In Heretic, theological debate takes centre stage, crafting a dense and dialogue-heavy narrative that explores themes of faith, gender, and control with a sharp eye. This cerebral approach eschews traditional horror or thriller beats for something far more introspective, building an almost claustrophobic sense of intellectual combat. While this bold stylistic choice is likely to alienate some viewers, it succeeds in setting the film apart as an ambitious and thought-provoking piece.
Hugh Grant delivers a strong performance, skillfully embodying a man both charming and unsettling in his convictions. However, at times, his characteristic mannerisms seep into the portrayal, unintentionally breaking the fourth wall and pulling the viewer out of the moment. It’s a flaw that mars an otherwise compelling performance, yet one that never completely derails the film.
Sophie Thatcher, in contrast, fully immerses herself in her role, bringing nuance and emotional weight to her character. Her scenes resonate deeply, anchoring the more abstract elements of the narrative with raw, relatable humanity. Meanwhile, Chloe East provides a spirited performance but finds herself hindered by a script that occasionally sacrifices her character’s integrity for plot convenience. Despite this, she still manages to shine in key moments, displaying the kind of talent that could thrive under better material.
The Prognosis:
While Heretic is far from perfect, its willingness to tackle complex issues through layered dialogue and thematic depth makes it a rewarding watch for those willing to engage with its intricacies. It’s a film that dares to challenge the audience, even if it stumbles along the way.
Double Blind offers a surprisingly good time for a film rooted in such a simple premise. The high-concept hook—”fall asleep, you die”—injects immediate tension into its tale of survival, but the execution struggles to maintain that initial promise. Director Ian Hunt-Duffy crafts a claustrophobic atmosphere within the confines of the medical facility, effectively trapping both the characters and the audience in an ever-worsening nightmare.
The ensemble cast, led by Millie Brady as the reluctant leader Claire, does their best to elevate the material. Brady delivers a strong performance, showcasing her ability to carry a film despite an often predictable script. Pollyanna McIntosh and Akshay Kumar lend some gravitas to the proceedings, but their talents are underutilised in roles that rarely rise above stock character archetypes. Abby Fitz and Brenock O’Connor add energy to their respective roles but are similarly boxed in by the film’s limited character development.
As the narrative unfolds, the film leans heavily on paranoia and infighting, a well-trodden path for ensemble survival stories. While some moments of tension hit their mark, the lack of depth in character motivations and relationships keeps the drama from fully resonating. The script’s attempt to introduce twists and moral dilemmas feels undercooked, and the pacing suffers as the story meanders between predictable deaths and a finale that lacks impact.
However, Hunt-Duffy deserves credit for making the most of the low budget. The film’s stark visual style and tight editing emphasise the characters’ mounting exhaustion and fear, creating a palpable sense of unease. Despite its flaws, Double Blind is not without its charms. It’s a modest thriller that entertains in bursts but fails to leave a lasting impression.
For fans of high-stakes survival horror, Double Blind offers a passable experience, but its lack of originality and thin characterisation keep it from standing out in an already crowded genre.
Blumhouse Productions made its name with innovative horror films that struck a chord with audiences, often redefining the genre through clever storytelling and sharp commentary. Unfortunately, Afraid is a painful reminder of how far they’ve drifted from their golden years. Adding to the disappointment is the involvement of Chris Weitz, whose early career suggested he was destined for much greater things than this hollow misfire.
Weitz, once celebrated for his deft handling of comedies like American Pie and heartfelt adaptations like About a Boy, and even the ambitious yet divisive The Golden Compass, seems to have lost his way entirely. His association with Afraid begs the question: what happened? The film bears none of the charm, depth, or even technical polish of his earlier work. Instead, it’s a lifeless slog that fails to inspire fear, intrigue, or any emotional response beyond exasperation.
The premise—centered on the growing unease around artificial intelligence—has potential but is squandered on cheap thrills and half-baked ideas. Rather than offering a meaningful exploration of our AI-driven anxieties, Afraid merely skims the surface. Its portrayal of a bleak, AI-dominated future feels both uninspired and needlessly nihilistic. The film provides no real solutions, no glimmers of hope, and, frankly, no compelling reason for its existence.
Blumhouse’s hallmark has always been its ability to make the most of modest budgets, yet Afraid looks and feels like a bargain-bin effort. The production design lacks creativity, the dialogue is wooden, and the pacing is agonisingly slow. In a world where AI-themed horror can spark fascinating debates, this film opts for cheap scares and empty platitudes, leaving viewers frustrated and disengaged.
