By its fourth entry in Hammer’s Frankenstein saga, Frankenstein Created Woman veered into uncharted thematic territory, exploring the transference of the soul rather than focusing solely on the reconstruction of flesh. The film’s roots trace back to an abandoned concept for the Tales of Frankenstein television series, which was later resurrected as a collaboration between Hammer and Twentieth Century Fox. Loosely inspired by Roger Vadim’s And God Created Woman, the feature delved into theological and philosophical dimensions, examining identity, morality, and the repercussions of manipulating the human essence. This ambitious narrative shift elevated it among Hammer’s catalog and gained recognition from cinephiles such as Martin Scorsese.
Central to the film’s success is Peter Cushing’s commanding reprisal of Baron Frankenstein. Cushing’s nuanced performance lends gravitas to the morally ambiguous doctor, whose unrelenting pursuit of scientific discovery transcends ethical boundaries. Opposite Cushing is Susan Denberg as Christina, a woman resurrected with a fractured identity. The tragic duality of Christina and her lover Hans, whose soul is embedded within her, provides a poignant underpinning to the grotesque premise. Denberg, a former Playboy Playmate immersed in the vibrant “It” crowd of the 1960s, including Roman Polanski, brought an uncanny mix of fragility and menace to her role. To bolster the film’s appeal, she was featured in a high-profile publicity campaign, though her career in film was short-lived. With its innovative focus on the isolation of the soul and a revenge-driven narrative, Frankenstein Created Woman became a bold and emotionally charged addition to the Hammer canon.
As horror fans know, some of the most unsettling scares don’t come from elaborate effects or high budgets—they emerge from intimate, character-driven stories that crawl under the skin. The Creep Tapes, a Shudder Original Series premiering on November 15, aims to deliver just that. Building on the spine-tingling foundation of the 2014 cult hit Creep, the series reunites the original creators, Mark Duplass and Patrick Brice, who brought us the disturbingly charming yet unnervingly unstable protagonist, Josef. With Duplass returning to the role of the enigmatic serial killer, this series promises an eerie experience that pushes boundaries and keeps audiences riveted.
The original Creep film thrived on its low-budget charm, turning a stripped-down, found-footage setup into an intensely unsettling experience. The series appears poised to follow suit, proving once again that horror doesn’t need lavish sets or CGI to get viewers’ hearts pounding. Here, the atmosphere is everything—raw, grainy footage brings a voyeuristic quality that makes each scene feel real, as if the terror is unfolding in the next room over. The simplicity of the setup—a videographer unknowingly documenting his own descent into darkness—creates a dread that builds with every frame. With The Creep Tapes, Shudder taps into the appeal of Creep and Creep 2, delivering a gritty, claustrophobic look into the killer’s mind that only becomes more menacing with each episode.
At the heart of this series’ potential is Duplass’s haunting performance. His portrayal of a maniac whose motives are as confusing as they are sinister is nothing short of mesmerising. Playing a predator who is both disarming and unhinged, Duplass infuses the character with a subtle, unpredictable menace that’s as charming as it is chilling. It’s this very duality that made the original film so effective, drawing audiences in with Josef’s unsettlingly friendly nature only to shatter any semblance of safety with his underlying menace. With Duplass back at the helm, viewers can expect an even deeper dive into this chilling character, one that will likely push The Creep Tapes into “must-watch” territory for horror fans seeking psychological tension and atmosphere over jump scares.
This new series amplifies the simplicity that made the original such a success. As each videographer steps into Josef’s twisted game, the narrative explores not only their harrowing experiences but the dangerously manipulative charms of the killer himself. The viewer becomes a silent observer, drawn closer and closer to the horrors unfolding on screen. And with Duplass and Brice’s creative control, fans can expect a series that honours the first two films while expanding the lore, providing more insight into the mind of this manipulative predator and his increasingly sinister tactics.
For those looking for horror that strips away Hollywood polish to reveal something raw, The Creep Tapes may be a dark horse that leaves a lasting impression. In an age of sleek, glossy productions, Duplass’s Josef reminds us that horror is sometimes most potent when it’s uncomfortably close, blurred, and right in your face. Prepare for The Creep Tapes to lure you in and make you question if you’re ever truly alone—on or off camera.
Saul Muerte
The Creep Tapes – Shudder Original Seriespremieres exclusively on Shudder and AMC+ from Friday 15 November
– Saul will be posting weekly ep reviews each week, so keep your eyes peeled.
