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.
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.
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 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.
As the third entry in Hammer’s Mummy series, The Mummy’s Shroud faced an uphill battle to live up to the studio’s past successes. Despite its chilling premise involving a cursed shroud and the inevitable vengeance it unleashes, the film struggled to achieve the tension and excitement expected from Hammer’s golden age. Its release coincided with the closing chapter of an era, marking the final Hammer production to be filmed at the iconic Bray Studios. Unfortunately, the lackluster performances of the lead cast diminished the impact of the film’s otherwise atmospheric storytelling.
One saving grace was the work of Hammer veteran Michael Ripper, whose performance as the beleaguered Longbarrow stood out amid the weaker portrayals of the principal characters. Ripper’s innate charm and subtlety helped maintain audience engagement, even as the narrative faltered. While some gory scenes were cut to meet censorship demands, the special effects used in the Mummy’s demise were exceptional for their time. The climactic disintegration scene became a technical highlight, showcasing Hammer’s ingenuity in visual effects design. Despite its shortcomings, the film retains nostalgic appeal and is notable for its craftsmanship, though it remains overshadowed by Hammer’s more compelling creature features. Released alongside Frankenstein Created Woman as part of a double bill, The Mummy’s Shroud paled in comparison, offering modest thrills but failing to achieve the same level of ambition or resonance.
When Anne and Patrick stumble into a black cab after a rough night out, they’re expecting a typical ride home—a relief from the cold night and the tensions simmering between them. However, the journey quickly turns dark as the cabbie, initially cheery and talkative, veers off course and takes them down a haunting, deserted road. It’s not long before the couple realises they’re locked in, trapped with a man whose jovial front hides something far more sinister. The setup is promising, drawing viewers in with an eerie atmosphere and unsettling undertones as the cab glides through unknown territory. Nick Frost’s cabbie is a captivating presence, maintaining a blend of unnerving charm and cryptic intent that keeps you guessing, at least at first.
The initial intrigue fades, though, as the film’s promise gets buried under an overly complicated narrative. It hints at folklore and supernatural elements but becomes too tangled in its own mythology, leaving audiences grasping for clarity. What could have been a tight, suspenseful thriller becomes increasingly disjointed, as each twist raises more questions than it answers. The film’s ambition to intertwine folklore with psychological terror is admirable, but it ultimately muddies the plot rather than enhancing it. By the midway point, it’s difficult to know whether the driver is meant to be supernatural, insane, or something in between. This indecisiveness leaves viewers adrift, and the potential fear factor wanes as confusion grows.
Frost delivers a solid performance, balancing his sinister and offbeat personas with the kind of ambiguity that could have made for a terrifying antagonist. Unfortunately, the script doesn’t give him enough to work with, pulling him—and the story—in too many directions to sustain a cohesive character arc. Anne and Patrick’s characters, while positioned as central to the driver’s twisted motives, remain frustratingly thin, with little to root for in their strained relationship. Their lack of depth also makes it harder to invest in their fate, leaving the suspense feeling lukewarm as the stakes grow unclear.
While Black Cab certainly has moments that showcase a creepy atmosphere, the lack of a clear trajectory undermines the tension that should be building. The deserted road setting, dark and mist-filled, is effectively spooky, yet the narrative undercuts the potential of this location, losing itself in meandering explanations of haunted histories that detract from the urgency of the couple’s plight. As the film lurches towards its bewildering conclusion, the story collapses into a mishmash of horror clichés and unfulfilled setups.
For horror fans seeking a taut, edge-of-your-seat thriller, Black Cab may be disappointing. The movie teases a terrifying ride but fails to stay on track, bogged down by a script that confuses mystery with aimlessness. With a stronger focus and a leaner narrative, it might have delivered on its bold premise, but as it stands, Black Cab is a missed opportunity that only occasionally taps into the horror lurking in the dark.
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.
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.
Hold Your Breath, the latest psychological horror-thriller from directors Karrie Crouse and Will Joines, had all the ingredients to be a standout film. Set against the haunting backdrop of the 1930s Dust Bowl, with a compelling premise and Sarah Paulson leading the charge, the film seemed poised to deliver a chilling exploration of fear and paranoia. Unfortunately, despite Paulson’s strong performance and the intriguing concept of an antagonist hidden within the dust, Hold Your Breath falls flat, weighed down by slow pacing, underdeveloped tension, and a lackluster narrative.
The story centers on Mabel (Paulson), a young mother living in rural Oklahoma, whose life is unraveling as the unforgiving dust storms ravage the land and her mind. Paulson brings depth and intensity to her role, portraying Mabel’s descent into paranoia and fear with her trademark skill. Her performance is by far the highlight of the film, effectively conveying the crushing burden of motherhood in a world that feels as hostile as it is desolate. As Mabel becomes convinced that a malevolent presence is lurking in the dust storms, Paulson’s portrayal of her psychological breakdown feels visceral and authentic, grounding the film in moments that would otherwise be lost in the haze.
The premise itself is promising—an unknown threat hiding in the dust, a force of nature that becomes a villain in its own right. There’s something deeply unnerving about the idea that something as natural as the wind could be hiding something sinister. However, Hold Your Breath struggles to capitalise on this. Instead of using the dust storms to build a creeping sense of dread, the film meanders, failing to fully deliver on its supernatural promise or lean into the psychological horror it teases.
