Somewhere between Goosebumps and The Goonies, Monster Summer tries to capture that elusive blend of childhood adventure, light horror, and 80s-style camaraderie. Directed by David Henrie, the film delivers a charming, if slightly uneven, ride through the thrills of a summer setting gone awry, boosted by a cast that lends it more weight than expected.
The story follows Noah (Mason Thames) and his friends as they uncover a supernatural force disrupting their island’s summer festivities. With the help of a retired detective (Mel Gibson, in a gruff but entertaining role), they set off on a quest filled with eerie encounters and mild scares. Lorraine Bracco adds a welcome presence to the ensemble, grounding the film’s more fantastical elements with her no-nonsense delivery.
The biggest strength of Monster Summer lies in its cast. Thames continues to impress as a young lead, while Gibson and Bracco bring a sense of old-school gravitas. The film also leans into nostalgia, evoking the spirit of classic kids-on-a-mission films, and it largely succeeds in crafting an adventure that feels accessible for younger audiences while still engaging for older viewers.
However, Monster Summer struggles with pacing. The first half builds up well, but the stakes never quite reach the intensity needed to make the adventure feel truly urgent. The mystery surrounding the “monster” is intriguing but ultimately plays it too safe, leaving the film feeling more like a fun diversion than a truly memorable entry in the genre.
The Prognosis:
Monster Summer is a light, enjoyable ride that taps into the nostalgic formula of kid-led horror adventures. It doesn’t break new ground, and some of its tension feels undercooked, but strong performances and a charming atmosphere make it worth a watch—especially for families looking for an entry-level horror experience.
Leigh Whannell’s Wolf Man arrives with the weight of expectation, following his 2020 critical and commercial hit The Invisible Man. Much like its predecessor, the film modernises a Universal Monsters classic, filtering it through Whannell’s sleek, grounded style. But whereas The Invisible Man thrived on paranoia, tension, and social relevance, Wolf Man struggles to find its footing, delivering a film that is as unsteady as its protagonist’s transformation.
The story follows Blake (played by Christopher Abbott), a man whose troubled marriage leads him and his wife Charlotte (Julia Garner) to his secluded childhood home in rural Oregon. What starts as an attempt at reconciliation quickly turns into a nightmarish ordeal when they’re attacked by an unseen creature. As Blake’s behaviour grows increasingly erratic, the lines between man and beast blur, forcing Charlotte to confront a horrific truth.
At its core, Wolf Man treads familiar ground—Whannell’s fascination with the human body in flux is evident, echoing Upgrade (2018) in its depiction of involuntary transformation. However, unlike Upgrade, which explored its themes with a sharp, kinetic energy, Wolf Man feels oddly inert. The family dynamic, which should be the film’s emotional anchor, is frustratingly underdeveloped. The tension between Blake and Charlotte lacks depth, reducing their relationship to a mere setup for the inevitable carnage. Without a strong emotional core, the horror feels weightless, and the film’s attempts at suspense suffer.
Where The Invisible Man thrived on paranoia and psychological tension, Wolf Man attempts to create a similar claustrophobic dread but fumbles in execution. The couple’s choices feel forced rather than organic, making their descent into terror feel more like a scripted inevitability rather than an authentic unraveling. The film teases interesting ideas—Whannell is clearly drawn to the horror of losing control, both physically and mentally—but they never quite coalesce into something meaningful.
The Prognosis:
Visually, Whannell maintains his knack for stylish, stripped-down horror, and there are fleeting moments of genuine unease. The practical effects and creature design are commendable, but they can’t compensate for the film’s lack of narrative momentum. Despite solid performances, Wolf Man ultimately feels like a missed opportunity—a film that howls at the moon but never quite sinks its teeth in.
Robert Eggers’ long-anticipated Nosferatu proves to be another striking entry in the director’s growing repertoire. While it may not reach the towering heights of his earlier works like The Lighthouse or The Witch, Eggers’ fourth feature-length film is a visually intoxicating journey that honours its 1922 namesake while breathing new, sinister life into the legend.
From the moment the first frame flickers on screen, it’s evident that Eggers holds the original Nosferatu close to his heart. The film is awash with nods to F.W. Murnau’s silent classic, both in its reverence for German Expressionism and its stark, almost otherworldly aesthetic. Shadows and light clash in every frame, creating a chiaroscuro effect that feels like a love letter to the era of silent cinema. The jagged, angular sets—almost living entities in their starkness—slice through the film, their ominous presence as much a character as any in the story.
