Tag Archives: occult

Mind Over Murder: Revisiting Psychic Killer and the Occult Obsessions of 1970s Horror

07 Friday Nov 2025

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The mid-1970s were a time when horror cinema flirted with the unseen — the intangible spaces between science and spirituality, psychology and the paranormal. Ray Danton’s Psychic Killer (1975) is a fascinating, if uneven, artifact of that cultural moment, where the anxieties of post-Vietnam disillusionment met the popular fascination with the occult, parapsychology, and the power of the mind untethered from the body.

Based on the novel The Killer Inside by Mardi Rustam, the film follows Arnold Masters (Jim Hutton), a wrongfully institutionalised man who learns the ancient art of astral projection and proceeds to exact vengeance on those responsible for his suffering. It’s a premise steeped in the decade’s obsession with transcendental revenge — an idea that pain, repression, and injustice could manifest as supernatural liberation.

Danton, better known for his acting than his directing, crafts a film that hovers between drive-in pulp and metaphysical inquiry. The astral projection sequences, with their spectral double imagery and off-kilter editing, gesture toward something headier than the average exploitation film, though the execution never quite escapes its grindhouse trappings. Still, Psychic Killer taps into that 1970s preoccupation with unseen forces — from Carrie to The Exorcist to The Fury — suggesting that the mind itself was the new frontier of horror.

Hutton’s performance adds unexpected melancholy, his vengeance driven less by malice than by a desperate desire for release — from guilt, trauma, and the body itself. Julie Adams and Paul Burke provide sturdy genre support, though the film’s episodic structure and inconsistent tone often dilute the tension.

Yet for all its flaws, Psychic Killer endures as a strangely poignant entry in the occult horror canon. Its blend of parapsychology, revenge thriller, and low-budget surrealism makes it a spiritual cousin to Patrick (1978) and The Medusa Touch (1978), exploring how psychic phenomena became a metaphor for repressed rage and moral imbalance.

Half a century on, Psychic Killer stands as both a relic and a reflection — a film that captured the 1970s hunger to look beyond the flesh, even if what it found there was merely the echo of human cruelty.

The Prognosis:

A curious, hypnotic slice of 1970s occult cinema — not wholly successful, but undeniably of its time and temperament.

  • Saul Muerte

“Race with the Devil: Satan in the Rearview – 50 Years of Paranoia on the Open Road”

26 Thursday Jun 2025

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Somewhere between the last gasps of the hippy hangover and the creeping dread of post-Manson America, Race with the Devil barreled down the highway like a bat out of Hell—literally. Released in 1975 and directed by action-hardened journeyman Jack Starrett, this cult classic is a dusty, occult-tinged road thriller that taps directly into the national paranoia of the time. Fifty years later, it still hits a nerve—especially if, like me, your first encounter was via a late-night television broadcast that left you afraid to look out the caravan window.

The plot is lean and mean: two Texas couples—Peter Fonda and Lara Parker, Warren Oates and Loretta Swit—head out on an RV road trip to Colorado for a little dirt biking and rest. But their trip takes a brutal detour when they stumble across a midnight satanic ritual in the desert, and worse still, witness a human sacrifice. They flee the scene, but the cultists see them… and the chase begins.

What follows is part road movie, part conspiracy thriller, and all-out occult nightmare. The group is pursued across the dusty American Southwest by seemingly every local in sight—mechanics, police officers, townsfolk—all of whom might be in league with the Devil. Paranoia builds with every mile, the sense of isolation increasing even within the relative safety of the RV. There’s no sanctuary here—only dust, devilry, and dread.

It’s the Satanic Panic subtext that gives Race with the Devil its bite. Released at a time when America was nervously scanning the horizon for devil worshippers, ritual killers, and cultural decay, the film exploits that fear with precision. Unlike other occult-themed films of the era—The Omen, The Devil’s Rain, or The Mephisto Waltz—this one never lets the supernatural overshadow the real terror: people. Regular folks, hidden in plain sight, quietly devoted to something unholy.

