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The Drowned: A Mythic Thriller That Never Quite Breaks the Surface

08 Wednesday Oct 2025

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Greek myths meet murky waters in a low-budget thriller that almost makes it to shore.

Samuel Clemens’ The Drowned attempts to merge myth and morality within a low-budget psychological thriller, dipping into the murky waters of Greek legend to find something ancient beneath the surface. The results, however, are mixed—an ambitious premise buoyed by striking influences but ultimately weighed down by pacing and atmosphere that never fully submerge the viewer.

Drawing on the myth of Hylas and the nymphs—immortalised in John William Waterhouse’s 1896 oil painting—Clemens reimagines the seductive call of the sea as a modern-day reckoning for guilt and greed. Three thieves hole up in a seaside safehouse after stealing a priceless painting, only to find their fourth member missing and an ominous presence rising from the tide. The film’s mythological undercurrents give it a literary backbone, but they’re never quite fleshed out enough to transform into something transcendent.

There’s a palpable sense of ambition here: The Drowned tries to swim in deep waters, blending folklore, crime, and psychological tension. Yet much like the doomed figures in its inspiration, it finds itself lured by its own reflection—entranced by imagery but unable to escape the shallows of its limited scope.

Performances by Alan Calton, Lara Lemon, and Lily Catalifo lend the feature some stability, grounding its mythic aspirations in believable tension. The cinematography occasionally captures the desolate beauty of the coast with painterly intent, echoing Waterhouse’s haunting stillness. But the low budget is keenly felt, particularly in its uneven pacing and abrupt tonal shifts.

The Prognosis:

The Drowned deserves some credit for attempting to do more than most thrillers in its range—it’s an atmospheric, if uneven, meditation on temptation and consequence. Yet, despite its mythic intentions, it never quite earns its place among the more evocative modern fables. The sirens sing, but their song doesn’t linger.

  • Saul Muerte

All the Gods in the Sky (2018): A Bleak Communion of Trauma and Cosmic Longing

04 Monday Aug 2025

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Quarxx’s All the Gods in the Sky (Tous les dieux du ciel) is not easily categorised, and that’s entirely the point. Sitting somewhere between psychological horror, arthouse drama, and cosmic nightmare, this French genre-bender takes its time and isn’t afraid to make its audience uncomfortable—both emotionally and philosophically.

At the centre of this bruising tale is Simon, a deeply troubled factory worker played with quiet intensity by Jean-Luc Couchard. Isolated on a decaying farmhouse in the French countryside, Simon devotes his life to caring for his sister Estelle (Melanie Gaydos), who was left severely disabled due to a tragic accident during their childhood. The pair exist in a shared purgatory of guilt, silence, and unresolved trauma.

Quarxx delivers a slow punch of a film—one that creeps under your skin not with conventional jump scares, but with mood, decay, and despair. It builds its atmosphere with surgical precision, weaving in splinters of sci-fi, existential dread, and surrealism. Simon’s fixation with extraterrestrial salvation offers a disturbing mirror into his desperation—a hope that something beyond this earth might rescue them from their irreversible reality.

While not all of its experimental swings land perfectly, the film is bolstered by weighty performances and a haunting visual style. The bleak, moldy interiors and ghostly farm exterior evoke a tactile sense of rot, both physical and spiritual. Quarxx makes no effort to handhold the viewer, instead demanding that we wade through the same confusion and torment as Simon himself.

All the Gods in the Sky is certainly not a film for everyone. Its pacing is deliberate, its emotional resonance often brutal, and its genre elements veer from subtle to grotesque. But for those willing to embrace its unsettling tones, there’s something strangely transcendent at its core—a meditation on guilt, disability, and the yearning for escape, whether divine or alien.

The Prognosis:

Though it never fully ascends into the upper tier of arthouse horror, it remains a distinct and memorable piece—an otherworldly prayer whispered from the darkest corners of human suffering.

  • Saul Muerte

All The Gods in the Sky premieres on Shudder and AMC+ Monday 4 August

“Consecration: A Beautifully Shot Descent into a Convoluted Mystery”

14 Saturday Jun 2025

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Director Christopher Smith (Triangle, Severance, Creep) has long walked the fine line between genre smarts and psychological thrills. With Consecration, he returns to familiar territory: isolation, trauma, and the gnawing sense that reality is unspooling by divine design—or perhaps something darker. Unfortunately, despite a stellar cast and evocative visuals, this theological thriller never quite delivers the clarity or momentum it promises.