The performances elevate Nosferatu beyond mere homage. Willem Dafoe, no stranger to transforming himself for a role, brings a haunted gravitas to his character, Prof. Albin Eberhart Von Franz, while Lily-Rose Depp infuses her performance as Ellen Hutter with both fragility and strength, commanding the screen with grace. Bill Skarsgård, stepping into the titular role, once again demonstrates his ability to embody grotesque creatures with a chilling ease. His portrayal of the vampiric Count Orlok is unsettling and mesmerising, a fusion of menace and melancholy that lingers with you as you leave the cinema.
Sound design plays a pivotal role in Eggers’ vision. Breath—both its presence and absence—becomes a motif that underscores the film’s themes. The rasping, laboured exhalations of plague-stricken Londoners weave into the score, amplifying the suffocating dread that permeates the story. This auditory detail enriches the narrative, turning something as mundane as breathing into a symbol of survival and decay.
However, the film is not without its flaws. The storyline, while serviceable, lacks the depth and complexity of Eggers’ previous outings. This thinness in the plot occasionally exposes the runtime, making certain stretches feel elongated. Yet, this simplicity could be seen as a strength, allowing Eggers to delve into the essence of the tale rather than overburden it with unnecessary intricacies.
The Prognosis:
Nosferatu is a beautifully crafted piece of cinema, a masterclass in visual storytelling that immerses viewers in its eerie, dreamlike world. Though it may not soar as high as Eggers’ earlier works, it is undeniably a film made with passion and precision. For lovers of the original and newcomers alike, it offers a rich, sensory experience that solidifies Robert Eggers’ status as one of modern cinema’s most distinctive voices.
The world of cinema has lost one of its most unforgettable stars with the passing of Olivia Hussey. Known for her captivating performances and ethereal presence, Hussey’s career spanned decades, but it was her work in the horror genre that cemented her place in cinematic history. Her portrayal of strong, complex characters across a variety of films has left an indelible mark on both the industry and audiences alike.
Hussey’s notable role in Black Christmas (1974), directed by Bob Clark, remains one of the defining contributions to the horror genre. As Jess Bradford, a college student who becomes the target of a terrifying phone stalker during Christmas break, Hussey delivered a performance of quiet strength and vulnerability. Black Christmas would go on to become a cult classic, influencing generations of slasher films that followed, with Hussey’s chilling turn as one of its earliest heroines still resonating with fans.
Her talents transcended the genre, yet it was her return to horror that brought more unforgettable moments. In Psycho IV: The Beginning (1990), she portrayed Norma Bates, a character that brought fresh depth to the story of Norman Bates, brilliantly counterbalancing the legacy of the original Psycho films. Hussey’s portrayal imbued the role with nuance, adding a layer of sympathy to a tragic and infamous character.
In addition to these films, Hussey’s role in Turkey Shoot (1982) stands out as another testament to her versatility. This action-packed horror film saw her in a more physical, confrontational role, showcasing her ability to navigate both suspenseful terror and high-stakes action with grace and poise.
Hussey also made a memorable contribution to IT: The Mini-Series (1990), where she portrayed Audra Denbrough, the wife of Billy Denbrough (played by Richard Thomas). In this role, Hussey brought a grounded, emotional presence to the adaptation of Stephen King’s beloved novel, adding depth to the narrative and anchoring the emotional stakes of the story, particularly in her scenes alongside Thomas.
While her career spanned a wide variety of genres and roles, it was her contributions to horror that continue to influence and inspire. Olivia Hussey’s legacy in the world of film will not soon be forgotten. Her ability to convey fear, resilience, and vulnerability on screen has left an enduring impression on both her fans and the filmmakers who followed in her wake.
We remember Olivia Hussey not only for the characters she brought to life but for the profound impact she had on shaping the genre and the hearts of all who were fortunate enough to witness her performances.
Rest in peace, Olivia Hussey. You will be greatly missed.
Horror fans rejoice! The holiday season isn’t just about cheerful carols and warm cocoa—it’s also a time for blood-curdling screams, sinister Santas, and festive frights. To celebrate the darker side of Christmas, here’s our countdown of 12 horrifying holiday films to make your season as chilling as it is merry.
🎄 On the First Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A Mogwai in a gift box! Start your holiday horror binge with Gremlins (1984), a delightful cautionary tale about the perils of ignoring pet care instructions. Joe Dante’s classic perfectly balances humour and horror, as the adorable Gizmo spawns a mischievous army of creatures that turn Christmas into a chaotic nightmare. The snowy town backdrop and holiday decorations make it the quintessential dark Christmas treat.