The horror community has lost one of its most towering presences with the passing of Tony Todd, a beloved actor whose rich, resonant voice and formidable on-screen presence made him unforgettable. Known for his role as Candyman—the haunting figure who lured audiences into a story of terror, racial injustice, and folklore—Todd’s portrayal captured a timeless menace and a tragic allure that few others could have achieved. His work across film, television, and stage influenced generations, earning him a reputation as one of horror’s most enduring icons.
Born in Washington, D.C., Todd trained at the Eugene O’Neill National Theatre Institute, honing the craft that would make his performances powerful and deeply felt. Though he appeared in a wide range of genres, his lasting impact lies in the horror world. His breakthrough role in Night of the Living Dead (1990) positioned him as a new face in horror, but it was Candyman in 1992 that immortalized him. Directed by Bernard Rose and based on a story by Clive Barker, Candyman intertwined urban legend with societal themes, giving Todd a platform to bring depth to a character as sympathetic as he was terrifying.
Todd’s Candyman wasn’t merely a ghost story villain; he was a symbol of betrayal and vengeance, embodying the horrors of systemic injustices. His physical presence and chilling, honeyed voice gave Candyman a gravitas that turned what could have been a simple slasher film into a commentary on the cyclical nature of violence and despair. The hook-handed specter went on to haunt audiences for decades, and Todd reprised the role in sequels, keeping Candyman’s legend alive.
Beyond Candyman, Todd’s talents continued to bring richness to horror through roles in the Final Destination series, Hatchet, and countless other features. His versatility was evident in every role he played, from supernatural harbingers to resilient survivors, imbuing each character with a weight and intensity that horror fans revered. Todd’s impact also extended into television, with memorable appearances in shows like The X-Files, 24, and Star Trek, showcasing his range and enduring appeal across genres.
Tony Todd’s legacy is more than his roles; it is the dedication he showed to his craft and the connection he fostered with fans. He was a frequent presence at horror conventions, meeting admirers with genuine warmth and appreciation. His influence on horror has left an indelible mark, as has his kindness and humility in life.
As we mourn the passing of Tony Todd, we remember him not just as the boogeyman of our nightmares, but as a gifted actor and a cherished figure whose spirit will forever echo in the halls of horror. His voice, deep and unyielding, will always haunt the genre he helped define.
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.
Anna Kendrick’s directorial debut, Woman of the Hour, takes on a chilling real-life story—Rodney Alcala, the infamous “Dating Game Killer.” In 1978, Alcala appeared on the popular TV show The Dating Game in the middle of a brutal killing spree. Kendrick not only directs but stars as Cheryl Bradshaw, the unwitting contestant opposite Alcala (Daniel Zovatto), whose charm on-screen masked his true, horrifying nature. It’s a fascinating premise, blending the glitz of a Hollywood game show with the sinister undercurrent of a serial killer hiding in plain sight.
What Woman of the Hour gets right is its ability to shock. The film doesn’t shy away from unsettling moments, particularly in the quieter scenes where Alcala’s sociopathic tendencies creep to the surface. Zovatto’s portrayal of Alcala is convincingly cold, and the moments of tension between him and Kendrick’s Bradshaw deliver the kind of unsettling atmosphere that one expects from a crime thriller. Kendrick’s nuanced performance carries Cheryl’s vulnerability and growing unease in the face of Alcala’s facade, making the character relatable and grounded in the surreal horror unfolding around her.
However, while the subject matter is disturbing, the film often feels too sugar-coated. There’s a Hollywood sheen that distracts from the gritty reality of Alcala’s monstrous acts. The stylized presentation of The Dating Game era, with its bright lights and campy format, clashes with the darkness beneath the surface. This juxtaposition feels deliberate, but the film doesn’t always balance it well, often glazing over the true terror of the situation. It’s as if Woman of the Hour is afraid to fully descend into the horror, opting for a thriller that plays it safe rather than delving deeply into the grotesque nature of Alcala’s crimes.
The movie works best when it lets the reality of Alcala’s actions bleed through the showbiz gloss. There are moments where the film breaks the bright exterior to hint at the true horrors Alcala was committing during the time. These moments are genuinely disturbing but too few and far between, making the film feel more like a dramatization than a full exploration of Alcala’s twisted psyche.
The Prognosis:
Woman of the Hour is an intriguing crime thriller with strong performances and an inherently fascinating true-crime angle. However, its reliance on surface-level thrills and polished presentation ultimately holds it back from becoming the gripping, deep-dive examination that the story demands. It leaves viewers with the unsettling truth of what Alcala did but doesn’t push far enough to leave a lasting impact. The film’s draw lies in its shocking subject matter, but it feels like a case of style over substance, never quite willing to peel away the layers of horror lurking beneath.
