Author Archives: surgeons of horror

Vampire in Brooklyn — When Fangs Meet Farce and Nobody Wins

26 Sunday Oct 2025

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When Vampire in Brooklyn (1995) first hit cinemas, it seemed like a sure thing. Eddie Murphy, still one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, teaming up with horror maestro Wes Craven — fresh off New Nightmare and on the cusp of Scream — for a supernatural horror-comedy that promised both chills and laughs. On paper, it sounded like a bloody good time. In execution, however, it became a messy, tone-deaf experiment caught between two creative egos and a studio unsure of what it wanted.

Murphy, who also co-wrote and co-produced the film, was eager to move beyond the wisecracking cop persona that had defined his career. He envisioned Vampire in Brooklyn as a darker, more serious take on horror — a stylish Gothic thriller with him at its centre as the suave, seductive vampire Maximilian. Paramount, however, saw something very different: a horror-comedy vehicle for its bankable star. What emerged was an uneasy hybrid that fails to find its footing, unsure whether to scare or to entertain.

Craven, ever the craftsman, tries valiantly to balance the clashing tones. There are flashes of his visual flair — an eerie opening sequence aboard a derelict ship, the crimson-lit interiors of Maximilian’s lair, and a few moments that recall his knack for the grotesque. Yet, it’s clear he’s wrestling with a script that doesn’t know what film it wants to be. The result is a workmanlike effort from a director capable of brilliance, dulled by interference and conflicting visions.

Murphy’s performance doesn’t help matters. As Maximilian, he is clearly struggling to play it straight in a film that refuses to let him. Worse still, his multiple side characters — including a shapeshifting preacher and a slick Italian hood — are cartoonish distractions that undercut any atmosphere the film manages to build. The humour feels forced, the scares are neutered, and the pacing plods.

The film’s saving grace is Angela Bassett, whose portrayal of Detective Rita Veder adds depth and gravitas where the script provides little. Bassett commands every frame with her trademark intensity, grounding the absurdity around her with genuine emotional weight. In a better film, her character’s arc — caught between duty and seduction — might have resonated as a modern Gothic tragedy. Here, it merely hints at what Vampire in Brooklyn could have been.

Wes Craven would rebound just a year later with Scream, proving his instincts were still razor-sharp when given the right material. Vampire in Brooklyn, by contrast, feels like a creative crossroads for all involved — a misfire born from too many competing intentions and not enough cohesion.

The Prognosis:

A muddled mix of horror and humour, Vampire in Brooklyn never finds its bite. Caught between Murphy’s comedic impulses and Craven’s horror pedigree, it flails when it should fly. Angela Bassett alone keeps the film from turning to dust, but even she can’t save this lifeless experiment from the shadows.

  • Saul Muerte

Copycat — A Smart, Nerve-Tight Thriller That Outwitted the ’90s Crime Boom

26 Sunday Oct 2025

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In the mid-’90s, the serial killer genre was everywhere — a time when Seven and The Silence of the Lambs defined the psychological thriller as both intelligent and unnerving. Nestled among these giants was Jon Amiel’s Copycat (1995), a sleek and surprisingly tense entry that continues to hold up thirty years later, largely thanks to its powerhouse performances and sharp sense of restraint.

Sigourney Weaver stars as Dr. Helen Hudson, an agoraphobic criminal psychologist who becomes the target of a copycat killer recreating the crimes of history’s most infamous murderers. When Detective M.J. Monahan (Holly Hunter) enlists Helen’s help, the two form an uneasy alliance that becomes the film’s emotional anchor — a pairing as compelling as it is understated. Hunter brings grit and quiet empathy, while Weaver’s portrayal of trauma is as convincing as anything she’s ever done. Together, they elevate what could have been a routine procedural into something hauntingly human.

Jon Amiel directs with a cold precision, avoiding sensationalism in favour of tension that feels methodical and real. There’s a creeping paranoia throughout — wide, sterile spaces become cages for Helen’s fears, and the film’s rhythm mirrors her anxiety, fluctuating between moments of stillness and sudden panic. Dermot Mulroney and Will Patton lend solid support, but it’s Harry Connick Jr. who leaves the deepest scar. As Daryll Lee Cullum, the unhinged killer from Helen’s past, Connick gives an unexpectedly chilling performance — all sleaze and psychopathy, laced with just enough charisma to make the skin crawl.

