Category Archives: Movie review

“In Her Skin: The Stylist and the High Cost of Belonging”

13 Friday Jun 2025

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Streaming on Shudder and AMC+ from Monday 16 June

Beneath its softly lit salons and the hushed intimacy of late-night haircuts, The Stylist carves out something far more unsettling: a psychological portrait of aching loneliness, identity collapse, and the monstrous lengths some will go to feel like they belong. Directed with eerie precision by Jill Gevargizian, this feature-length adaptation of her acclaimed short film offers a muted but effective horror tale that leans more into sadness than shocks.

Claire (Najarra Townsend) is a woman adrift—quiet, awkward, desperate to connect—but with a hunger that’s gone grotesquely unmet. She doesn’t just cut hair. She scalps. Each kill is not about violence for its own sake, but a tragic, chilling attempt to wear someone else’s life. And that’s where The Stylist cuts deepest—not in the gore, but in its exploration of identity as a fragile performance, and what happens when someone can no longer locate their own sense of self.

Enter Olivia (Brea Grant), an affable, outgoing bride-to-be who naively invites Claire deeper into her world. From there, the spiral is slow and agonising. What starts as admiration curdles into obsession. Claire’s need to be Olivia isn’t just jealousy—it’s pathological yearning. Her scalping isn’t about trophies in the serial killer sense. It’s about transference. Taking the one thing a person can’t fake: their presence, their social ease, their confidence. Claire doesn’t want to destroy—she wants to inhabit.

Townsend delivers a superb, painfully internal performance. Her Claire is meek but never blank—each nervous twitch and downward glance revealing someone quietly screaming behind her skin. She doesn’t play the killer as a monster, but as a woman in mourning—for connection, for warmth, for identity. It’s a performance that sticks with you. Brea Grant, meanwhile, plays Olivia with a brightness that never tips into caricature, making her slow realisation all the more tragic.

Stylistically, the film is polished, with an elegant aesthetic that contrasts beautifully with its macabre subject matter. There are echoes of Maniac, May, even Single White Female, but The Stylist stands on its own, particularly in how grounded its emotional horror remains. The mood is heavy, sometimes to a fault, with pacing that occasionally feels listless rather than deliberate. Still, the thematic undercurrents—how we mask our emptiness, how we covet others’ confidence like currency—are deeply resonant.

The Prognosis:

There’s a sadness in the scissors. In the need to be seen. In the horror of invisibility. The Stylist doesn’t reinvent the horror genre, but it delivers something more haunting than expected: a quiet eulogy for those who never quite found their place, and the darkness that fills the void.

  • Saul Muerte

Englund, Harris, Moseley—Wasted on a Toothless Slasher

10 Tuesday Jun 2025

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Trick, no treat: A horror legend trio wasted on a forgettable fright night

Directed by Dwight H. Little, Natty Knocks arrives with a nostalgic promise—one rooted in its genre-savvy casting. With horror icons Bill Moseley, Danielle Harris, and Robert Englund all appearing in the same film, expectations are understandably raised. Unfortunately, what unfolds is a tepid, undercooked Halloween flick that feels more like a missed opportunity than a macabre thrill ride.

Set on Halloween Eve, the story follows Britt (Charlotte Fountain-Jardim), a babysitter tasked with protecting a group of kids from Abner Honeywell, a deranged killer who is also the son of a B-movie scream queen known as “Natty Knocks.” It’s a set-up that might have worked better had the film leaned harder into its retro horror roots, or capitalised on its intriguing central lore. Instead, the narrative plods along with soft suspense and little impact.

Bill Moseley plays it straight but subdued, a far cry from his unhinged roles in House of 1000 Corpses or The Devil’s Rejects. Danielle Harris, often a reliable presence in indie horror, is underused here, while Robert Englund—despite a brief and welcome appearance—feels more like stunt casting than a meaningful addition. The trio’s collective legacy deserves better than what the film ultimately offers.

Technically, the film struggles with uneven pacing and flat direction. There are a few stylistic touches and the occasional attempt at atmosphere, but none of it ever quite gels. The kills are mostly offscreen or uninspired, and the tension rarely rises above a simmer.

The Prognosis:

In the end, Natty Knocks tries to dress up a bare-bones slasher with legacy casting and light folklore, but it doesn’t have the teeth to break through the noise. For fans of Moseley, Harris, or Englund, there’s some fleeting curiosity value. For everyone else, it’s a Halloween story better left untold.