The pacing is one of the film’s biggest issues. While the slow-burn approach can work wonders in building tension, Hold Your Breath takes it too far, with long stretches where little happens beyond Mabel’s growing unease. For all the atmospheric dust and the potential of an unseen threat lurking within it, the tension never truly escalates. The film teeters on the edge of suspense but never tips over into genuine horror or even psychological thrills. By the time it reaches its conclusion, the payoff feels underwhelming, leaving the audience more frustrated than fearful.
The dust, intended as a central figure in the narrative, is visually striking but ultimately underutilised. It swirls ominously throughout the film, but the menace it promises never quite materialises. The dust could have been a powerful metaphor for Mabel’s disintegrating mind, her inability to see clearly or escape her situation, but instead, it becomes just a backdrop—an aesthetic choice rather than a narrative driver. There’s a missed opportunity in not making the dust storms more integral to the psychological unraveling or the supernatural terror.
Even with a strong supporting cast, including Amiah Miller and Ebon Moss-Bachrach, the characters surrounding Mabel feel flat. Their roles seem more like props to Mabel’s story rather than fully fleshed-out individuals, which detracts from the emotional weight of her breakdown. The interactions between Mabel and her family lack the depth needed to make her increasing isolation and fear resonate on a deeper level.
The Prognosis:
Hold Your Breath boasts a cracking premise and a standout performance from Sarah Paulson, who anchors the film with emotional depth and conviction. The idea of a villain hidden within the dust storms of the 1930s Oklahoma Dust Bowl offers so much potential for both psychological and supernatural horror, but the film’s sluggish pacing and lack of genuine tension leave much to be desired. Despite its atmospheric setting and strong central performance, Hold Your Breath ultimately fails to make a lasting impression, squandering its intriguing concept in a haze of missed opportunities.
Saul Muerte
Hold Your Breath is streaming on Disney Plus from Oct 4th.
Blumhouse has long been synonymous with delivering low-budget horror with a sharp edge, but in recent years, their output has felt a bit predictable, leaving some fans yearning for the earlier days of their groundbreaking horror. House of Spoils, however, offers a fresh twist on familiar supernatural elements, blending witchcraft, female empowerment, and the culinary world in a tale that simmers with intrigue, even if it doesn’t fully deliver the knockout punch expected from the studio.
Written and directed by Bridget Savage Cole and Danielle Krudy, House of Spoils stars the ever-charismatic Ariana DeBose as Elena, an ambitious chef trying to launch her first restaurant in a remote estate. What should be a dream come true quickly spirals into a nightmare as Elena battles not only the pressures of running a kitchen and a shady investor (Arian Moayed) but also the spirit of the estate’s previous owner. This vengeful ghost seems hellbent on sabotaging her every move, lurking in the shadows and slowly unraveling Elena’s sanity.
The film plays out in an almost fable-like way, weaving in themes of witchcraft and earth magic, particularly in how Elena connects to the land she’s building her restaurant on. The kitchen, in this context, becomes more than a place of creativity and chaos—it’s a battleground, not just for Elena’s culinary dreams, but for her very soul. As she fends off both supernatural and real-world threats, the movie delves into the struggles of female empowerment in a male-dominated industry. It’s here that House of Spoils finds some of its most interesting material, reflecting on how women are forced to navigate a world of doubt, both external and internal, while being undermined by those around them.
Ariana DeBose shines as the determined chef, capturing Elena’s strength and vulnerability with nuance, though the script sometimes doesn’t give her enough to fully flesh out the character. Barbie Ferreira plays the role of Elena’s skeptical sous-chef, bringing a grounded, sardonic energy to the film, while Arian Moayed as the investor adds a layer of sleazy opportunism that heightens the tension.
Where House of Spoils really excels is in its atmosphere. The remote, crumbling estate is the perfect setting for a horror film, its dilapidated beauty mirroring the decaying hopes of its protagonist. There’s a distinct connection to the earth and natural elements throughout the film, almost as though the land itself is alive—and hostile. The ghostly presence of the previous owner feels intertwined with these elements, adding a layer of witchy folklore that sets the film apart from typical haunted house fare.
The culinary angle also brings a unique flavor to the film (pun intended). The stress and artistry of the kitchen mirror the growing supernatural threat, with moments of tension rising to a boil as Elena tries to hold her life and restaurant together. The culinary scenes are visually engaging and offer a fresh take on the typical horror setup, though at times they can feel somewhat underutilized in terms of narrative depth.
Despite these strong elements, House of Spoils isn’t without its shortcomings. While it explores rich themes of female resilience and empowerment, the pacing occasionally drags, and the scares feel too restrained for a Blumhouse production. The spirit haunting the restaurant never quite reaches its full terrifying potential, leaving the horror feeling a bit more muted than it should. Fans of Blumhouse’s more visceral scares might find the subtlety here frustrating, but those who appreciate a slow-burn, atmospheric approach will find much to enjoy.
At its heart, House of Spoils is a meditation on ambition, doubt, and the costs of chasing your dreams in the face of adversity. Its exploration of witchcraft and earth magic ties beautifully into its themes of resilience and nature’s power, and while it may not be a Blumhouse classic, it stands as a solid, enjoyable entry into the supernatural horror genre. There’s enough intrigue, originality, and thematic richness here to make it worth a watch, even if it doesn’t quite reach the heights it aspires to.
The Prognosis:
House of Spoils might not be a return to form for Blumhouse, but it’s a welcome detour into a world of supernatural folklore, female empowerment, and kitchen chaos. With strong performances from Ariana DeBose and an intriguing setting, it serves up a satisfying, if not entirely groundbreaking, horror tale.
Saul Muerte
House of Spoils will stream on Amazon Prime from Oct 4th.
Surgeons of Horror 