At the centre of the story is Grace, played with icy restraint and wounded conviction by Jena Malone, who travels to a remote convent in the Scottish Highlands after the supposed suicide of her priest brother. It’s no spoiler to say she doesn’t buy the Church’s official line. What follows is a grim unpicking of spiritual rot, ancient rites, and personal demons—literal and otherwise.

Malone is a reliably magnetic presence, giving Grace a cold, coiled intensity. She’s in nearly every frame and carries the film with a quiet sense of fury, even when the script leaves her wandering in narrative fog. Danny Huston, meanwhile, brings a slippery, unsettling charm to his role as Father Romero—a man whose calm demeanour suggests he’s either a holy man or something far more manipulative. Their scenes together crackle with tension, even if the broader story never quite catches fire.

Visually, Consecration is arresting. Robert Adams’ cinematography makes the windswept cliffs and ancient stone interiors of the convent feel appropriately ominous and otherworldly. There’s a chilling stillness to the imagery, as though the land itself has been cursed. Smith knows how to set a mood, and he does so beautifully here, evoking The Ninth Configuration by way of The Nun.

But for all its atmosphere, Consecration stumbles under the weight of its convoluted plot. Flashbacks, hallucinations, religious visions, and a not-so-linear structure make for an increasingly confusing experience. Smith is no stranger to twisty storytelling—Triangle remains a standout in that regard—but here the puzzle-box elements feel murky rather than mind-bending. The story moves slowly, and its pacing often saps the tension that the setting and premise so deftly establish.

By the time the “revelations” arrive, they’re less shocking than they are baffling, tipping the film into a kind of Doctor Who-style timey-wimey terrain that doesn’t mesh with the grounded horror of its opening acts. It’s a tonal mismatch, and one that ultimately dulls the emotional impact of the finale.

Still, there’s something admirable about the ambition on display. Consecration isn’t content to offer up surface-level scares. It aims for spiritual unease and existential horror, and when it clicks, it’s genuinely unsettling. But in the end, the execution can’t match the ambition.

The Prognosis:

A gorgeous, well-acted descent into faith and madness—but one that loses its way somewhere along the sacred path.

  • Saul Muerte

Consecration will be available on UK Digital Platforms from 16th June.

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.

Ride the Snake Slithers into Darkness, But Never Truly Strikes

10 Saturday May 2025

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Despite bold intentions and strong performances, this slow-burning psychological thriller is too meandering to leave a lasting bite.

Ride the Snake, the latest effort from British filmmaker Shani Grewal, attempts to crawl into the feverish subconscious of grief, guilt, and revenge, but ends up shedding more skin than substance. With an ambitious palette of references, the film isn’t lacking in aesthetic aspirations. Unfortunately, it’s precisely this reverence for genre greats that weighs the narrative down, muddying what could have been a searing, timely story of loss and reckoning.

At its core, the premise is loaded with potential. Harper (Suzanna Hamilton) and her daughter abduct the drunk driver responsible for the death of Harper’s husband, believing they’ve seized justice on their own terms. What follows is not the revenge thriller one might expect, but a slow, deliberate psychological descent. The pacing dares to crawl, not sprint. And while restraint can be a virtue, here it flirts too closely with inertia.

Hamilton, best known for her haunting turn in 1984, delivers a performance of quiet intensity. Her portrayal of Harper teeters between vulnerability and steel resolve. Michael Maloney also anchors the film with a weary charisma that keeps certain scenes afloat, particularly when the tension begins to sag. Madhav Sharma, too, brings subtle gravity to his supporting role, though he is underutilised.

Where Ride the Snake does strike a chord is in its atmospheric tension. The visuals are brooding and textured, soaked in bleak palettes and long, oppressive silences. Grewal and his cinematographer seem deeply attuned to visual storytelling—but perhaps too much so. At times, the atmosphere feels like an end in itself rather than a complement to the story. There are echoes of genre classics everywhere, but they never quite congeal into something distinct or urgent. It’s a film that gestures toward menace without ever fully embracing it.

Yet, beneath the uneven pacing and the sometimes self-conscious aesthetic, there’s something commendable. Grewal’s comment about the difficulties of casting British/Asians in non-stereotypical roles speaks to a real and persistent issue in UK cinema. In that regard, Ride the Snake is a step forward—not because it tokenises its characters of colour, but because it simply allows them to exist in complex, human roles. The film’s universality lies in its grief, in its moral murk, and in the desperation that grief can provoke.

