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.
Australia has long mastered the art of transforming its wild, often dangerous natural environment into the stuff of horror legend. From Razorback‘s ferocious wild boar to Rogue’s man-eating crocodile and The Reef‘s relentless shark, Aussie horror films have found a niche in turning the country’s flora and fauna into nightmare fuel. Now, The Red tries its luck with a new terror—Rippy, the giant zombie kangaroo, who’s taking the outback’s reputation for dangerous wildlife to absurd new heights.
While The Red is steeped in gimmickry, Rippy’s story has just enough originality and humor to keep it from feeling stale. The film leans hard into its outrageous premise, following the havoc-wreaking, undead kangaroo as it terrorises the tiny town of Axehead. The premise alone is undoubtedly outlandish, and director Rhys Chapman is well aware of the absurdity; he amps up the comedic horror elements, encouraging audiences to revel in Rippy’s carnage. Yet, beneath the zany concept, there’s a steady effort to elevate the story with strong character performances—something that makes The Red stand out among other Aussie creature features.
At the heart of The Red are performances that bring depth to an otherwise campy storyline. Aaron Pedersen shines as the stoic but increasingly exasperated local, adding gravitas to scenes that might otherwise be overwhelmed by the film’s over-the-top antics. His ability to balance seriousness with humour gives the movie its grounding force, making even the most ludicrous moments feel slightly more plausible. Michael Biehn, a beloved name from genre classics like The Terminator and Aliens, steps in with his signature ruggedness, adding weight to the film’s more intense sequences and elevating Rippy’s rampage from pure comedy to something a bit more sinister. Their presence and commitment to their roles help counterbalance the camp factor, giving The Red an unexpected sense of charm.
Yet for all its strengths, The Red doesn’t quite manage to claw its way out of mediocrity. The film’s relentless commitment to its zombie kangaroo premise may not appeal to everyone, with the comedy often overshadowing the horror. Rippy is memorable, if only for his sheer ridiculousness, but he lacks the lasting menace of some of Australia’s other cinematic creatures. Still, The Red will likely find a niche audience who appreciates the tongue-in-cheek approach and the thrill of watching another Australian animal wreak havoc.
The Prognosis:
The Red may not have the lasting power of Australia’s more fearsome horror creatures, but for fans of genre-bending horror and quirky creature features, it’s worth a watch. Pedersen and Biehn’s solid performances keep it engaging enough, and even if Rippy doesn’t become Australia’s next horror icon, he’s definitely unforgettable.
Saul Muerte
‘RIPPY’S GONE ROGUE’ AUSSIE ZOMBIE KANGAROO FILM ‘THE RED’ IN AUSTRALIAN CINEMAS OCTOBER 31
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.
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.
Hellboy: The Crooked Manmarks the fourth live-action installment in the Hellboy franchise and, unfortunately, continues the downward trend started by the 2019 Neil Marshall-directed reboot (which, full disclosure, I haven’t seen—so I won’t judge it too harshly). However, what The Crooked Man struggles with most is shaking off the long shadow cast by Guillermo del Toro’s Hellboy films, which, if I’m being honest, I hold a bit of bias for given my love for del Toro’s visionary style.
In The Crooked Man, Hellboy, played by Jack Kesy, teams up with a rookie agent from the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense (BPRD) to face witches and a local demon terrorizing a small 1950s Appalachian community. The setup is atmospheric, dripping with dark and moody rural horror vibes, but the style swings between working well in some moments and feeling like a TV pilot trying to test the waters for more adventures.
While Mike Mignola himself pens the screenplay, keeping the source material’s spirit alive, the execution of that spirit sometimes feels thin. There are certainly eerie moments and a heavy use of gothic imagery, but for all the darkness, the film rarely finds space for genuine scares. The “Crooked Man” villain has some potential, but he never feels quite as menacing as he should be, and the plot doesn’t take the time to build tension or fear effectively.
One thing I will credit the film for is its aesthetic, which evokes a grungy, eerie folklore atmosphere fitting for the Appalachia setting. Yet even here, the film can’t quite find its balance, often coming across as more stylistic than substantive. At times, it feels like a collection of eerie vignettes rather than a cohesive, immersive narrative.