  • Movie Review by Saul Muerte

Natty Knocks is available to rent or buy now.

Love on the Run Turns to Terror in Queer Horror Road Trip Straight On Till Morning

02 Monday Jun 2025

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Freak Me Out delivers another bold, bruising genre gem.

The Freak Me Out program at Sydney Film Festival 2025 has always been a haven for horror misfits, and Straight On Till Morning is a welcome addition to its blood-splattered roster. Directed by Craig Ouellette, this road trip romance-turned-nightmare pits love against extremism, identity against tradition, and outsiders against a force of cruel conformity.

At its heart are Dani and Kaitlin, two queer lovers caught in the euphoric haze of newfound intimacy. Their chemistry is charming, unforced, and grounded in quiet authenticity—a refreshing portrayal that sidesteps overused tropes and instead paints their connection as real and lived-in. But their dreamy road trip through America’s underbelly soon turns into a brutal descent, as they collide with a seemingly God-fearing family whose values are warped by delusion and control.

The film takes its time to find traction, and its deliberate pacing may test some viewers. The first act drifts on the wind of romantic indie minimalism, until a mid-point collision throws everything off the rails and into pure survival horror. From there, it delivers raw tension, visceral violence, and a grim dissection of how love—queer or otherwise—threatens rigid systems built on fear and false righteousness.

What elevates Straight On Till Morning beyond standard genre fare is its refusal to paint anyone with a single brushstroke. The villains are monstrous, yes, but they are never cartoons. Likewise, our protagonists are flawed, unsure, and deeply human. Ouellette doesn’t go for clean lines—this is a film about grey areas. About how outcasts, be they queer lovers or zealots hiding from the modern world, can collide in catastrophic ways.

The Prognosis:

It’s a challenging, sometimes uneven ride, but when it hits its stride, it’s gripping and unrelenting. In a landscape still learning how to do queer horror without pandering or punishing, Straight On Till Morning is a welcome entry—messy, brave, and full of heart.

🎟 Screening Times – Freak Me Out @ Sydney Film Festival 2025

  • Tuesday 10 June, 8:20pm – Dendy Newtown, Cinema 1
  • Friday 13 June, 8:30pm – Event Cinemas George Street, Cinema 9

Dare to fall in love. Stay for the fear.

  • Saul Muerte

“Bring Her Back” Is a Brutal, Brain-Bending Horror That Sticks With You

31 Saturday May 2025

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The RackaRacka boys have delivered again with another twisted take on the horror genre.

Where most modern horrors have become predictable, Bring Her Back keeps you guessing—delivering tense scenes, cover-your-eyes moments, and genuine shocks rather than cheap jump scares.

You feel every bone crack and every piece of skin tear, thanks to ingenious stunt work and makeup effects, bolstered by incredibly savage sound design. It’s easy to see why some of the body horror may be too much for the faint of heart—featuring one of the most brutal moments I think I’ve ever seen on screen.

The Philippou brothers, Danny and Michael (Talk To Me), excel at finding great young talent, and this is no exception. The cast includes a group of up-and-coming stars alongside Sally Hawkins, who delivers an unsettling performance (and a flawless Aussie accent). For a pair of lads who come across as nutters in every interview they do, the brothers show surprising maturity—especially in their camerawork and originality.

Like most horror films, it’s a very clear allegory, but it’s still entertaining. There were moments that could’ve been a bit clearer without needing to spell everything out—but then again, I suppose we’d have had nothing to discuss in the car park afterwards.

The Prognosis:

You may need an exorcist to remove this movie from your brain—not just because of the body horror, but because you’ll probably be trying to piece the puzzle together the whole ride home.

From Killer to Filler: Fear Street’s Prom Queen Fails to Reign

24 Saturday May 2025

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The crown may glitter, but this prom queen is all tulle and no terror.

Fear Street: Prom Queen stumbles into Netflix’s horror lineup with limp energy and even less imagination. Gone is the confident, genre-savvy edge that defined Leigh Janiak’s 2021 trilogy—a trio of interconnected films (1994, 1978, and 1666) that managed to surprise and delight by leaning into horror history while crafting its own mythology. That trilogy was vibrant, bloody, and bold—elevating RL Stine’s teen-friendly chills into something slick and cinematically compelling. With Prom Queen, the fall from Fear Street grace is as loud as it is underwhelming.