Fonda and Oates make for a superb, contrasting duo—Fonda the laconic cool, Oates the ever-suspicious skeptic. There’s an unspoken weight in their friendship, an almost unshakable faith in their ability to muscle through the ordeal—until that faith is tested, and shattered. Loretta Swit, now best remembered for MASH*, adds a sharp emotional core to the film, holding her own in the growing panic. All four leads ground the madness in a relatable domesticity, which only makes the horror feel closer to home.

Then there’s that ending. Still bleak. Still brutal. Still brilliant. It’s a masterstroke in nihilism, the kind of finish that leaves you staring at a black screen, wondering how far evil will go to win. It was a punch to the gut as a kid, watching through half-lidded eyes during a late-night broadcast, and it hasn’t lost its sting.

Visually, the film captures the sun-baked emptiness of the landscape—open highways and desolate motels that conceal threats behind every shadow. Starrett directs with a muscular, no-nonsense style that keeps the tension simmering, while the sound design and jarring music cues keep your nerves frayed.

The Prognosis:

Race with the Devil may not be the most stylish film of its era, nor the most overtly supernatural, but its blend of Americana, paranoia, and occult horror earns it a lasting place in the canon of 1970s genre cinema. Fifty years on, it remains a taut, unsettling ride—a reminder that out on the open road, it’s not just flat tires or bad weather you need to worry about… sometimes it’s Satan himself.

  • Saul Muerte

The Devil’s Rain (1975): Satanic Meltdowns and Star Power in a Slippery Cult Classic

19 Thursday Jun 2025

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When It Rains, It Melts: Revisiting The Devil’s Rain at 50

Half a century on, The Devil’s Rain remains one of the strangest artifacts of the 1970s occult horror boom—an overheated stew of devil worship, grotesque visuals, and unexpected A-list casting that somehow managed to attract both Hollywood veterans and rising stars into its dripping, gooey vortex.

Directed by Robert Fuest—best known for the eccentric Dr. Phibes films—The Devil’s Rain is deeply entrenched in the cultural anxieties and supernatural fascinations of its time. The film plays like a fever dream born of late-night TV evangelist warnings and paperback Satanic panic, spinning a tale of black masses, soul-selling contracts, and a cursed family line haunted by a vengeful cult leader.

That cult leader, Jonathan Corbis, is played with devilish relish by Ernest Borgnine, who flips his usual affable persona on its head. Decked out in robes and goat-like makeup by the climax, Borgnine is clearly having the time of his life. He’s surrounded by a wildly eclectic cast: William Shatner as the tormented hero, Ida Lupino as his doomed mother, Tom Skerritt as his psychic brother, and Keenan Wynn as a blustery local sheriff. Oh—and there’s a young, largely silent John Travolta in his first film role, just months before Welcome Back, Kotter launched him into stardom.

But for all its firepower in front of the camera, the film never quite coalesces into a satisfying whole. The plot is thin, stretched across loosely connected sequences of ritualistic mumbo jumbo and endless scenes of people melting into waxy goo beneath acid rain—an effect that, while memorable, wears thin. The much-hyped “incredible ending” involves an extended final act of meltdowns, betrayals, and demonic possession that’s more exhausting than exhilarating.

Still, there’s a goofy charm to the way The Devil’s Rain leans hard into its Satanic aesthetic. This was the era of The Exorcist, Race with the Devil, and The Omen—and The Devil’s Rain rides that same wave of occult obsession, just with less discipline and a lot more slime. The involvement of real-life Church of Satan founder Anton LaVey (credited as technical advisor and appearing onscreen) only adds to the gonzo credentials, even if the end result feels more theatrical than terrifying.

The Prognosis:

As a piece of horror history, The Devil’s Rain deserves a glance—not for its scares, but for its sheer audacity. It’s a wild blend of old Hollywood gravitas, ‘70s devil craze, and low-budget exploitation, all filtered through Fuest’s offbeat lens. Fifty years later, it’s more fun as a conversation piece than a horror classic, but there’s no denying: few films have ever gone down in flames quite like this.

  • Retrospective Review by Saul Muerte

The Devil Rides Out: Hammer’s Chilling Dance with the Occult

08 Saturday Feb 2025

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The Power of Good Against the Forces of Evil

When Hammer Films turned their attention to Dennis Wheatley’s supernatural thrillers, few could have anticipated the enduring legacy of The Devil Rides Out (1968). Directed by the prolific Terence Fisher, it stands as a masterclass in atmosphere, storytelling, and occult intrigue, all while showcasing Christopher Lee in one of his finest and most distinctive performances.