Saul Muerte
Woman of the Hour is currently streaming on Netflix.
“Azrael,” the latest action-horror from E.L. Katz, delivers a premise that sounds intriguing on paper—an eerie world devoid of speech, where a brutal female-led cult relentlessly hunts an escaped prisoner. Add the ever-captivating Samara Weaving into the mix, and expectations for some gripping, visceral action naturally rise. But while the film presents a brave, somewhat daring attempt to create a unique atmosphere, it ultimately falls short of delivering anything with real substance.
Weaving, known for her sharp intensity in past roles, undoubtedly carries the weight of the film on her shoulders. Her portrayal of Azrael, a woman fighting tooth and nail for survival, does bring some much-needed energy to the screen. When the action finally arrives, it’s clear that Weaving is skilled at kicking butt. Yet even her talent can’t save the film from its sluggish pace and lack of depth. It takes an eternity for the narrative to shift into gear, and by the time it does, the payoff feels disappointingly underwhelming.
The lack of dialogue is clearly intended to enhance the atmosphere, creating an unsettling and immersive world where silence is a weapon. However, the film’s over-reliance on this stylistic choice backfires. Without any meaningful verbal exchanges, the story begins to feel as barren as the film’s haunting wilderness setting. What could have been a tension-building device instead results in a narrative that often drags, leaving the audience feeling disconnected.
Visually, the film does have its moments. The desolate landscapes and stark imagery evoke a sense of isolation, and the concept of a voiceless world initially adds an eerie, unsettling layer. But these strengths aren’t enough to compensate for the weak character development and the rather predictable plot. The film meanders, and when it finally hits its stride in the action department, it’s too little, too late. Weaving is given far too few opportunities to shine, and the action sequences, though well-choreographed, lack the punch needed to make a lasting impact.
The Prognosis:
“Azrael” is a film with plenty of ambition, but it’s an example of how high-concept ideas require more than just a strong lead actor to succeed. It’s a brave effort from Katz, but without a stronger narrative core and more compelling action, it simply doesn’t have the gravitas to pull off the trick. Samara Weaving may be kicking butt, but even her powerful presence can’t elevate this film beyond its mediocre execution.
When you hear Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot is getting a new adaptation, there’s an immediate buzz for horror fans. After all, the 1979 miniseries set a high bar with its chilling atmosphere, notable moments, and David Soul’s iconic portrayal of Ben Mears. Sadly, this latest version tries to sink its teeth into King’s vampiric tale but lacks the vitality to make a lasting impression.
Directed by Gary Dauberman (Annabelle Comes Home), the 2024 Salem’s Lot promises a fresh, modern take on King’s story of a small town overtaken by ancient evil. There are fleeting moments of intrigue that tease the potential of the film, scenes where the atmosphere and menace feel tangible. These moments, however, are not enough to redeem an adaptation that feels strangely bloodless for one of King’s most terrifying novels.
The film suffers from an inability to give its cast anything meaningful to work with, despite the rich source material. The ensemble is solid on paper, but in practice, none of the actors have enough depth to bring the story to life. Even with characters like Ben Mears (played by Lewis Pullman) and the sinister Straker (played by Bill Camp), there’s a frustrating lack of emotional resonance. The result is a series of performances that feel flat, as though the cast was given little to sink their teeth into—despite King’s novel offering plenty of opportunities for real emotional and psychological heft.
Visually, the film often falls into familiar traps, delivering dark, moody settings without offering much innovation. There are glimmers of suspense, but the scares never truly land. It feels like the film is playing it too safe, rather than embracing the gothic horror and creeping dread that made Salem’s Lot so beloved. What we get instead is a product that looks slick but lacks any real heart—a soul-less retread of familiar territory. (Yes, David Soul, pun intended.)
The biggest disappointment is how the adaptation squanders King’s brilliant narrative about small-town evil and the creeping rot of corruption. Rather than leaning into the novel’s rich themes and psychological terror, the film relies too heavily on surface-level spooks. It lacks the depth that made both King’s novel and the 1979 miniseries so enduring. The filmmakers seem content with a pale imitation of the original, rather than delivering something that truly bites.
The Prognosis:
Salem’s Lot (2024) is a missed opportunity. It does just enough to lure you in, but leaves you feeling unsatisfied, much like the pale, lifeless creatures it tries to evoke. For diehard fans of King’s work, it may hold some interest. For everyone else, it’s a lesson in how even the most powerful stories can end up feeling anemic when the right spark is missing.