If the goal was to provoke thought or generate terror, Afraid misses on both counts. It’s a film that feels as lifeless as the machines it warns against, offering nothing to its audience and even less to the horror genre.
The Prognosis:
Blumhouse once showed promise as a bastion of modern horror, but with Afraid, they seem to be running on fumes. Combined with Weitz’s fall from grace, this film is a tragic testament to squandered potential. Hope may not exist in the world of Afraid, and after watching it, you’ll be hard-pressed to find any for its creators, either.
The original The Crow (1994) was a lightning-in-a-bottle masterpiece, combining poetic tragedy, raw emotionality, and an iconic aesthetic that cemented its place as a cult classic. In stark contrast, the 2024 remake feels like a soulless shadow, lacking any semblance of the mythos or gravitas that made its predecessor soar. Under Rupert Sanders’ direction, the film struggles to find its footing, opting for a bloated backstory and needless embellishments that ultimately dilute its essence.
At the heart of the issue is the misguided focus on Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) and Shelly’s (FKA Twigs) relationship. Rather than allowing their love to haunt the narrative as a poignant undercurrent, the remake drowns the story in flashbacks and overwrought melodrama. This obsession with fleshing out their past not only drags the pacing but also misses the point of the original’s mythic simplicity. In doing so, the remake becomes a pale, lifeless interpretation—an empty vessel devoid of the soul and pathos that defined its core.
The term for something that lacks mythos is anemic, and that word encapsulates Skarsgård’s portrayal of Eric Draven. While the actor has delivered magnetic performances elsewhere (It, Barbarian), here he’s saddled with a character stripped of depth or nuance. His Eric is all façade—a slick veneer of gothic aesthetics with nothing substantive beneath. Without material that allows him to explore Eric’s torment, grief, and vengeance, Skarsgård’s performance is reduced to a hollow pantomime of what Brandon Lee immortalised.
Visually, the film occasionally nods to the original’s atmospheric brilliance but never matches its haunting beauty. The action sequences feel stale, the villains cartoonish, and the film’s tonal identity shifts awkwardly between brooding melodrama and half-baked action thriller. By attempting to expand the lore and tinker with the narrative, Sanders inadvertently strips The Crow of its primal, mythic power, leaving an insipid rehash of what was once a deeply moving story of love, loss, and redemption.
The Prognosis:
This Crow doesn’t soar—it flaps clumsily and crashes, a sad reminder that not all stories demand a retelling.
Melissa Barrera’s undeniable star power is the cornerstone of Your Monster, a feature-length adaptation of Caroline Lindy’s acclaimed short film. For fans of Barrera (Scream, In the Heights), her magnetic screen presence alone may be reason enough to watch, as she brings depth and relatability to a tale rooted in personal struggle and societal neglect. As Lindy’s script expands from its original short-film premise, it wrestles with maintaining focus, resulting in uneven pacing, but Barrera keeps the emotional center intact, inviting viewers into the stormy psyche of her character.
Your Monster reimagines the archetypal Beauty and the Beast tale, twisting its romantic elements into a metaphor for mental health—a beast that both protects and consumes its host. For this reviewer, the premise evokes nostalgia for the 1980s TV series starring Ron Perlman and Linda Hamilton, though Lindy’s darker approach is very much a product of modern anxieties. The film’s strength lies in its exploration of neglected mental health, illustrating how inner demons, if left unaddressed, can fester into something monstrous. However, the film’s genre-blending between psychological drama and fantastical horror doesn’t always land, leaving the metaphor sometimes muddled. Still, with Barrera’s compelling performance and moments of heartfelt reflection, Your Monster offers a thoughtful, if flawed, glimpse into the monsters we create—and the possibility of taming them.
Visually, the film delivers an atmospheric experience that balances between eerie intimacy and fantastical surrealism. The titular monster’s design—a blend of shadow and human-like features—is both unnerving and strangely sympathetic, embodying the duality of its role in the protagonist’s life. Caroline Lindy’s direction demonstrates a strong grasp of mood and symbolism, though some of the film’s extended sequences veer into indulgence, stretching its central conceit thin.
The Prognosis:
Despite its flaws, Your Monster is a bold, heartfelt exploration of inner turmoil and resilience, buoyed by Barrera’s standout performance and a narrative that dares to wade into murky emotional depths. It’s imperfect but worth a watch for those seeking a horror story with a poignant emotional core.
Saul Muerte
Your Monster will be screening in Australian cinemas nationwide from 28th Nov.