While Copycat never reached the cultural heights of its genre peers, it arguably deserves more recognition. It’s intelligent without being pretentious, disturbing without resorting to excess. Its greatest strength lies in its empathy — the way it treats trauma and obsession not as spectacle but as psychological weight.

Thirty years on, Copycat remains a taut and classy thriller that bridges the gap between mainstream suspense and thoughtful character study. In an era of imitators, Amiel’s film proved that imitation itself could be both the weapon and the wound.

The Prognosis:

A tight, mature thriller carried by two phenomenal leads and a chilling supporting turn from Harry Connick Jr. Copycat might have arrived in the shadow of greater hits, but time has revealed its precision and heart.

  • Saul Muerte

Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 — A Misguided Sequel Lost in Its Own Darkness

26 Sunday Oct 2025

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When Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 arrived in 2000, it was less a haunting continuation than a jarring detour — an ill-fated attempt to capitalise on the cultural storm whipped up by The Blair Witch Project just a year earlier. Directed by acclaimed documentarian Joe Berlinger, known for his work on true-crime investigations, the film promised a layered, self-aware dissection of horror fandom. Instead, it spiralled into a confused and heavy-handed meta-experiment that buried any sense of dread beneath studio interference and incoherent storytelling.

Set in a world where The Blair Witch Project is treated as a fictional film, Book of Shadows follows a group of obsessed fans who embark on a tour of Burkittsville’s cursed woods. After a night of drinking and ritualistic dabbling, they awaken with no memory of what occurred — only to discover that something unspeakable has followed them back to civilisation. It’s a concept that could have worked, especially given Berlinger’s fascination with media, hysteria, and the blurred line between truth and fiction. But what unfolds is a tonal nightmare: part supernatural horror, part psychological thriller, and part MTV-era montage stitched together under studio panic.

Gone is the quiet, creeping terror that made The Blair Witch Project revolutionary. In its place are slick edits, forced symbolism, and a heavy-metal soundtrack that feels more Hot Topic than haunting. The atmosphere never gels; Berlinger’s original vision — a slow-burn descent into mass paranoia — was hacked apart in post-production, leaving behind something neither smart nor scary.

Even the performances, led by Jeffrey Donovan and Kim Director, struggle against the chaos. There’s a glimmer of an idea buried in there — a commentary on obsession and media manipulation — but it’s drowned by overwrought exposition and desperate attempts to shock.

Twenty-five years later, Book of Shadows remains one of horror’s most perplexing sequels: too ambitious for its own good yet too compromised to deliver. Whatever spirit haunted the woods of Burkittsville was lost in translation — and Elly Kedward would indeed be spinning in her grave.

The Prognosis:

A muddled, misguided sequel that confuses provocation with profundity. Berlinger’s vision was strangled by studio meddling, leaving behind only echoes of what might have been.

  • Saul Muerte

The Persistence of the Franchise Haunting: Revisiting The Conjuring: Last Rites and I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025)

26 Sunday Oct 2025

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As Halloween draws near, horror once again becomes a shared ritual — a season of remembrance for stories that refuse to stay dead. Surgeons of Horror continues its Halloweekend celebration by exploring two of the year’s biggest horror sequels — The Conjuring: Last Rites and I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025) — both of which resurrect familiar spirits for a new generation. Each film proves that in horror, the past is never truly buried. It lingers, waiting to be summoned.

In horror, nothing stays buried for long. The genre thrives on return — the killer who rises again, the curse that refuses to fade, the franchise that won’t go quietly into the night. As Halloween approaches, two recent releases — The Conjuring: Last Rites and I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025) — embody that familiar resurrection instinct. Both reach back into the collective unconscious of horror fandom, summoning their mythologies for one more invocation. The result? A cinematic séance with two very different spirits.