A fitting metaphor for this latest entry: like a vampire with no blood to drain, it ultimately fails to live.
MadS, premiering on Shudder Fri Oct 18th, delivers a unique and haunting cinematic experience, thanks to its audacious one-shot technique. The film tells a harrowing end-of-the-world story through a slow, decaying unraveling of both its characters and their reality. With its seamless visual style, MadS manages to capture a gripping narrative that is both unsettling and unnervingly intimate.
The story follows Romain, played by Milton Riche, a teenager who tests a new drug from his dealer before heading out for a night of partying. Things take a surreal and nightmarish turn when he picks up an injured woman on the way home. As the night spirals out of control, reality begins to fracture, plunging both Romain and the audience into a world of escalating chaos. This disorienting experience is heightened by the film’s single-take format, which immerses viewers directly in the action.
What sets MadS apart is how it masterfully manages its pacing. The one-shot technique could have easily felt gimmicky, but here, it enhances the story’s deeply unsettling atmosphere. The slow unraveling of Romain’s night—and his sanity—feels organic and relentless, with each moment of dread lingering uncomfortably long. The film’s technical precision allows every interaction and event to build tension, which only increases as Romain’s relationship with his girlfriend Anaïs (Lucille Guillaume) begins to fray under the weight of the night’s growing horror.
Milton Riche’s performance as Romain is both raw and captivating. He skillfully portrays Romain’s descent into fear and confusion, making the character’s unraveling feel authentic and deeply affecting. His gradual shift from casual indifference to desperate panic drives the film’s emotional core. Lucille Guillaume, playing Anaïs, brings a grounded intensity to her role, offering a fragile yet determined counterbalance to Romain’s increasingly erratic behavior.
The film’s technical prowess extends beyond its performances, as the one-shot approach works in tandem with moody lighting and a haunting soundscape to amplify the film’s surreal atmosphere. The unbroken, continuous shot offers no escape from the mounting tension, leaving viewers trapped alongside Romain as he navigates dark streets, ominous encounters, and the looming threat of an unseen, pervasive force.
While MadS dips into abstract and surreal territory, leaving parts of its story open to interpretation, this ambiguity works in its favor. The film thrives on its ability to create discomfort and uncertainty, making every moment feel unpredictable and charged with menace. Its dreamlike quality makes the viewer question what is real and what is the product of Romain’s altered state, adding to the growing sense of helplessness.
At its core, MadS is about the fear of losing control—over oneself, one’s reality, and the future. This exploration of chaos and disintegration, both personal and external, is captured in every frame, making it a haunting and thought-provoking film.
The Prognosis:
MadS delivers a chilling and captivating one-shot experience. Its unique style, unsettling performances, and slow-burn tension make it a standout feature on Shudder. For fans of immersive, psychological horror, MadS is a must-watch, offering a powerful reflection on the fragility of reality when chaos takes hold.
Few films have had as lasting and significant an impact on the horror genre as Bob Clark’s Black Christmas (1974). Often considered one of the earliest and most influential slasher films, this Canadian cult classic set the stage for an entire subgenre, crafting many of the tropes and techniques that would come to define horror for decades. Despite being overshadowed by later films like Halloween and Friday the 13th, Black Christmas deserves recognition for pioneering the slasher formula with a chilling, understated approach that remains terrifying even today.
At first glance, Black Christmas may appear deceptively simple: a group of sorority sisters are terrorized by a mysterious killer during the holiday season. However, beneath this surface lies a film that is far more unsettling and artfully constructed than the plot might suggest. The film centers on a sorority house where a series of disturbing phone calls from an anonymous stalker escalates into a killing spree, leaving the women inside fighting for their lives. What makes Black Christmas stand out, even now, is its unnerving atmosphere, psychological horror, and narrative ambiguity.
Though Black Christmas wasn’t the first horror film to feature a mysterious killer stalking victims, it was among the first to codify many of the key elements of the slasher genre. The killer is hidden, only referred to as “Billy,” and his identity is never revealed. This creates a terrifying sense of anonymity, leaving viewers unsettled and guessing throughout. The film’s signature technique of showing the killer’s point of view through a shaky, handheld camera, often as he lurks inside the sorority house, was a novel approach at the time. This perspective not only put the audience uncomfortably close to the villain but also emphasized the voyeuristic nature of the genre, which would become a hallmark of slasher films.