The Prognosis:

For all its noble intentions and atmospheric flourishes, Ride the Snake ends up coiling in on itself. It never quite delivers the psychological punch it promises. The suspense simmers but rarely boils. The horror stays at arm’s length, more suggested than felt. In the end, it’s a film that mourns deeply but moves too slowly—and struggles to find its own voice amid the echoes of cinematic ghosts.

  • Movie Review by Saul Muerte

Ride The Snake is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.

The Woman in the Yard: Rooted in Atmosphere, But Lacking in Fear

19 Saturday Apr 2025

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Danielle Deadwyler shines in this moody supernatural tale, but Jaume Collet-Serra struggles to fully unearth the horror at its heart.

Twenty years after House of Wax melted into mediocrity, director Jaume Collet-Serra returns to the horror genre with The Woman in the Yard, a moody, slow-burn supernatural tale that teases tension but never quite takes root. There’s a welcome sense of restraint this time around — a desire to craft something more grounded, more psychological — but the final product ends up feeling more undercooked than unnerving.

Danielle Deadwyler is the anchor of the film, delivering a committed and emotionally charged performance as Ramona, a grieving widow attempting to hold her family together after her husband’s sudden death. Deadwyler brings texture and soul to every scene she’s in — her presence commands attention and breathes life into an otherwise uneven script. Whether she’s shielding her children from the unknown or confronting her own internal anguish, she elevates the material with quiet fury and vulnerability.

The premise has potential: a mysterious woman appears on the property — expressionless, enigmatic, and perhaps not entirely human. The creeping dread builds in the first act with genuine intrigue. But instead of snowballing into something harrowing, the film meanders, content to rely on vague symbolism and atmospheric shots without connecting the emotional stakes to the horror elements. The titular woman remains more concept than character — a spectral threat with no real grip on the narrative beyond metaphor.

Collet-Serra shows flickers of maturity here, eschewing the slick gore of his early career for something more intimate and slow-burning. There are shades of The Others and even Relic in the DNA, and a few sequences — particularly a late-night confrontation hint at the film this could have been. But despite these improvements, The Woman in the Yard never fully comes into focus. The tension dissipates rather than crescendoes, and by the final act, the film seems content to whisper instead of scream.

The Prognosis:

It’s not a disaster — far from it. But with such rich performances and a potent setup, it’s frustrating to watch it all drift into the mist. Ultimately, Collet-Serra has taken a step forward in his genre evolution, but this yard still needs some serious tending.

  • Saul Muerte

Inside Man (2025): A Stylish but Uneven Dive into the Ruthless World of Roy DeMeo

04 Tuesday Mar 2025

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Crime dramas based on true events often walk a fine line between gripping realism and cinematic exaggeration. Inside Man, directed by Danny A. Abeckaser, leans into this challenge with a gritty portrayal of undercover work in 1980s New York. Emile Hirsch leads the film as a troubled detective whose attempt at redemption drags him deep into the underbelly of the mob, where survival means losing himself in the very world he’s trying to dismantle.

Hirsch, known for his intense performances in Into the Wild and Lone Survivor, delivers a solid turn as a cop struggling with his identity while infiltrating the DeMeo crew—one of the most feared factions of the era. His internal conflict is the film’s strongest element, though at times, the script doesn’t allow for deeper psychological exploration. Lucy Hale adds some emotional weight to the story, though her role feels underdeveloped, while Robert Davi and Jack Cannavale bring a welcome menace to their mobster personas.

Abeckaser, who has experience with crime dramas (Mob Town), crafts an authentic 1980s New York atmosphere, full of dimly lit bars, smoky back rooms, and bursts of brutal violence. However, while the film captures the aesthetic well, it sometimes struggles with pacing, feeling more like a series of key moments rather than a fully cohesive narrative. The tension builds effectively, but some scenes drag, making the film feel longer than its runtime.

The Prognosis:

For crime thriller enthusiasts, Inside Man offers a serviceable look at the high-risk world of undercover police work. It doesn’t break new ground, but the strong performances and stylish execution make it worth a watch, especially for fans of mob dramas.

Inside Man will be available on DVD & Digital, including Apple TV, Prime Video, and Google Play from March 5, 2025, in Australia & New Zealand.