Where The Conjuring franchise has become synonymous with ecclesiastical dread and the poetics of possession, Last Rites marks its most reflective chapter yet. It is less about the shrieks in the dark than the quiet toll of faith under siege. Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga return with a weary grace, embodying spiritual endurance as Ed and Lorraine Warren face a final reckoning. The film’s success — the highest-grossing in the series to date — suggests that audiences still crave the sacred amid the spectral. Horror, after all, has always been the Church of the uncertain.

Director Michael Chaves, whose previous entries divided fans, appears here at his most composed. The film leans on ritual and rhythm, crafting its horror from slow encroachment rather than surprise. Where early Conjuring installments sought to make the invisible visible — the demonic literalised through spectacle — Last Rites internalises the terror. It becomes about spiritual corrosion and the limits of belief. The scares are fewer, but the unease lingers longer, like a stain that refuses absolution.

THE CONJURING: LAST RITES: BUY OR RENT NOW

If The Conjuring franchise operates as a gothic cathedral — all solemnity, candlelight, and conviction — then I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025) is its neon-lit funhouse mirror. Twenty-eight years on from the original, the slasher that once defined late-’90s cool has been reborn for a postmodern audience weaned on legacy sequels and self-awareness. The returning players — older, guiltier, carrying the weight of past sins — are now haunted less by the killer with a hook than by the cultural echo of their own youth.

The new Summer trades the slick polish of the original for something darker and more psychologically knotted. Director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson injects a contemporary anxiety into the glossy nostalgia — an unease about memory, mythmaking, and the impossibility of escape in a world where the past is always trending. It’s a film about being haunted by an earlier version of yourself, both on-screen and off. If The Conjuring: Last Rites examines faith as a haunted institution, I Know What You Did Last Summer dissects nostalgia as a haunted emotion.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER: BUY OR RENT NOW

Taken together, the two films form an accidental dialogue about horror’s relationship with repetition. The genre has always been cyclical — the curse that returns, the scream that echoes — but in 2025, the loop feels newly self-conscious. We no longer revisit the past merely to reanimate it; we revisit to interrogate it. What does it mean that we find comfort in repetition? That audiences continue to gather for another exorcism, another confession, another reckoning with sins once buried? Perhaps the modern horror franchise is the truest ghost story of all: one where the spectre is the story itself, forever refusing release.

It’s telling that both films found such success not by reinventing their formulas but by leaning into legacy. The Conjuring: Last Rites positions itself as a summation — the solemn benediction of a franchise that once defined a new wave of studio horror. I Know What You Did Last Summer, meanwhile, taps into the ironic nostalgia economy, where a wink to the camera can coexist with genuine bloodletting. Between them lies the spectrum of modern horror’s obsessions: belief, guilt, and the inability to let go.

As studios mine familiar IPs for one more scare, it’s easy to be cynical. Yet these films remind us that the franchise model, at its best, functions like folklore — stories retold, reshaped, and reinterpreted for each generation. Every return is an exorcism, every revival a confession. And as long as we keep watching, the ghosts — cinematic or otherwise — will keep coming back.

In this year’s crowded Halloween line-up, Last Rites and I Know What You Did Last Summer stand not as nostalgic curios, but as mirrors reflecting horror’s restless soul. The genre’s truest power has never been novelty, but endurance. Horror doesn’t die — it reincarnates, forever compelled to haunt itself.

  • Saul Muerte

This article is part of Surgeons of Horror’s 2025 Halloweekend coverage — a series of features and retrospectives exploring horror’s many faces, from sacred hauntings to nostalgic revivals. Stay tuned for upcoming deep dives into Weapons, The Toxic Avenger, Freakier Friday, The Evil Dead, and HIM — because Halloween isn’t just a night. It’s a ritual.

A Halloweekend Movie Marathon: The Home Entertainment Guide

25 Saturday Oct 2025

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Halloween rarely stays confined to a single night. The ritual of the Halloweekend—a three-day communion of darkness, nostalgia, and popcorn—has become an annual rite for horror fans. It’s a time when the barriers between the cinema and the living room dissolve, and the flicker of the television once again becomes our campfire glow. This year, as October 31st falls on a Friday, it’s the perfect excuse to transform your home into a theatre of the uncanny.

