and visual ingenuity. Directed by Roy Ward Baker, this adaptation of Nigel Kneale’s acclaimed television serial proves that ambition and creativity can transcend budgetary limitations. It’s no surprise that this film holds a special place in the hearts of Hammer aficionados, delivering a gripping narrative, a stellar cast, and thought-provoking themes.
The story unfolds with the discovery of a mysterious, ancient object buried in the London Underground. What begins as an archeological curiosity quickly escalates into a tale of extraterrestrial origins, latent human fears, and societal unrest. At its core is Professor Bernard Quatermass, played with intellectual gravitas by Andrew Keir. Keir’s portrayal is a departure from the earlier portrayals of Quatermass, bringing a rugged charm and authoritative presence to the role that anchors the film amidst its fantastical elements.
The supporting cast is equally impressive. Barbara Shelley shines as the determined and empathetic Barbara Judd, while James Donald delivers a measured performance as Dr. Roney. The interplay between these characters adds emotional depth to the high-concept narrative, grounding its more outlandish moments in genuine human concern.
Roy Ward Baker’s direction is deft, maximising the tension and scale of the story despite the limited resources available. The film’s practical effects and set design, while dated by modern standards, still evoke a sense of awe and unease. The scenes depicting the alien memories and the climactic chaos in the streets of London are particular standouts, showcasing Baker’s ability to create atmosphere and spectacle on a shoestring budget.
Yet, the film’s greatest strength lies in its themes. Quatermass and the Pit explores the intersection of science and mythology, probing the origins of human fear and violence with a sophistication rarely seen in genre cinema. The idea that humanity’s darker impulses could be the legacy of ancient Martian colonists is as compelling as it is chilling, making this more than just a monster movie.
That said, the film isn’t without its flaws. The pacing can drag in places, and the special effects, though imaginative, may elicit more smiles than gasps for contemporary audiences. Additionally, the film’s heavy reliance on exposition can occasionally slow the momentum, as characters explain rather than experience the unfolding events.
Despite these shortcomings, Quatermass and the Pit remains a triumph of ingenuity and ambition. It’s a testament to Hammer Films’ ability to elevate genre storytelling, proving that thought-provoking ideas and strong performances can resonate long after the credits roll. For fans of intelligent, atmospheric horror, this is a must-watch, standing tall as one of Hammer’s most intriguing offerings.
In the annals of cult cinema and alternative media, few names resonate with as much chaotic charm as Troma Entertainment. Founded by Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz in 1974, Troma carved a niche with its low-budget, boundary-pushing films that celebrated the absurd, the grotesque, and the unapologetically bizarre. At the heart of this madcap legacy stands Toxie—the Toxic Avenger—a mop-wielding mutant superhero who became the unlikeliest of icons. The journey from The Toxic Avenger (1984) to Toxic Crusader, a 1991 animated series, encapsulates Troma’s unique blend of irreverence, resilience, and impact on both cult and mainstream pop culture.
The Genesis of Toxie: From Outcast to Cult Hero
Toxie was born out of The Toxic Avenger, Troma’s quintessential splatter comedy. A grotesque, hilarious, and surprisingly heartfelt story about Melvin Ferd, a bullied janitor who falls into a vat of toxic waste and emerges as a disfigured yet heroic defender of Tromaville, the film epitomised Troma’s ethos. It combined slapstick humour, over-the-top violence, and biting satire on societal ills, creating a unique genre hybrid that earned a cult following.
Toxie’s appeal lay in his paradoxical nature: a hideous figure with an unwavering moral compass, he represented the underdog and the misfit, becoming a symbol of empowerment for audiences drawn to outsider narratives.
Toxic Crusader: Troma Goes Mainstream
In an improbable twist, Toxie leaped into the sanitised world of Saturday morning cartoons with Toxic Crusader. Aimed at children, the animated series toned down the original’s gruesome violence and bawdy humour while amplifying its environmentalist message. Toxie and his band of equally mutated friends fought against the villainous Dr. Killemoff and his polluting cohorts, creating an ecologically conscious narrative well ahead of its time.
While the show only ran for 13 episodes, its colorful characters, zany humour, and merchandising—including action figures, video games, and lunchboxes—cemented Toxie’s place in pop culture. The series introduced Troma’s sensibilities to a wider audience, planting seeds of appreciation for the bizarre among a new generation.