  • Saul Muerte

The Monkey (2025) – A Misfire That Claps to Its Own Beat

01 Saturday Mar 2025

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Osgood Perkins has built a reputation for moody, atmospheric horror (The Blackcoat’s Daughter, I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House), crafting eerie slow burns that settle under your skin. So it’s baffling that his adaptation of Stephen King’s The Monkey swings so wildly in the opposite direction, embracing an oddly comedic tone that is both its saving grace and its Achilles’ heel.

The film follows twin brothers who, after discovering a cursed wind-up monkey, become entangled in a series of grotesque and improbable deaths. Decades later, the sinister toy resurfaces, forcing the now-estranged siblings to confront their past—and the murderous primate—before its deadly rhythm consumes them completely.

As someone who was deeply impacted by King’s short story during my formative years, this adaptation feels like a tonal misstep. While Perkins injects moments of dry, almost absurd humour that occasionally land (I’ll admit, I chuckled more than once), the film never fully commits to either horror or comedy, leaving it feeling strangely weightless. The sense of dread that should accompany a tale about an unrelenting, supernatural force is missing, replaced with an offbeat energy that doesn’t quite fit.

Visually, The Monkey does retain some of Perkins’ signature flair. There are pockets of eerie imagery, particularly when the toy is in motion, its drum banging in ominous slow motion as its glassy eyes seem to bore into the characters’ souls. However, the film’s pacing stumbles between moody horror and slapstick absurdity, undercutting its tension just as it starts to build. Instead of letting the horror breathe, it often pivots to a joke or exaggerated reaction, as if second-guessing its own scares.

The performances do their best to sell the concept, with the lead actors committing to the madness, but there’s a disjointedness to the storytelling that prevents any real emotional weight from forming. Without a stronger anchor—whether it be a grounded sense of familial trauma or a truly nightmarish atmosphere—the film lacks the staying power of both Perkins’ previous work and King’s original story.

With The Monkey, Perkins seems to be playing against type, but instead of reinventing the demonic toy subgenre, he fumbles it. The film claps along to its own beat, but much like the monkey itself, the rhythm grows tiresome—thumping away long after the terror has worn off.

  • Saul Muerte

Welcome (2025) – A Tense, Thought-Provoking Thriller That Finds Strength in Shades of Grey

08 Saturday Feb 2025

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Jevon Boreland’s Welcome arrives as a psychological thriller that thrives on ambiguity, moral complexity, and unsettling tension. While its modest budget is apparent at times, strong performances, well-crafted cinematography, and an antagonist with unexpected depth elevate the experience beyond the usual home-invasion fare.

The film follows expectant parents Darren (Emidio Lopes) and Sasha (Shailene Garnett), who set out for a romantic getaway in the countryside, only to find their retreat disrupted by their overly attentive landlord Eric (Emmanuel Kabongo) and his unsettling wife Millie (Brianna Goldie). What begins as an awkward intrusion soon spirals into something far more sinister, as paranoia and hidden motives turn their weekend into a nightmare.

Rather than presenting a clear-cut hero-villain dynamic, Welcome plays in murky waters, forcing viewers to question not just Eric’s unsettling presence but also the past decisions of Darren and Sasha. The film leans into psychological horror more than outright terror, making its tension feel more cerebral than visceral.

Boreland and his team craft a tightly wound narrative that benefits from strong character work, a script that keeps you guessing, and moments of quiet, creeping dread. The cinematography enhances the sense of isolation, giving the film an eerie beauty that contrasts with its darker themes. Kabongo, in particular, delivers a performance that straddles menace and sympathy, making Eric one of the more compelling antagonists in recent genre fare.

However, Welcome doesn’t fully capitalise on its tension. The slow build is effective, but some stretches of the film feel drawn out, and when things finally escalate, the payoff is more unsettling than shocking. Additionally, while the script is solid, certain character decisions feel forced, occasionally stretching plausibility.

The Prognosis:

Welcome is a solid psychological thriller that asks unsettling questions about morality, past choices, and the blurred lines between villainy and victimhood. While its pacing and budget limitations hold it back from greatness, the film’s strong performances and commitment to ambiguity make it a worthy entry in the genre. If you enjoy thrillers that leave you pondering. Welcome is worth a visit.

  • Saul Muerte

Welcome is available to stream on demand from Feb 11 through Breaking Glass Pictures.

Blumhouse’s Afraid: A Cautionary Tale of Career and Genre Stagnation

14 Saturday Dec 2024

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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.

  • Saul Muerte