From franchise resurrections and genre experiments to reanimated cult icons and family-friendly frights, this year’s home entertainment line-up offers a spectrum of screams for every taste. Whether you crave dread-laden mythology, subversive satire, or a gentle chill that still lets the kids sleep at night, here’s your guide to building a Halloweekend Movie Marathon worthy of the season.

The Franchises Return: Evil Never Dies, It Just Streams Differently

Sequels are the lifeblood of the horror ecosystem, and 2024–2025 has delivered them with unholy enthusiasm. The Conjuring: Last Rites has become the highest-grossing entry in the franchise—proof that James Wan’s universe of haunted faith still has audiences under its spell. The film closes the Ed and Lorraine Warren saga with ritualistic grandeur, blending theological terror with operatic spectacle. It’s horror as folklore, deeply Catholic yet oddly romantic, and best watched with the lights off and the volume indecently high.

Hot on its spectral heels comes I Know What You Did Last Summer, the long-awaited sequel that trades the 1990s teen slasher sheen for something darker and more mournful. Age has crept into its survivors, and the sins of the past feel heavier, more human. Together, these two films form the perfect one-two punch for a Friday night of ghosts and guilt—two hauntings from opposite ends of the horror spectrum.

If you still have stamina after that, revisit The Black Phone. Scott Derrickson’s original remains a masterclass in slow-burn suspense, and Ethan Hawke’s masked performance feels destined to be rediscovered each Halloween.

Weapons of Fear: The New Face of Prestige Horror

For those who prefer their terror thoughtful, Weapons stands as this year’s dark horse—a meticulously constructed nightmare that unfolds with existential precision. Director Zach Cregger’s follow-up to Barbarian dissects masculinity and violence through a lens of cosmic dread, proving once again that the most terrifying monsters are often human. It’s not just horror; it’s arthouse apocalypse.

And just beyond the horizon lurks HIM—available to pre-order now and set to release in early November. Word from festival circuits teases something Lovecraftian, something deeply unsettling. If Weapons is about human violence, HIM promises to explore the unfathomable violence of the universe itself. For the serious horror aesthete, these two titles belong at the heart of your Halloweekend viewing.

Horror Meets Humour: The Body Horrific

Sometimes the only way to survive the darkness is to laugh through the blood. Together, starring Alison Brie and Dave Franco, does exactly that—fusing body horror with relationship disintegration in a way that’s both hilarious and grotesque. It’s Cronenberg by way of couple’s therapy, proof that the boundaries between love and revulsion remain dangerously thin.

Then there’s The Toxic Avenger (2025), the riotous revival of Troma’s most beloved mutant. Director Macon Blair reimagines the cult classic for a new age of environmental anxiety and pop-cultural absurdity. With Peter Dinklage and Kevin Bacon leading the chaos, it’s a delirious love letter to 1980s splatter cinema—messy, magnificent, and defiantly unclean. Expect a full-length exploration of this one soon on Surgeons of Horror, because The Toxic Avenger deserves more than a mere mention; it’s a mutation worth celebrating.

Family Frights: When the Night Belongs to Everyone

For those who prefer their ghosts gentle and their monsters misunderstood, Halloween can still be a shared experience. Freakier Friday offers body-swap comedy with a spectral twist—perfect for a family-friendly movie night that nods toward the macabre without the nightmares. Meanwhile, Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride remains a perennial classic, a gothic romance that continues to delight and haunt with its delicate stop-motion melancholy.

Pair these two for Sunday evening—an epilogue of warmth after the chaos, proof that the spirit of Halloween can be cosy, not just cold.

Classics Reawakened: Blood and Memory

No Halloween is complete without returning to the foundations. The Evil Dead (1981), Sam Raimi’s kinetic debut, remains one of the most visceral horror experiences ever committed to film. Its mixture of slapstick terror and relentless energy forged the DNA of modern horror filmmaking. Forty years later, its influence is still bleeding into the genre’s veins. Watching it today is like summoning the raw essence of what makes horror eternal: audacity, invention, and the thrill of transgression.