Furthermore, Black Christmas introduced another crucial element to the slasher formula: the final girl. Jess (played by Olivia Hussey) serves as the prototype for what would become a defining archetype in horror films. She is resourceful, determined, and morally complex, facing down not just the threat of the killer but also grappling with difficult personal decisions, such as her unplanned pregnancy. While Halloween’s Laurie Strode may get most of the credit as the iconic final girl, it was Jess who paved the way.
What truly sets Black Christmas apart is its refusal to rely on cheap jump scares or excessive gore. Bob Clark, who would ironically go on to direct the holiday classic A Christmas Story, leans heavily into psychological horror. The film’s pacing is slow but deliberate, building tension in a way that mirrors the growing paranoia and terror within the sorority house. The mysterious phone calls—featuring unsettling, incoherent babbling and eerie voices—play a significant role in creating a pervasive sense of dread. These moments are perhaps some of the most unnerving in the film, as they tap into the fear of the unknown. We never truly understand who “Billy” is or why he is targeting these women, and this ambiguity is far more terrifying than any clear motive.
There’s also a layer of ambiguity in the way the story ends. The final moments of the film leave the audience in a state of unease, as we realize that the killer may still be lurking inside the house. It’s a haunting conclusion that forgoes the catharsis of resolution, instead opting to leave viewers with lingering questions. This open-endedness not only subverts expectations but also keeps the fear alive long after the credits roll.
Despite Black Christmas’s relatively modest success at the box office, its influence on the genre cannot be overstated. Released four years before Halloween, it laid much of the groundwork that John Carpenter would refine to perfection. The trope of an unstoppable, unseen killer, the use of holiday settings as a backdrop for horror, and the idea of a final girl all originated here. Films like Friday the 13th (1980), A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), and Scream (1996) would later take these concepts and run with them, but Black Christmas remains their precursor.
Moreover, Black Christmas redefined the role of women in horror films. While earlier horror often portrayed female characters as passive victims, this film empowered its female leads with agency and complexity. Jess, in particular, challenges the conventions of morality and survival that would later be expanded upon in the genre. This emphasis on strong female protagonists would become a defining characteristic of slasher films in the years to come.
Nearly 50 years after its release, Black Christmas retains its ability to shock and unsettle. Its stark portrayal of violence, coupled with its minimalistic style, lends it a timeless quality that feels just as disturbing today as it did in 1974. While it may not have the same widespread recognition as some of the films it influenced, its legacy is undeniable. The way it skillfully balances psychological horror, tension, and brutal realism set it apart from its contemporaries and continues to resonate with audiences, reminding us that true terror often lies in what we don’t see.
The Prognosis:
In the annals of horror, Black Christmas stands as a groundbreaking film that helped shape the slasher genre and define its future trajectory. Bob Clark’s minimalist approach, the chilling atmosphere, and the deeply unsettling narrative make it a landmark of horror cinema. For any fan of the genre, Black Christmas is essential viewing, both as a pioneering work and as a timeless masterpiece of fear.
Shudder’s latest original, Daddy’s Head, follows a path well-trodden in horror, diving into themes of grief, mental health, and the complicated relationship between a grieving child and a struggling stepmother. While these are common threads in horror cinema, Daddy’s Head still manages to carve out moments of eerie tension that linger long after the film’s conclusion.
Set in the vast isolation of a rural estate, the film places the young boy at its emotional core. His confusion and loss after the sudden death of his father create an unsettling atmosphere, one that is heightened by his stepmother’s emotional distance. As the boy becomes haunted by a grotesque creature resembling his father, his stepmother dismisses his warnings, believing them to be mere figments of a grieving mind. This dismissal, of course, only tightens the grip of the sinister entity, with the boy’s warnings becoming more urgent.
Where Daddy’s Head shines is in the execution of its most disturbing moments. The eerie sounds echoing through the halls, the glimpses of the monstrous father figure, and the growing tension between the boy and his stepmother all contribute to a sense of creeping dread. The film effectively taps into the fear of being ignored when something truly menacing is lurking just out of sight.
However, it’s hard to ignore that Daddy’s Head leans heavily on well-known tropes. The child who sees what the adults don’t, the stepmother struggling to fill the role of parent, and the supernatural manifestation of unresolved grief all feel familiar. While the film crafts a decent narrative around these elements, it doesn’t quite escape the shadow of similar films that have come before it.
The Prognosis:
In spite of its predictability, Daddy’s Head does manage to resonate thanks to its haunting moments and unsettling creature design. It won’t revolutionise the genre, but it crafts a sufficiently sinister tale that horror fans will find some satisfaction in.
Saul Muerte
Daddy’s Head premieres Exclusively on Shudder and AMC+ Friday 11 October
Surgeons of Horror 