🎄 On the Second Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Two sinister phone calls! Black Christmas (1974) is often credited as one of the earliest slasher films, and for good reason. Its chilling premise—sorority sisters stalked by an unknown killer during the holidays—still holds up, with terrifying phone calls and a tense atmosphere. A precursor to films like Halloween, it’s a must-watch for those who like their Christmas with a side of terror.
🎄 On the Third Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Three masked killers! Forget holiday cheer—Don’t Open Till Christmas (1984) delivers sleazy, grindhouse-style carnage as a masked killer targets anyone dressed as Santa Claus. Set in London, this cult favourite oozes low-budget grit and delivers some gruesome kills. It’s the perfect antidote for anyone who finds mall Santas a little too jolly.
🎄 On the Fourth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Four killer Santas! Few holiday horror films are as infamous as Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984). This controversial slasher caused outrage upon release with its tale of a traumatised young man who becomes a murderous Santa. Despite its campy premise, it delivers genuine chills and has earned its place as a cult classic that’s both terrifying and absurdly entertaining.
🎄 On the Fifth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Five undead dance routines! Anna and the Apocalypse (2017) is a genre mashup like no other—a Christmas zombie musical filled with catchy songs, heartfelt moments, and buckets of blood. It’s the kind of film that shouldn’t work, but somehow does, offering a unique spin on holiday horror that will have you singing along while reaching for the popcorn.
🎄 On the Sixth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Six buckets of gore! Terrifier 3 continues Art the Clown’s reign of terror, this time with a Christmas twist. If you’re a fan of extreme gore and unrelenting scares, this sequel delivers in spades, taking holiday horror to new, grotesque heights. It’s not for the faint of heart but will delight those who thrive on boundary-pushing frights.
🎄 On the Seventh Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Seven blood-stained axes! Christmas Blood (2017) brings a Scandinavian flavor to the killer Santa trope. This Norwegian slasher follows a maniacal Santa spreading holiday carnage across snowy landscapes. With its moody atmosphere and brutal kills, it’s a grim reminder that not all Santas are bringing gifts.
🎄 On the Eighth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eight clever traps! Better Watch Out (2016) is a home invasion thriller with a devilish twist that’s best experienced without spoilers. What starts as a typical holiday babysitting gig takes a sinister turn, with clever plotting and sharp performances that elevate it into one of the most entertaining Christmas horror films of recent years.
🎄 On the Ninth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Nine rampaging reindeer! Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (2010) reimagines Santa as a terrifying, ancient figure unearthed from the ice. This Finnish gem mixes dark humour with genuine scares, creating a unique holiday horror that’s as magical as it is menacing. And those reindeer? Let’s just say Rudolph wouldn’t stand a chance.
🎄 On the Tenth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Ten deadly robots! Christmas Bloody Christmas (2022) answers the question: What if a robotic Santa went on a killing spree? This grindhouse-style horror revels in its absurd premise, delivering over-the-top gore, neon-soaked visuals, and a punk rock attitude that makes it a wild holiday ride.
🎄 On the Eleventh Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eleven festive frights! Krampus (2015) brings the European legend of the titular Christmas demon to life in a darkly comedic tale of family dysfunction and festive punishment. With stunning creature effects and a sly sense of humour, Michael Dougherty’s film is a modern holiday horror classic that reminds us to stay on Santa’s good side.
🎄 On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:A Ghostly Carnage for Christmas The premise of Carnage For Christmas is deeply intriguing. True crime podcaster Lola returns to her hometown for the first time since her gender transition, only to uncover a chilling mystery: has the ghost of a historic murderer risen again? This film offers a thoughtful blend of social themes and supernatural horror, making it a perfect capstone for our list.
Celebrate the Season of Screams From murderous Santas to zombie musicals, these 12 films prove that Christmas doesn’t have to be merry to be memorable. So dim the lights, grab some eggnog, and settle in for a holiday marathon that’s as horrifying as it is holly-jolly.
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.
Mike Nichols’ Wolf offers a refreshingly mature and layered take on the werewolf mythos, eschewing the usual gore-laden spectacle for a story steeped in psychological tension, power dynamics, and human frailty. Released in 1994, this film remains a unique entry in the genre, owing much to its stellar cast and Nichols’ seasoned direction.