Curtain Call: The Comfort of Fear

Halloween on screen has evolved beyond simple scares—it’s a shared ritual, a space for collective catharsis. The modern horror fan might binge on supernatural sequels, dissect social allegories, or seek comfort in gothic animation. Yet the result is the same: we gather in the dark to feel alive.

This Halloweekend, the ghosts aren’t outside—they’re waiting in your queue. So dim the lights, queue up your terror of choice, and let the screen glow like a candle in the night.

  • Saul Muerte

Buried Ambitions — Tobe Hooper’s “Mortuary” Tries to Laugh Through the Rot

20 Monday Oct 2025

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By 2005, Tobe Hooper’s once fearsome reputation as a master of horror had begun to fade into something far more uncertain. Mortuary, his final American feature before his death, feels like a strange, uneasy echo of the brilliance that gave us The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Poltergeist. Set in a decrepit Californian funeral home and built around a familiar haunted house premise, it’s a film that wants to be both grotesque and gleeful — a late-career experiment in dark comedy that never quite rises from the slab.

The story follows a widowed mother (Denise Crosby) and her two children who relocate to take over an old mortuary, despite the locals’ warnings of curses, restless dead, and black ooze seeping from the earth. Before long, things decay in true Hooper fashion: corpses twitch, strange fungi spread, and reality slips into chaos. Beneath the mess, though, is a faint pulse of humour — a macabre self-awareness that nods toward Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, where he first married horror and absurdity in equal measure.

But here, the tonal blend doesn’t quite hold. The gags are awkwardly timed, the scares too routine, and the effects — though spirited — never disguise the low budget. Still, there’s something oddly endearing about Hooper’s refusal to take it all too seriously. The film occasionally sparkles with flashes of his old, anarchic wit — a momentary reminder of the director who once turned rural America into a living nightmare.

Unfortunately, Mortuary never finds its footing. What should have been a campy, self-aware romp too often feels sluggish and shapeless, as though Hooper was wrestling with the ghosts of his own filmography.

The Prognosis:

A faint echo of a great filmmaker’s past glories — Mortuary is too uneven to resurrect Hooper’s legacy, but its dark humour and decaying charm make it a curious, if minor, entry in his body of work.

  • Saul Muerte

Beyond the Crime Scene: Stuart Ortiz and the Cosmic Anatomy of Fear

20 Monday Oct 2025

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In Strange Harvest, Ortiz reshapes the language of true-crime horror, transforming the procedural form into a conduit for cosmic unease — a subtle evolution from his Grave Encounters origins.

In Strange Harvest, Stuart Ortiz — one half of the duo behind Grave Encounters — returns to the found footage-adjacent horror landscape with a surprising degree of control and maturity. Where Grave Encounters (2011) revelled in its haunted asylum chaos and digital distortion, Strange Harvest feels leaner and more deliberate, channelling that same eerie energy into a faux true-crime format that plays like Zodiac meets The Fourth Kind.

The film opens with what seems like a procedural—detectives responding to a welfare check in suburban San Bernardino—but quickly descends into something far darker. A murdered family, strange symbols written in blood, and the re-emergence of a serial killer known as “Mr. Shiny” set the stage for a horror narrative that thrives on implication and dread. Each new crime scene pushes the story further into cosmic territory, hinting at malevolent forces that exist well beyond the scope of human comprehension.

Ortiz demonstrates that he’s learned from over a decade in the horror trenches. His handling of the faux documentary format feels both grounded and authentic, using interviews, news footage, and handheld police recordings to build a layered mythology around the murders. The pacing is steady but tense, and the editing keeps the viewer in that unnerving space between realism and the supernatural — a sweet spot Ortiz has always excelled at.

While the premise is simple, that’s part of its strength. Strange Harvest doesn’t overcomplicate its narrative or chase high-concept spectacle; instead, it leans into its lo-fi authenticity, letting the horror emerge through atmosphere and suggestion. There are shades of procedural TV mixed with cosmic unease, but Ortiz ties it together with a firm grasp of tone and an eye for unsettling imagery.

It’s a testament to Ortiz’s craft that what could have been another run-of-the-mill mockumentary instead feels genuinely unnerving. Strange Harvest proves that the Grave Encounters legacy wasn’t a one-off fluke — Ortiz remains a filmmaker who understands how to weaponise form, texture, and the illusion of truth to make horror hit a little too close to home.