At the suggestion of Christopher Lee, Hammer secured the rights to three of Wheatley’s novels: The Devil Rides Out, The Satanist, and To the Devil a Daughter. Wheatley’s works, steeped in the dark arts and tales of moral confrontation, presented the studio with fertile ground for their horror sensibilities. Lee, a longtime admirer of Wheatley’s writing, saw The Devil Rides Out as an opportunity to expand his range. Cast against type, he portrayed the heroic Duc de Richleau, an intellectual and commanding figure who battles Satanic forces with poise and conviction.

Hammer entrusted screenwriting duties to Richard Matheson, celebrated for his work on The Twilight Zone and various genre-defining projects. Matheson brought a deft touch to the script, balancing faithfulness to the source material with a streamlined cinematic narrative. His adaptation maintained the novel’s core themes while amplifying the visual potential of its occult sequences.

The Devil Rides Out marked the final collaboration between Terence Fisher and Christopher Lee. The legendary duo had worked together on a string of iconic Hammer films, including The Curse of Frankenstein and Dracula. Fisher’s steady hand brought gravitas and tension to the film, crafting a foreboding atmosphere that elevated its more fantastical elements.

Christopher Lee, stepping away from his usual roles as villains or monsters, relished the chance to play the righteous Duc de Richleau. His commanding performance is a standout, projecting authority and intelligence while conveying the stakes of the battle against evil. Lee’s passion for the project shines through, and it’s evident that this role was deeply personal to him.

The supporting cast bolsters the film’s gravitas. Charles Gray’s turn as the malevolent Mocata is mesmerising, blending charm and menace in equal measure. Mocata’s scenes of hypnotic manipulation and occult rituals rank among the film’s most chilling moments. Nike Arrighi delivers a quietly effective performance as the vulnerable Tanith, while Leon Greene, Patrick Mower, Sarah Lawson, and Paul Eddington round out a solid ensemble.

What truly sets The Devil Rides Out apart is its commitment to the supernatural. Fisher and Matheson crafted unforgettable set pieces, from the tense ritual to protect a sacred circle to the summoning of the Angel of Death. Bernard Robinson’s production design and James Bernard’s eerie sound design create an immersive world where the line between good and evil feels palpably thin.

Kudos must also go to Hammer’s visual effects team, who worked wonders within the constraints of the studio’s modest budget. Though some effects now feel dated, their inventiveness and ambition remain admirable. The film’s climactic moments still resonate, particularly the shocking confrontation with demonic forces.

Critically, The Devil Rides Out has been lauded as one of Hammer’s crowning achievements. Fans and scholars alike praise it as a rare foray into the supernatural that combines intellectual weight with Gothic spectacle. However, its commercial performance, particularly in the United States, fell short of expectations. Hammer’s distinct brand of horror faced stiff competition in a market shifting toward grittier, more visceral fare.

Despite this, the film’s reputation has only grown over the decades. Its themes of morality, faith, and resistance against darkness remain timeless. And for Christopher Lee, it was a career highlight that showcased his depth as an actor beyond the iconic monsters he so often portrayed.

The Devil Rides Out is a haunting, sophisticated entry in Hammer’s catalog, blending Wheatley’s literary prowess, Matheson’s screenwriting expertise, and Fisher’s directorial vision. It’s a testament to the power of storytelling and the enduring appeal of Gothic horror.

For fans of Hammer Films or anyone fascinated by the battle between light and darkness, The Devil Rides Out is a must-watch.

  • Saul Muerte

Rosemary’s Baby (1968): The Birth of a Modern Horror Classic

02 Sunday Feb 2025

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Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby is not just a horror film; it’s a cultural milestone. Based on Ira Levin’s 1967 novel, this psychological horror masterpiece marked a significant turning point in Polanski’s career and redefined the genre with its chilling subtlety, riveting performances, and hauntingly resonant themes.