Jack Nicholson commands the screen as Will Randall, a middle-aged book editor whose life takes a supernatural turn after a wolf bite. Nicholson’s performance brims with subtle menace, capturing Will’s transformation with restraint and depth. It’s a testament to his range that he can imbue the character with both primal ferocity and wry charm, making this a werewolf we root for as much as we fear.
Michelle Pfeiffer is magnetic as Laura Alden, bringing a sharp wit and vulnerability to her role as the love interest caught in the storm of Will’s transformation. Her chemistry with Nicholson elevates the film, adding a touch of sensuality to the story. James Spader delivers a delightfully slimy performance as Stewart Swinton, Will’s duplicitous protégé whose ambition sets him on a collision course with his boss. Christopher Plummer’s turn as the calculating Raymond Alden rounds out the cast, his gravitas lending weight to the corporate intrigue that simmers beneath the surface.
Nichols approaches the age-old tale of lycanthropy with a refined touch, framing the werewolf curse as an allegory for midlife crises and primal urges buried beneath layers of societal decorum. The film’s central themes of power, betrayal, and rediscovery are enhanced by its corporate setting, where the hunt for dominance plays out not in forests but in boardrooms.
The cinematography by Giuseppe Rotunno is striking, particularly the way he uses shadow and light to emphasise Will’s growing connection to the animal within. Ennio Morricone’s score complements the mood perfectly, adding an eerie elegance to the proceedings.
However, Wolf is not without its shortcomings. The pacing falters at times, and the climactic showdown, while entertaining, leans into genre tropes that feel at odds with the film’s otherwise restrained tone. Additionally, the film’s blend of horror and drama doesn’t always coalesce seamlessly, leaving some moments feeling disjointed.
Despite these flaws, Wolf remains a compelling and underappreciated gem. It’s a film that dares to take a sophisticated approach to a well-trodden myth, exploring the beast within with intelligence and style. For fans of Nicholson, Pfeiffer, or anyone seeking a thoughtful twist on werewolf lore, Wolf still has plenty of bite.
In Theatre of Death (1967), the world of the stage becomes a sinister arena where art and life collide, with the ever-reliable Christopher Lee taking centre stage. Directed by Samuel Gallu, this British horror-thriller delves into the macabre possibilities of theatrical performance, questioning where the boundary lies between scripted terror and real-life horror. While not one of Lee’s most celebrated features, it nonetheless showcases his enduring gravitas as a cornerstone of the horror genre.
The film follows a series of grisly murders in Paris that seem to be connected to the Theatre of Death, a dark and experimental troupe led by the imperious Philippe Darvas (Christopher Lee). As the no-nonsense director, Darvas is both feared and revered, commanding absolute loyalty from his performers. Yet when suspicions arise that he might be more than just a manipulative taskmaster, the line between performance and reality begins to blur, drawing the audience into a spiraling mystery.
As usual, Christopher Lee elevates the material with his magnetic presence. His portrayal of Darvas is sharp and domineering, filled with the sort of brooding intensity that makes him both menacing and captivating. Lee’s ability to imbue even the simplest lines with menace gives the film its strongest moments, ensuring that Darvas remains a figure of fascination—even when the plot begins to falter.
The film’s concept is intriguing, leaning heavily into the theatrical setting as a means of exploring horror. The imagery of actors rehearsing scenes of death and torture within the confines of the stage serves as a clever metaphor for the duality of performance and authenticity. Yet, despite its ambitious premise, Theatre of Death struggles to fully capitalise on its potential.
Samuel Gallu’s direction is serviceable but lacks the flair needed to make the film truly memorable. The pacing feels uneven, and while the murder mystery element offers some intrigue, it never reaches the level of nail-biting suspense the story demands. Similarly, the supporting characters, while adequately acted, fail to leave much of an impression, overshadowed by Lee’s towering performance.
That said, the film does have its strengths. The atmospheric use of the theatre itself is a standout feature, with its shadowy corridors and moody lighting adding an air of Gothic unease. The murders are suitably macabre, even if they don’t push the boundaries of what the genre had to offer in the late 1960s.
The Prognosis:
Theatre of Death is not the strongest entry in Christopher Lee’s illustrious career, but it’s an enjoyable curiosity for fans of his work and the era’s horror films. Its exploration of the theatrical world as a backdrop for terror adds a unique flavor, even if the execution doesn’t quite match the ambition. With Lee’s commanding performance at its heart, the film is worth a watch—just don’t expect it to leave a lasting impression.
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.
Surgeons of Horror 