The Prognosis:

A deceptively simple yet chilling faux true-crime horror that tightens the screws through atmosphere and implication. Ortiz’s strongest solo work to date.

  • Saul Muerte

Tokyo Fist: Shinya Tsukamoto’s Violent Ballet of Flesh and Fury Turns 30

20 Monday Oct 2025

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When Tokyo Fist exploded onto screens in 1995, it was less a film than a sensory assault — a hallucinatory plunge into the body and the city, where love, rage, and industrial noise fused into something both grotesque and transcendent. Thirty years on, Shinya Tsukamoto’s bruised masterpiece still feels electrifying, a raw depiction of masculine collapse that punches with every frame.

Following Tetsuo: The Iron Man and Tetsuo II: Body Hammer, Tsukamoto turned his kinetic eye inward, shifting from techno-flesh obsession to the violence that seethes beneath modern alienation. The story seems simple: a meek salaryman, Tsuda (played by Tsukamoto himself), reunites with a childhood friend turned boxer, Kojima, and suspects him of seducing his fiancée, Hizuru (Hisashi Fujii). But in Tsukamoto’s world, suspicion is only the spark — what follows is an implosion of jealousy and self-destruction that blurs the lines between punishment, passion, and transcendence.

As Tsuda trains and reshapes his body into a weapon, the film mutates into a study of transformation — not heroic, but pathological. His bruises and cuts become symbols of rebirth, his pain the only way to feel alive amid Tokyo’s oppressive sprawl. Tsukamoto’s editing and camerawork — all whiplash movement and oppressive close-ups — turn every punch into a scream of existential agony.

There’s also a surprising tenderness beneath the steel. Hizuru’s own evolution, from passive fiancée to self-actualising force, brings balance to the film’s masculine ferocity. Tsukamoto’s vision is never merely about brutality; it’s about connection through suffering and finding the pulse of life in the noise of decay.

Three decades later, Tokyo Fist remains a testament to Tsukamoto’s ability to merge the physical and the psychological into pure cinematic expression. It’s as vital, exhausting, and hypnotic as ever — a bruised valentine to the body under siege and the madness that lurks beneath the surface of civility.

The Prognosis:

A feral, intimate, and unforgettable piece of Japanese cyberpunk melodrama, Tokyo Fist still lands its blows with unflinching force. Tsukamoto’s vision is as vital today as it was in 1995 — both brutal and strangely beautiful.

  • Saul Muerte

Re-Animator (1985) – Mad Science, Maximum Splatter!

17 Friday Oct 2025

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“Herbert West has a very good head… on his shoulders. And another one… in a dish on his desk.”

If you haunted the horror aisle of your local video store in the 1980s, chances are you’ve seen Re-Animator glaring back at you from a lurid neon-green VHS sleeve. Released in 1985, Stuart Gordon’s cult classic is the stuff of midnight movie legend: a delirious cocktail of Lovecraft, gore, black comedy, and mad science that set a new standard for splatter cinema.

Loosely adapted from H.P. Lovecraft’s Herbert West—Reanimator, the story plunges into the twisted experiments of medical student Herbert West (Jeffrey Combs, in a career-defining role). West has discovered a serum capable of reanimating the dead—though what comes back is never quite what was lost. As corpses twitch, shriek, and explode back into grotesque parodies of life, West’s obsession pushes medicine, morality, and sanity to their breaking point.

What makes Re-Animator endure, 40 years later, is the sheer precision of its madness. Stuart Gordon, in his feature debut, creates a bold visual aesthetic: sterile hospital halls colliding with garish splatter, glowing syringes of radioactive-green fluid cutting through shadow, and a pace that never lets you catch your breath. It’s both theatrical and grimy, like Lovecraft dragged kicking and screaming into the grindhouse.