Jayro Bustamante’s Rita is a visually ambitious yet emotionally shallow re-imagination of the horrifying 2017 Guatemala orphanage fire. While its foundation—a melding of real-world tragedy with a dark fantasy lens—seems ripe for compelling storytelling, Rita stumbles in its execution, failing to deliver on its potential. The film presents a 13-year-old girl’s harrowing escape from an abusive father, only to find herself in a dystopian state-run institution. Here, fantastical beings and super-powered girls take center stage, attempting to rebel against the malevolent forces controlling their world.
The film’s premise is undeniably intriguing, and Bustamante’s attempt to incorporate fantasy elements, like Rita joining groups called Angels, Wolves, and Rainbows, is conceptually interesting. However, the narrative falters under the weight of sluggish pacing and dialogue-heavy sequences that neither propel the plot nor deepen the characters. Giuliana Santa Cruz gives a commendable performance as Rita, but even her earnest portrayal cannot breathe life into a script that feels meandering and disjointed. While one might hope for the emotional resonance and symbolic depth of a film like Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth,Rita instead comes across as lacklustre and uninspired.
The film’s biggest misstep lies in its failure to honour the gravity of its source material. The 2017 tragedy is a stark and deeply troubling piece of recent history, yet Rita struggles to balance its fantastical re-imagining with the weight of the real events. The result is a narrative that feels hollow and disconnected from the emotional core it seeks to explore.
The Prognosis:
Despite its commendable ambition and some striking visual moments, Rita ultimately lacks the substance and cohesion to leave a lasting impact. It’s a disappointing venture that falls far short of its promising premise.
Saul Muerte
Rita is streaming on Shudder from Fri 22nd November
So here we are reviewing another sequel, and how long will we go this time before referring to the SOH list of what makes a good sequel? Well for a start, Smile 2 does the right thing by starting soon after the last film, which (if you remember) ended with the lead character’s ex-boyfriend/cop friend Joel (played by Kyle Gallner) watching her self-immolate. So, by the rules established from the first movie, that means the Smile Curse has been passed onto him. And the opening of this new instalment deals with that, as we discover Joel at the end of his 6-day run (the length of the curse before the Smile Demon has to kill its host and choose another victim). Having been put through the wringer that this creature puts you through, Joel’s course of action is very predictable in a: if-you’re-gonna-go-down-take- somebody-with-you kind of way. From here we discover this film’s protagonist, Skye Riley (played by Charlie’s Angels / Aladdin’s Naomi Scott). A mega popstar who’s half Lady Gaga, half Britney Spears (at the time she was conceived by writer / director Parker Finn, that’s who he had to go off as inspiration, although today the only parallel you immediately think of is Tay Tay). With the demon latched onto her, what ensues is 2 hours of the same sort of relentless trauma the original film’s lead – Rose Cotter – suffered through. And that’s where we hit the crux of it all. The film’s spirit (as set by its predecessor) is to put the lead through relentless hell. Till she loses. And then the hell passes on to another for the next film. It’s a cliché production line approach that one expects from this sequel, but hopes will have the courage to break. Or at least warp.
Spoiler alert, it doesn’t. But it does end with a twist that is both daring and limiting in terms of where it leaves off for Smile 3. But that’s for that review. This is Smile 2, and essentially what this film does well – very well in fact – is exactly what it did the first-time round (see above re: hell). There’s a nice old skool rhythm to Finn’s directing. Whether it be his audacious use of the pan function on his tripod head, or pretentious use of wide-angle lenses, or the gratuitous use of 70’s style GFX for the opening titles (all of which – as cinematic storytelling devices go – seem to be making a bit of a comeback lately. Especially in other medium to small budget horrors like Barbarian and The Black Phone etc). But does all this make Finn a leader or a follower? All we know is that the afore mentioned thing this movie does well is also its prison. For this Demon has an invincibility to it that makes it all so… pointless. There is nothing anyone can try to defeat it. And even then, they only start trying AFTER they chew up most of the movie runtime wondering if they are going crazy, believing they are not going crazy, and figuring out what is making them go crazy. And even then, once they try stuff, there’s nothing this creature can’t defeat with a flick of the lazy writer’s wand…. Ie: “It was all in your head”. For anything approaching a plan or a way to combat it is basically an illusion conjured by the demon itself to give you false hope, so why bother? Even the method that Scott’s Riley tries to beat the creature this time round feels eerily similar to the first film. So straight away you know it’s not gonna work. And spoiler alert, when it doesn’t, you do feel decidedly annoyed. Because, as with the golden rule of writing (where the protagonist has to make the hard choice) you, as a storyteller HAVE to give your protagonist (and therefore your audience) hope. Otherwise there are no stakes, and instead what you are watching is porn. Which is fine. Who doesn’t love porn? But porn is not great story-telling.