Lloyd Kaufman and the Troma Legacy
Lloyd Kaufman, Troma’s eccentric co-founder and the mastermind behind The Toxic Avenger, has been the driving force behind the studio’s enduring legacy. Known for his DIY ethic and irreverent humour, Kaufman turned Troma into a beacon for independent filmmakers. His advocacy for free expression and independence has inspired countless creatives, cementing his reputation as a counterculture icon.
Troma’s commitment to low-budget filmmaking and guerrilla marketing ensured its survival in a rapidly changing industry. Kaufman’s insistence on creative control over profit-seeking has allowed Troma to remain a unique voice in cinema, untainted by mainstream trends.
Toxie’s Impact: The Cult That Never Fades
The legacy of Toxie and The Toxic Avenger extends far beyond its initial release. It has spawned sequels, a musical adaptation, comic books, and even a forthcoming reboot directed by Macon Blair, with Peter Dinklage stepping into the titular role.
Toxie’s environmental crusades in Toxic Crusader predated the widespread eco-awareness of the 21st century, proving remarkably prescient. Meanwhile, the character’s embrace of his imperfections resonates in a media landscape increasingly focused on diversity and inclusion.
Troma’s influence, embodied by Toxie, is visible in the works of filmmakers like James Gunn, who began his career with Troma, and Quentin Tarantino, who has openly praised Kaufman’s films. Their commitment to pushing boundaries and celebrating the unconventional owes much to the trails blazed by Troma.
The Toxic Avenger and its animated offshoot, Toxic Crusader, epitomise the idiosyncratic charm of Troma Entertainment. Toxie’s evolution from an R-rated antihero to a child-friendly champion of the environment showcases the versatility of Kaufman’s vision and the enduring appeal of the bizarre.
As the reboot looms on the horizon, there’s no better time to revisit Toxie’s origins and celebrate the studio that brought him to life. Troma Pictures and Lloyd Kaufman remain unyielding in their commitment to subversive storytelling, proving that even in the face of an ever-changing cinematic landscape, the cult of Toxie—and Troma—remains gloriously toxic.
Alexandre Aja’s Never Let Go offers a chilling yet uneven exploration of survival, isolation, and familial bonds under the shadow of a supernatural threat. Starring Halle Berry as the fiercely protective Momma, the film presents moments of genuine tension and intrigue but struggles to rise above its derivative foundation.
Set against the foreboding backdrop of an expansive forest, the story revolves around Momma and her two sons, Nolan (Percy Daggs IV) and Samuel (Anthony B. Jenkins), as they navigate a world seemingly overrun by an entity known only as “The Evil.” The family’s strict rituals—tied ropes, daily prayers, and isolation—serve as both their salvation and source of conflict.
Halle Berry delivers a raw and committed performance as a mother unraveling under the weight of paranoia and hunger. Berry’s portrayal grounds the film, lending depth to Momma’s escalating visions of supernatural horrors. Her scenes with Percy Daggs IV and Anthony B. Jenkins brim with palpable tension, highlighting the strain of survival on family dynamics.
The tension-building sequences—particularly a near-fatal encounter with “The Evil” and a brutal winter forcing difficult choices—showcase Aja’s talent for crafting dread. The film’s snowy, desolate landscapes and Robin Coudert’s haunting score amplify the atmosphere, creating an environment where danger lurks in every shadow.
Yet, Never Let Go falters in its reliance on familiar survival horror tropes. The central mystery of “The Evil” is teased effectively but never fully realised, leaving viewers with a predictable twist and a sense of missed opportunity. While the narrative toys with psychological ambiguity—questioning whether the supernatural threat is real or imagined—it ultimately settles on an ending that feels more derivative than daring.
Despite its shortcomings, the film’s production values shine. Aja’s direction captures the claustrophobia of the cabin and the vast, oppressive wilderness beyond. The child actors deliver commendable performances, particularly Jenkins, whose descent into erratic behavior is both unsettling and tragic.
The Prognosis:
Never Let Go is a competent but uninspired entry into the survival horror genre. Its strongest elements—Berry’s performance, atmospheric tension, and a striking score—are weighed down by a lack of originality and a conclusion that plays it too safe. While not a misfire, it’s unlikely to leave a lasting impression beyond its on-screen talent.
Surgeons of Horror 