The Prognosis:
Hellboy: The Crooked Man is not without some merit—there are moments where the moody visuals start to work, and the film grows on you as you settle into its world. But it struggles to rise above the feeling of being just another attempt at relaunching Hellboy into mainstream success, and unfortunately, it doesn’t hit the mark. It ends up feeling more like a trial run for something bigger that never quite takes off.
Fans of the comics might appreciate the nods to Mignola’s work but compared to the grand scope of del Toro’s vision for the character, The Crooked Man leaves much to be desired. It’s dark, yes, but not quite deep enough to make a lasting impression.
Saul Muerte
HELLBOY: THE CROOKED MAN will release in cinemas nationally on October 10 through Rialto Distribution.
It’s What’s Inside delivers a twisted, high-concept psychological thriller, exploring the dark side of identity, body swapping, and the lengths people will go to when driven by revenge, jealousy, and ambition. Directed by Greg Jardin, the film’s central premise—the manipulation of bodies and identities through a cutting-edge device—presents a disturbing reflection on the cost of transformation, both physical and moral.
The story revolves around a group of friends who reunite at Reuben’s (Devon Terrell) house for a pre-wedding party. Amid the celebration, their estranged friend Forbes (David W. Thompson) reappears, carrying a strange device that allows its users to swap bodies with one another. What begins as a game quickly spirals into chaos as lies are exposed, hidden desires come to light, and deep-seated grudges from their college days erupt with deadly consequences.
The film’s greatest strength lies in its unsettling portrayal of how changing one’s body—whether for vanity, power, or escape—can expose the true, often corrupt, personalities that lie within. As the group engages in their body-swapping game, it becomes clear that their outward transformations only serve to amplify their internal flaws. Forbes’s invention doesn’t just allow the characters to slip into new skins; it brings out the darkness they’ve hidden beneath the surface. As identities blur and alliances crumble, each character is forced to confront the parts of themselves they’ve tried to repress, revealing a disturbing lack of empathy and moral decay.
One of the most compelling elements of It’s What’s Inside is its critique of a generation that has lost sight of its purpose. The characters—consumed by a need for success, revenge, and personal gain—are driven by their ambitions with little concern for the consequences. Shelby (Brittany O’Grady), who eagerly embraces her newfound appearance after swapping into Nikki’s (Alycia Debnam-Carey) body, exemplifies this obsession with image and social media status. Meanwhile, Cyrus’s (James Morosini) jealousy and insecurity bubble over as he navigates the body-swapping game, becoming a key player in the film’s explosive climax. The group, so intent on achieving what they believe to be success, revenge, or escape, fail to realize the dangers of playing with their identities until it’s too late.
As the narrative escalates, we see the tragic consequences of their actions—deaths, betrayal, and a complete breakdown of trust including a shocking demise during the second round of body swapping sets the stage for the film’s darker turn, as Forbes, Shelby, and the others begin to unravel, trapped in a vicious cycle of lies and deception. The notion of swapping bodies as a game becomes a perverse metaphor for youth’s reckless pursuit of validation, where nothing—including one’s own identity—is sacred or permanent.
The ending leaves a lasting impression, and a final twist of revenge, leaving the audience and its players in a world where no one’s identity is fixed and everyone is willing to sacrifice their true selves for personal gain, It’s What’s Inside raises unsettling questions about the lengths people will go to control their own narratives. Even after the dust settles, the repercussions of the group’s actions hang over them, leaving the audience with an eerie sense of inevitability.
The Prognosis:
It’s What’s Inside offers a disturbing exploration of identity, revenge, and the corrupting influence of ambition. While the plot occasionally stumbles under the weight of its complex narrative, the film still manages to deliver a chilling commentary on the cost of changing one’s body, and by extension, oneself. As youth grapples with the allure of success and validation, the film serves as a cautionary tale of how easily one can lose sight of who they truly are. With its unsettling atmosphere and darkly intriguing concept, It’s What’s Inside lingers in the mind, reminding us that the greatest horrors come from within.
Saul Muerte
It’s What’s Inside is currently streaming on Netflix.
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.
Surgeons of Horror 