In terms of performance – Scott does a good job of portraying a mega star under the sort of strain unique to individuals who are also a living breathing multimillion-dollar brand. And in her case, she is also combating a personal trauma in the form of a tragedy that takes place before the film (when do lead characters NOT have a harrowing event defining their backstories these days?)
The Prognosis:
Smile 2 has earned a lot at the box office and is a critical hit because admittedly it is a very good horror film. It’s just not a good film. Oh, and also, Jack Nicholson’s son has a small part in it. Smile if you can pick him.
When Anne and Patrick stumble into a black cab after a rough night out, they’re expecting a typical ride home—a relief from the cold night and the tensions simmering between them. However, the journey quickly turns dark as the cabbie, initially cheery and talkative, veers off course and takes them down a haunting, deserted road. It’s not long before the couple realises they’re locked in, trapped with a man whose jovial front hides something far more sinister. The setup is promising, drawing viewers in with an eerie atmosphere and unsettling undertones as the cab glides through unknown territory. Nick Frost’s cabbie is a captivating presence, maintaining a blend of unnerving charm and cryptic intent that keeps you guessing, at least at first.
The initial intrigue fades, though, as the film’s promise gets buried under an overly complicated narrative. It hints at folklore and supernatural elements but becomes too tangled in its own mythology, leaving audiences grasping for clarity. What could have been a tight, suspenseful thriller becomes increasingly disjointed, as each twist raises more questions than it answers. The film’s ambition to intertwine folklore with psychological terror is admirable, but it ultimately muddies the plot rather than enhancing it. By the midway point, it’s difficult to know whether the driver is meant to be supernatural, insane, or something in between. This indecisiveness leaves viewers adrift, and the potential fear factor wanes as confusion grows.
Frost delivers a solid performance, balancing his sinister and offbeat personas with the kind of ambiguity that could have made for a terrifying antagonist. Unfortunately, the script doesn’t give him enough to work with, pulling him—and the story—in too many directions to sustain a cohesive character arc. Anne and Patrick’s characters, while positioned as central to the driver’s twisted motives, remain frustratingly thin, with little to root for in their strained relationship. Their lack of depth also makes it harder to invest in their fate, leaving the suspense feeling lukewarm as the stakes grow unclear.
While Black Cab certainly has moments that showcase a creepy atmosphere, the lack of a clear trajectory undermines the tension that should be building. The deserted road setting, dark and mist-filled, is effectively spooky, yet the narrative undercuts the potential of this location, losing itself in meandering explanations of haunted histories that detract from the urgency of the couple’s plight. As the film lurches towards its bewildering conclusion, the story collapses into a mishmash of horror clichés and unfulfilled setups.
For horror fans seeking a taut, edge-of-your-seat thriller, Black Cab may be disappointing. The movie teases a terrifying ride but fails to stay on track, bogged down by a script that confuses mystery with aimlessness. With a stronger focus and a leaner narrative, it might have delivered on its bold premise, but as it stands, Black Cab is a missed opportunity that only occasionally taps into the horror lurking in the dark.
Don’t Move sets up a chilling scenario that would send shivers through even the steeliest viewer: grieving mother Iris (Kelsey Asbille) must fight for her life after a chance encounter with a ruthless serial killer who injects her with a paralytic agent. Directed by Adam Schindler and Brian Netto, the film attempts to merge high-stakes thrills with psychological horror, but it ultimately struggles to fully capitalise on its premise. Despite a well-rounded cast and bursts of tension, Don’t Move lacks the depth and danger that could have made it unforgettable.
The narrative begins with a promising setup as Iris, still reeling from personal tragedy, stumbles upon the killer. The film efficiently establishes a sense of urgency as she’s injected with the paralytic agent, setting a timer on her desperate attempt to escape before the drug takes hold. As she runs, hides, and fights to stay ahead of her assailant, the ticking clock injects some genuine suspense, and there are moments when Asbille’s performance as Iris—determined, terrified, and defiant—brings the urgency and fear to life.
Kelsey Asbille’s portrayal of Iris is commendable, as she navigates a spectrum of emotions from grief to desperation, giving a grounding force to a story that relies heavily on her character’s will to survive. Asbille’s performance feels layered and sincere, embodying a raw vulnerability that adds authenticity to the harrowing experience. Finn Wittrock, playing the serial killer, delivers a solid but somewhat predictable performance. Known for his versatility, Wittrock unfortunately leans into familiar territory here, lacking the nuance that could have elevated his character beyond the typical, single-minded predator. While he’s chilling in moments, Wittrock’s portrayal feels more like a trope than a fully realised antagonist, limiting the sense of menace he brings to the screen.