By the time Polanski directed Rosemary’s Baby, he was already an established filmmaker with successes like Knife in the Water and Repulsion. However, it was this adaptation of Ira Levin’s novel that solidified his reputation as a master storyteller capable of blending psychological depth with unnerving horror. Polanski’s ability to craft a narrative that feels at once intimate and epic is on full display, with every frame of Rosemary’s Baby pulsing with dread.

The film’s slow-burn tension, its deliberate pacing, and its ability to turn the mundane into the menacing were groundbreaking in 1968. Polanski took Levin’s chilling story and elevated it, crafting a tale of paranoia and betrayal that unfolds within the claustrophobic confines of a New York City apartment building.

At the heart of the film is Mia Farrow’s unforgettable performance as Rosemary Woodhouse. Farrow’s transformation from a hopeful, naïve young wife to a terrified, isolated woman is nothing short of mesmerising. Her fragile vulnerability and determination make Rosemary one of the most iconic characters in horror history.

John Cassavetes delivers a complex performance as Guy Woodhouse, Rosemary’s ambitious husband whose moral compromises set the story’s sinister events into motion. The chemistry between Farrow and Cassavetes heightens the emotional stakes, making the betrayal at the heart of the story all the more devastating.

Ruth Gordon’s turn as the eccentric yet menacing Minnie Castevet earned her a well-deserved Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. Gordon’s portrayal is equal parts comedic and chilling, capturing the bizarre allure of the seemingly harmless neighbour whose sinister intentions are gradually revealed.

Rosemary’s Baby explores themes that were both timely and timeless. The 1960s were a time of cultural upheaval, and the film’s undercurrents of paranoia and societal control mirrored the anxieties of the era.

  • Women’s Liberation: The film can be seen as a commentary on women’s autonomy—or lack thereof. Rosemary’s body becomes a battleground, controlled and manipulated by those around her. The struggle for agency is as relevant today as it was in 1968.
  • Paranoia and Isolation: The film’s creeping sense of distrust reflects the fear of conspiracies, both personal and societal.
  • Catholicism and the Occult: Religious imagery and themes of good versus evil are woven throughout, presenting a chilling exploration of faith and its darker implications.

The film’s primary location, the ominous Bramford (in reality, the Dakota building on Manhattan’s Upper West Side), is as much a character as Rosemary and Guy. The building’s Gothic architecture, shadowy interiors, and foreboding atmosphere provide the perfect backdrop for the unfolding terror. New York’s bustling streets contrast with the eerie insularity of the Woodhouses’ world, amplifying the sense of Rosemary’s entrapment.

From its release, Rosemary’s Baby has remained a touchstone in popular culture. Krzysztof Komeda’s haunting score, particularly “Sleep Safe and Warm,” is a chilling lullaby that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. The film’s imagery, from Rosemary’s pixie haircut to the chilling final scene, has been referenced and parodied countless times, cementing its status as a cultural icon.

Polanski’s masterful direction, the stellar cast, and Levin’s gripping source material combined to create a horror film that transcends its genre. Its exploration of power, betrayal, and fear remains as relevant today.

Rosemary’s Baby is a masterpiece of psychological horror, a film that paved the way for a new kind of storytelling in the genre. With its pitch-perfect performances, evocative themes, and Polanski’s impeccable direction, it stands as one of the most influential and enduring films of all time. Its dark allure continues to captivate audiences, ensuring that we’ll be praying for Rosemary—and her baby—for generations to come.

  • Saul Muerte

Unearthly Delights: The Eccentric Charms of ‘The City of the Dead’ (1960)

11 Saturday May 2024

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Rating: ★★★★☆

Prepare to be bewitched and bewildered by the enigmatic allure of “The City of the Dead,” a delightful journey into the occult realms of 1960s horror. Starring the iconic Christopher Lee, this film serves up a deliciously off-kilter blend of supernatural thrills and twisted storytelling that is sure to leave audiences both intrigued and entertained.

Set in the eerie town of Whitewood, Massachusetts, “The City of the Dead” follows the adventures of Nan Barlow (played with wide-eyed innocence by Venetia Stevenson), a plucky college student with a penchant for the paranormal. Determined to unravel the mysteries surrounding the town’s dark history, Nan finds herself drawn into a web of witchcraft, black magic, and sinister secrets.