Janiak’s absence is keenly felt. What once felt like a love letter to horror has been reduced to a colourless cash-in, trading atmosphere and tension for hollow homage and tired tropes. Director Matt Palmer brings little visual flair or tonal conviction, and the script lacks the spark that made the earlier films feel alive with danger. There’s a fundamental disconnect between the material and its adaptation—as if it’s been lifted from the shelf and passed through a soulless streaming algorithm before making its way to screen.

And that’s a shame, because Prom Queen comes from decent stock. RL Stine’s original novel, while perhaps lighter on the bloodshed, delivered the kind of pulpy suspense and teen melodrama that made his work addictive for a generation. The story’s premise—deadly competition for the school crown—was ripe for a satirical or sinister update in the post-Carrie, post-Mean Girls horror landscape. Instead, the film barely flirts with either, delivering a painfully formulaic slasher that neither frightens nor surprises.

The kills, such as they are, feel half-hearted and predictable. Characters are introduced only to be dispatched minutes later, never afforded personalities beyond archetypes. Suspense is conspicuously absent, replaced by a mechanical rhythm of setup and slash that grows increasingly tiresome. It doesn’t help that the film plays it incredibly safe—never leaning into camp, nor darkness, nor even irony. It simply exists, like a photocopy of a photocopy, drained of the ink that once gave the franchise bite.

India Fowler stands out, her performance as Lori Granger offering flickers of emotion and control that the film doesn’t deserve. She does what she can with thin material and walks away mostly unscathed. The Newton Brothers’ score is another high point—synthy, nostalgic, and oddly elegant—almost a haunting echo of the trilogy’s sharper sound design. But these are isolated gems in an otherwise barren crown.

The Prognosis:

Fear Street: Prom Queen is a disappointing return to a once-promising franchise. It neither honours its roots nor pushes the story in new directions. Instead, it limps across the finish line with little to say and even less to feel. If this is the future of Fear Street, it may be time to turn back.

  • Movie Review by Saul Muerte

Letting Go Hurts: The Surrender Cuts Deep

18 Sunday May 2025

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Grief, guilt, and resurrection collide in this modest but emotionally raw Shudder original, anchored by Colby Minifie’s compelling performance.

Shudder’s The Surrender, directed by Julia Max, delivers a slow-burn horror that uses its modest means to tell a deeply emotional—and at times unnerving—tale of grief, guilt, and letting go. While the film initially struggles under the weight of its low budget, it gradually finds its footing as it surrenders itself to the emotional and psychological turmoil at its centre.

At the heart of the story is the fraught relationship between a grieving mother and her daughter Megan (Colby Minifie), as they wrestle with the sudden death of their husband and father. Desperate and broken, the mother enlists a mysterious stranger to bring her husband back from the dead. What begins as a misguided act of love quickly spirals into something much more brutal and unnatural.

The supernatural elements are understated at first, and admittedly, the film’s visual limitations are most noticeable in its early scenes. But what The Surrender lacks in spectacle, it more than makes up for in its performances—particularly Minifie’s. As Megan, she delivers a performance grounded in realism and vulnerability, guiding the audience through the stages of grief with raw authenticity. Her arc—resisting, confronting, and eventually accepting the horror unraveling around her—anchors the film and gives its title real weight.

Director Julia Max plays with mood and silence rather than jump scares, and the atmosphere becomes more effective the longer we sit in it. The film’s title becomes a double-edged term: surrender to grief, surrender to love, and ultimately, surrender to what can’t be undone.

The Prognosis:

While it never fully transcends its genre or budget, The Surrender is a thoughtful entry in the grief-horror subgenre that lingers in the mind more than expected. For those patient enough to give in, there’s something genuinely resonant beneath the blood and shadow.

  • Movie Review by Saul Muerte

The Surrender is streaming on Shudder from Fri 23rd May.

Final Destination: Bloodlines” Sends the Franchise Out with a Bloody, Belly-Laugh Bang

14 Wednesday May 2025

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Gruesome deaths, tongue-in-cheek humour, and one last haunting turn from Tony Todd give this unexpected final chapter a shockingly fun farewell.

Okay, so what number is this? FD 14? 80? Final Destination 482?

Meh, who cares.

To be perfectly honest, I really wasn’t expecting much from this, so did it deliver?
Drum roll… well, you’ll see.

The plot is: College student, Stefani, is plagued by the same super-violent nightmare  night after night so investigates to find out what’s the deal. Then blah de blah, something, something about cheating death and it coming back to get you.

IRL SPOILER ALERT: Death catches up with everyone in the end.