Then there are the performances. Jeffrey Combs doesn’t just play Herbert West—he becomes him. Clinical, arrogant, and perversely charismatic, West is one of horror’s most iconic creations, a character whose clipped delivery and maniacal focus have carved him a permanent place in the genre pantheon. Beside him, Barbara Crampton brings heart and vulnerability to Megan Halsey, grounding the film’s madness in a performance that makes her both victim and survivor. The chemistry between Combs and Crampton, along with Bruce Abbott as the conflicted Dan Cain, is the human spine of the film’s monstrous body.

And then, of course, there’s the gore. Re-Animator doesn’t just dip into blood—it wallows in it. Heads roll (literally), entrails spill, and practical effects run wild with gleeful excess. This is splatter at its peak: not just shocking, but imaginative, choreographed chaos that keeps finding new ways to disturb and delight. Gordon walks the razor’s edge between horror and comedy, and somehow, miraculously, never loses balance.

Four decades on, Re-Animator is still a head of its class. It’s soaked in Lovecraftian dread, powered by unforgettable performances, and dripping with the kind of splatter that defined an era of VHS horror. Whether you’re a first-time renter or a long-time cult devotee, Re-Animator remains that rare horror feature that shocks, entertains, and endures—an unholy hybrid of brains, blood, and black humour that refuses to die.

📼 Staff Pick!
“One of the goriest, funniest, and most unforgettable horror films of the ‘80s. Jeffrey Combs IS Herbert West. Be warned: once you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it… and you won’t want to.”

  • Saul Muerte

Black Phone 2 — Derrickson Dials Back the Horror, But the Line’s Gone Cold

16 Thursday Oct 2025

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Scott Derrickson returns to familiar ground with Black Phone 2 (2025), a sequel that stretches the eerie premise of his 2022 hit into icier, more supernatural territory — but the call doesn’t quite connect this time.

Set four years after Finney Blake’s (Mason Thames) narrow escape from The Grabber, the film finds the once-traumatised boy struggling to rebuild his life under the weight of memory and unresolved fear. His sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw) remains gifted — or cursed — with psychic visions, and when she begins dreaming of three missing boys at a winter camp, the black phone begins to ring again. Only this time, the voice on the other end isn’t just calling from the past — it’s pulling them back into it.

Derrickson, who cut his teeth on Sinister and Deliver Us from Evil, once again demonstrates a clear mastery of atmosphere. His use of light and shadow is chillingly deliberate, and the wintry backdrop gives the sequel a haunting, desaturated beauty that recalls the nightmare logic of A Nightmare on Elm Street crossed with the isolation of Friday the 13th. The cinematography by Brett Jutkiewicz captures frost-bitten textures and dreamlike corridors of fear, keeping the mood taut even when the story falters.

And falter it does. Despite a promising setup, Black Phone 2 struggles to escape the confines of its own mythology. What once felt mysterious and emotionally grounded now feels repetitive and muddled. The attempts to expand The Grabber’s lore — turning him into a supernatural force rather than a disturbed man — rob the story of its primal fear. The original thrived on ambiguity; this sequel over-explains.

Mason Thames and Madeleine McGraw both deliver earnest performances, grounding their characters in shared trauma, but they’re hampered by dialogue that’s often clunky and exposition-heavy. Even the film’s pacing, once one of Derrickson’s strong suits, slips into uneven rhythms — long stretches of ghostly visions interrupted by bursts of predictable violence.

Still, credit where it’s due: Derrickson’s visual language remains potent. Echoes of Sinister resonate throughout, from the use of distorted sound design to the flicker of analogue textures, suggesting a filmmaker who still knows how to craft a mood. The Grabber, though used sparingly, continues to terrify — his mask, redesigned with subtle variations, remains one of modern horror’s most unsettling icons.

But for all its chills, Black Phone 2 can’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. It’s a sequel haunted not only by its ghostly antagonist but by the shadow of a stronger predecessor. Derrickson’s talent for visual dread is undeniable — he just needs a story worth listening to again.

The Prognosis:

Black Phone 2 has the atmosphere, tension, and menace you’d expect from Scott Derrickson, but not the clarity or emotional pull that made the original so striking. Despite its best efforts to evolve into a supernatural slasher, this follow-up never quite finds its signal.

In the end, Black Phone 2 just doesn’t have time to thaw out properly — it rings, but the line’s gone cold.

  • Saul Muerte