What sets “The City of the Dead” apart from its contemporaries is its offbeat charm and quirky sensibilities. Director John Llewellyn Moxey infuses the film with a distinct sense of atmosphere, conjuring up a world where shadows dance and whispers linger in the air. From the hauntingly beautiful cinematography to the eerie sound design, every element of the film contributes to its otherworldly appeal.

Of course, no discussion of “The City of the Dead” would be complete without mentioning the magnetic presence of Christopher Lee. As the enigmatic Professor Alan Driscoll, Lee exudes an aura of quiet menace, his piercing gaze hinting at depths of darkness yet to be revealed. It’s a testament to Lee’s talent that he can command the screen with such effortless grace, elevating every scene he’s in to new heights of cinematic brilliance.

But perhaps the true star of “The City of the Dead” is its twisted narrative, which twists and turns like a labyrinthine maze. Just when you think you’ve unraveled its secrets, it pulls the rug out from under you, leaving you gasping for breath and begging for more. It’s a rollercoaster ride of shocks and surprises, guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat until the very end.

The Prognosis:

“The City of the Dead” is a deliciously off-kilter delight that deserves a place of honor in the pantheon of 1960s horror. With its bewitching atmosphere, magnetic performances, and twisted storytelling, it’s a film that defies expectations and delights at every turn. So, dim the lights, gather round the screen, and prepare to be transported to a world where the supernatural reigns supreme.

  • Saul Muerte

Movie Review: Late Night With The Devil (2024)

18 Thursday Apr 2024

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Australian sibling directors Cameron and Colin Cairnes have been meticulously crafting a distinctive voice from behind the lens and with their third outing, Late Night With The Devil they have tapped into the horror zeitgeist on a global scale. Their first feature, 100 Bloody Acres was a more straight up narrative, leaning heavily into macabre humour starring Angus Sampson and Damon Herriman as struggling brothers in the meat industry who add a secret ingredient into the mix with over-the-top comical results.

Upon closer scrutiny though, it would be their second feature, Scare Campaign that is more closely aligned with the direction that LNWTD would take, with a TV show venturing into the occult investigation that goes horribly wrong. Although it missed the mark to a degree in its execution, the Cairnes brothers have learnt from this previous outing and produced a creative and decisive tale with Late Night With The Devil. 

The premise pits David Dastmalchian in his first leading role, as late night talk show Night Owls host Jack Delroy. Delroy embarks on a last ditch attempt to pull back the ratings through a marketing stunt set on Halloween 1977, and books a psychic Christou (Fayssal Bazzi), a sceptic, and a parapsychologist (Laura Gordon) who claims that her surrogate daughter Lily is possessed by the devil. 

The look and feel of this feature is so sweetly on par, it is easy to drift into the era that it is set and be lured in by the spectacle; one of the many tricks that the Cairnes team perform well. The decade of choice is no mere accident either with America rife with violence and horror that has put society on the brink of sanity, exposed to the likes Son of Sam, David Berkowitz and Charles Manson, and with the breakdown of freedom, comes the exposure to occults and satanism, leaving everyone questioning to what end can humanity be exposed to? It is this playground that the directors’ choose to play in and through the medium of television, force this evil into the homes of every suburban household.

The Cairnes also have perfected their craft in storytelling, by slowly eeking out the threat of danger in their chosen format of late night television; each guest that is introduced is a snag on the tooth of the viewer, to pull them deeper into the world they have created, until the final act is revealed with the not so sweet Lily (Ingrid Torelli). The role of the critic, Carmichael Haig (Ian Bliss) is a smart storytelling device too by constantly asking the questions that audiences will naturally come up with. How much of this is real? How much is performance? And how deeply can we keep probing for the truth before we get our cat-like curiosity scorched?

The breadcrumbs that are left along the way, adds to the weight of the journey, and the torment that is exposed by the film’s conclusion. The performances are solid and none more so than Dastmalchian, who’s character Jack is the character truly under scrutiny. How much has he had to sacrifice in order to keep up with the likes of fellow late night presenter Johnny Carson? Is there more to the history behind his wife’s mysterious and fatal illness? These questions can only be dealt with through the meticulous direction and the strength in Dastmalchian’s performance; oozing charm one minute before serving a backhand of depravity the next. We’re guided on a trail of human decline where the end is nowhere to be seen with ruin at every turn.