Starring… well, I don’t know. Other than Tony Todd (in his final role before his passing) reprising his usual role, there’s no big ‘stars’… unless you count the Maya Hawke lookalike. This obviously makes the cast extra-expendable when they meet their bloody end. And boy oh boy, did they not scrimp on the blood and gore!!!

Every death is gratuitously gore-rific. The audience at the screening, the sick puppies they were, erupted in absolute fits of laughter every time one of the characters was killed.

Again, sick puppies… myself included of course.

But that’s it too. It most definitely plays for laughs. The writers are comedy and/or horror specialists. Between them they are responsible for: “Abigail”, “Ready or Not”, “Spider-Man: Homecoming” to name but a few. And they’ve had a great deal of fun with the script for this.

The Prognosis:

For me, “Final Destination: Bloodlines” was a great surprise. The makers have promised this is the final chapter of the long-exhausted franchise but hooly dooly, what a way to go out.

Now let the franchise die and head to its final destination.

  • Movie Review by Myles Davies

Clown in a Cornfield Juggles Gore, Heart, and Teen Angst—but Drops a Few Balls

13 Tuesday May 2025

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Eli Craig’s stylish adaptation of the Bram Stoker Award-winning novel lands some bloody punches, but struggles to balance slasher thrills, meta commentary, and character depth.

Adapted from the 2020 novel of the same name by Adam Cesare. Clown in the Cornfield won the Bram Stoker Award for Best Young Adult Novel and was a prominent addition to the new wave of horror literature. Acquired by Shudder and pushed wider than one would expect for a Canadian teen slasher, the film has high aspirations and plenty to show for it.

Still grieving the loss of her mother, Quinn (Katie Douglas) has been transplanted from Philadelphia to the corn country town of Kettle Springs by her father, the new town’s doctor (Aaron Abrams). Hoping for a new start, they find the town, still stuck in the 90s, has a strange air about it. The adults all seem to have it out for the teens of the town, in particular the group lead by the Mayor’s son, Cole (Carson MacCormac). Much to the town’s chagrin Cole and his friends make internet horror videos, starring Friendo the Clown, the Factory and the Town’s Mascot. After one of their recent after hours shoots in the corn syrup factory, a fire mysteriously started and burned the whole thing down, putting half the town out of work and the teens in the crosshairs of a very angry clown.

A slasher lives and dies (and dies and dies) on its kills and in this teen slasher comedy Director Eli Craig brings his experience from the very fun Tucker & Dale vs Evil and the Adam Scott starring, Omen parody, Little Evil. While the killing is sparse to begin with, the violence ramps up towards the end in fun and inventive ways. There is a surprising amount of heart put into the film and the teen drama between the leads is engaging and affecting. One of the film’s weak points though is the supporting cast, the performances are held well but characters are so thinly drawn which only is highlighted because the leads have such life and depth to them.

Out of the whole Canadian cast, Kevin Durand is the biggest name here and really he’s more of a “Hey, I know that guy!” Durand plays the conservative Mayor obsessed with tradition and hard on the youth. While there isn’t a whole lot for him to do for most of the film’s run, there is one scene towards the end where he gets to really chew the scenery.

Together, Craig and cinematographer Brian Pearson (Final Destination 5, I Am Legend) bring a gorgeous look to the film, it’s probably one of the best looking teen horrors in a long while. Divorced from so many of the bad habits that have plagued the lower tier horror films of the last decade. The action is clear and you are always oriented in the scenes. I know this sounds like faint praise but there are so many slashers aimed at teens that just do not try and end up edited to pieces.

Unfortunately, the film suffers in the act of adaptation, too often you can feel a novel’s pacing and story squeezed into the brisk 96 minutes of the film’s run time. The tone fights with itself throughout flitting between classic slasher, meta comedy and teen drama, doing all three well when it’s happening on screen but all three never coalesce into a singular piece. Friendo never really gets the moments to elevate anywhere near to the likes of Jason or Freddy, or even Art the Clown for that matter. His design is not terribly interesting and the reveal of what’s really going on, while surprising at first, leaves the lore pretty thin and shallow to play in

The Prognosis:

The aspirations to be Scream for this generation are here; the mixture of horror and comedy, generational commentary, teenage cast. As an entry level slasher it does plenty right and with solid direction, inventive kills and charming performances but for more seasoned slasher lovers will be left wanting from Friendo the Clown.

  • Movie Review by Oscar Jack

A Symphony in Splatter: Langley’s Butchers Trilogy Goes for the Jugular

10 Saturday May 2025

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Director Adrian Langley stays true to his blood-soaked roots in this gleefully gruesome third chapter.

In a genre that thrives on extremity, Adrian Langley’s Butchers trilogy has carved out its own brutal little niche—one not of narrative elegance or thematic innovation, but of bone-crunching, limb-lopping, nerve-shredding excess. With Butchers Book Three: Bonesaw, Langley stays the course, offering up another round of down-home horror where pain is inevitable and escape is unlikely.

Gone are the niceties of plot complexity or emotional nuance. In their place: sinew, shrieks, and gallons of the good stuff—practical effects and prosthetics that drip with a kind of DIY devotion rarely seen in modern horror. Langley doesn’t just lean into the gore; he practically does a cannonball into it. This time, his antagonist is a grotesque butcher on wheels, hacking through anyone in his way from the confines of his roving abattoir van. It’s ridiculous, yes, but it’s also grotesquely entertaining.

The story, such as it is, follows three women caught in the butcher’s path and a small-town sheriff who attempts to make sense of the carnage. There’s a familiar structure here—the cat-and-mouse setup, the slasher’s calculated chaos—but Langley’s real interest lies in the carnage itself. Heads roll. Limbs drop. The camera rarely flinches, and neither does the director.

Where the film stumbles is in its limited character development and tonal rigidity. The sheriff subplot adds some much-needed shape, but our protagonists exist mostly to scream, bleed, and be pursued. Still, in the context of a trilogy where spectacle has always trumped subtext, Bonesaw feels like a natural and—dare it be said—confident culmination of Langley’s rural carnage canon.

This isn’t horror that aims for atmosphere or metaphors. It’s red meat cinema—satisfyingly gnarly, grotesquely tactile, and proud of its splatterpunk DNA. In an era of glossy elevated horror, Butchers Book Three proudly remains low to the ground, in the dirt and the blood, where it has always belonged.

The Prognosis:

Not for the squeamish, but for gorehounds and genre loyalists, Langley delivers precisely what’s on the tin—if that tin were dented, rusted, and soaked through with blood.

  • Movie Review by Saul Muerte

Movie Review: Butchers

Movie Review: Butchers Two: Raghorn

The Island Fades into the Mist

10 Saturday May 2025

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Fernando Trueba’s sun-drenched thriller is a lethargic drift through secrets, sensuality, and squandered potential.

The Mediterranean sun may dazzle, the waves may glitter, and the cast may smoulder with generically attractive tension—but none of it can save The Island from becoming one of the more soporific cinematic experiences. Fernando Trueba, a director with an esteemed filmography, trades narrative vitality for languid ambiance in this inert psychological drama that unfolds like a long, humid sigh.

Set against the postcard backdrop of a Greek island, the film introduces us to Alex, a new waitress at a boutique seaside restaurant. With a femme-fatale allure and an air of mystery, she quickly captures the attention of Enrico, the chef, but is drawn instead to Max, the elusive American manager hiding something in his brooding stares and clenched silences. What follows is less a thrilling triangle than a series of glances, sighs, and ultimately, a glacial unraveling of a secret that arrives with the narrative urgency of a missed ferry.

Trueba clearly intends a slow-burn approach, but what results is barely a flicker. The plot trudges along with the weight of its own self-importance, mistaking inertia for introspection. The sexual tension, which should crackle, barely hums. Conversations are riddled with cryptic hints and evasive stares, yet the payoffs are few and far between. When revelations do come, they feel both undercooked and unearned—mere embers that fail to ignite.

Visually, The Island is polished, occasionally picturesque. The camera lingers lovingly on the sea and stone, the half-lit interiors, the salt-flecked skin of its cast. But the atmosphere, no matter how finely curated, cannot compensate for narrative void. You keep waiting for the film to snap into focus, to finally tap into its thriller DNA. Instead, it drifts—first into lethargy, then into complete emotional disengagement.

The performances are competent, but the characters remain archetypes rather than people. Alex is sultry but shallowly drawn; Max, the American enigma, is more mannequin than man; and poor Enrico spends most of the runtime in a state of aimless suspicion. The film attempts to explore obsession, betrayal, and the burdens of past sins, but only gestures vaguely toward each before retreating back into the blue haze.

The Prognosis:

The Island wants to be a sun-bleached neo-noir, a slow meditation on desire and consequence, but what we’re left with is a whisper of a film—beautifully composed, but hollow and soporific. Sometimes, secrets are better left buried. In this case, the film’s own narrative might have been.

  • Movie Review by Saul Muerte