The film’s pacing is uneven, with moments of taut suspense broken up by lulls that feel oddly disconnected from the central tension. There are glimpses of innovation in the choreography of Iris’s attempts to elude her pursuer, yet the film rarely goes beyond surface-level thrills. While the script provides some gripping sequences, it often feels like Don’t Move is holding back, unwilling to push Iris’s ordeal into truly harrowing or unpredictable territory.
Much of Don’t Move‘s atmosphere hinges on its premise, but without a deeper exploration of Iris’s emotional or psychological state, the horror feels somewhat hollow. The directors capture a few standout moments of visual tension, but the film struggles to balance its action sequences with meaningful character development. Unlike films that masterfully blur the line between a physical and psychological threat, Don’t Move leans too heavily on formulaic horror conventions, never fully tapping into the deeper fears it flirts with.
The Prognosis:
Don’t Move offers an engaging thriller that falls short of its potential. Despite flashes of intensity and solid performances, it lacks the originality and edge to make it a lasting addition to the horror genre. For fans of survival thrillers, it may offer some fleeting thrills, but for those seeking a truly immersive experience, Don’t Move may feel disappointingly restrained.
The Piper brings Elizabeth Hurley back to the screen in a horror-thriller inspired by the chilling folklore of the Pied Piper. Directed by Anthony Waller (An American Werewolf in Paris), the film follows Liz (Hurley) and her daughter Amy (Mia Jenkins) as they attempt to start fresh in a small town in Germany. But as they settle in, an ominous force begins to stir—one that seems directly connected to Liz’s hidden past. The Piper, an ancient and vengeful entity, targets those who have wronged others, taking the children of those who bear guilty secrets. With Amy’s life in danger, Liz must confront both her past and the supernatural presence haunting her.
The film’s premise, rooted in the legendary Pied Piper tale, holds immense potential for a dark, psychological exploration of guilt and consequence. This is, after all, a story that has haunted generations with its chilling reminder of the cost of broken promises. Yet The Piper barely scratches the surface of the folklore’s psychological depth, opting instead for a more traditional supernatural thriller approach. Despite Hurley’s commendable performance, the film lacks the ambition to make full use of its unsettling premise, leaning on predictable scares and tired horror tropes rather than delving into the disturbing implications of the story.
Elizabeth Hurley brings a strong presence to the role of Liz, infusing her character with a mother’s desperation and guilt as she fights to protect her daughter. However, the script leaves her limited opportunities to elevate Liz into a more complex character. Mia Jenkins as Amy also shines in moments, adding a believable vulnerability to the role, though the character dynamics feel somewhat shallow. While the performances provide the film with glimmers of emotional depth, they can’t fully compensate for the lack of a compelling narrative arc or the film’s underwhelming exploration of its themes.
Where other films have managed to take inspiration from the Pied Piper and shape it into something uniquely sinister, The Piper seems hesitant to truly commit to its darker edges. Atom Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter comes to mind as a film that used this legend to explore community tragedy and moral ambiguity, grounding its horror in real human suffering. In contrast, The Piper remains content to skim the surface, favoring formulaic supernatural scares over any meaningful exploration of redemption or the consequences of guilt. This lack of thematic depth ultimately weakens the film, leaving it feeling more like a missed opportunity than a fresh take on folklore horror.
Visually, The Piper offers some well-composed shots that attempt to capture the haunting atmosphere of its German setting. Waller’s direction, while competent, seems restrained here, missing the stylistic ambition that might have heightened the film’s tension. Known for his work on An American Werewolf in Paris, Waller has a knack for creating eerie atmospheres, yet The Piper doesn’t quite capture that sense of dread on the same level, and the setting feels underutilized as a backdrop for horror.
Ultimately, The Piper doesn’t manage to live up to the potential of its inspiration, feeling more like a generic supernatural thriller than a fresh horror tale. Hurley’s return to the screen, bolstered by a solid supporting cast including Tara Fitzgerald and Robert Daws, is enjoyable, but it’s not enough to make this a standout. For fans of the Pied Piper legend hoping for a film that taps into the unsettling aspects of the myth, The Piper may feel like a missed chance, delivering a predictable story without the depth or innovation that could have made it memorable.
The Prognosis:
The Piper leaves viewers with a familiar yet unremarkable tale of vengeance from beyond, one that struggles to evoke the eerie, cautionary spirit of its source material. For those looking for a fresh twist on classic folklore, this film falls short, leaving the true horror of the Pied Piper myth waiting for a more ambitious interpretation.
Saul Muerte
Piper is available for Home Entertainment from 6th November.
Surgeons of Horror 