The Prognosis:

The American Dream is served up on a plate here and scorched beyond recognition. The Cairnes Brothers capitalise on their previous efforts to expose the frailty and deprivation through a stylised lens that is fresh, inviting and delightfully disturbing. 

This is an example of an idea executed so adeptly that every creative player involved brings their A-game to the fold and delivers.

While there are some subtle flaws, the fact that they hold fast to the look, feel and strong performances, allows them to flourish and produce a solid, entertaining feature.

  • Saul Muerte

Movie review: Matriarch (2022)

22 Saturday Oct 2022

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Firstly Jemima Rooper deserves more recognition for her on screen performances and hopefully her upcoming role as Olivia Winfiled Foxworth in the series Flowers In The Attic: The Origin will lift her to loftier heights. Here she is ably supported by Kate Dickie (Game of Thrones, Raven’s Hollow) in a mother/daughter relationship that has turned sour across time. When these two actors combine, there is potential for strong calibre in the characters they portray.

It’s clear that Laura (Rooper) has unravelled beyond any hope of piecing things back together. Surviving on self-medication, be it alcohol or cocaine she tries to conceal the trauma band aid beneath her business-like veneer. Laura tries to connect with the outside world through a feeble attempt at a relationship but her advances are rejected as the mask slips away, revealing a darkness below. As she spirals out, Laura has an overdose but a mysterious black goo brings her back to life but for what purpose?

When she comes too, Laura believes gets a call from her estranged mother Celia (Dickie) and is compelled to return home. What she finds upon her return is something deeply entrenched in her small childhood town that oozes from British folklore and sinister occult practices.

The Prognosis:

Ben Steiner (director) tackles a paganistic tale about childhood trauma through an occult lens. 

There is plenty in the mix here from a vindictive, overbearing and narcissistic mother; an old flame; and the struggles of religion against pagan beliefs to tempt or sway the soul.

Whilst the story itself doesn’t offer anything new, both Rooper and Dickie bring weight to their roles, grounding the small town folk phenomena.

It is through their characters that the audience is pulled into the quagmire of tragic upheaval, where the mental scars run deeper than humankind can contain.

  • Saul Muerte

Matriarch is currently streaming on Disney Plus.

Movie review: The Long Night (2022)

13 Saturday Aug 2022

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjnlFjoQ6kM

Fear the darkness inside you.

This is the bold tagline that director Rich Ragsdale and his creative team wish to instil fear into their audience with for his feature debut behind the lens. 

In order to evoke any sense of trepidation however, you must first look at two essential ingredients; chemistry and atmosphere. Both of which are sadly lacking here. 

It takes a full 30 minutes of wading through our two leads Grace (Scout Taylor-Compton – Halloween) and her boyfriend Jack (Nolan Gerard Funk – Truth or Dare) struggling to connect on screen. 

Grace is driven by the quest to find the parents she has never known. Following an ominous lead, the couple end up at a remote house surrounded by curious totems, shrugged off as a Southern thing and there’s no sign of their host. 

It’s not until Jeff Fahey’s cameo however as local Wayne, that things heat up and some gravitas is brought to the screen. It’s brief but enough to shake Taylor-Compton’s performance a little and give her more substance to the character. 

It is not quite enough though to ground this movie and propel the action forward despite the sinister looking satanic cult that have encompassed the property. These figures seemingly rely on their menacing presence and the odd mysticism to generate apprehension, but beneath their outer shell is a vacant entity; a symbol of the film as a whole.

Having said that, the movie does boast some nice imagery in places, a signature of Ragsdale’s eye for detail from his days as a cinematographer. It also has a worthy snippet from Deborah Kara Unger, who is always a welcome addition.

The Prognosis:

The Long Night offers a painfully slow descent into a nightmare that struggles to find its roots in terror.
There are moments of promise but all of this is squandered by lack of substance or flair.

  • Saul Muerte

The Long Night is currently available on DVD and VOD (iTunes, