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.

• Saul Muerte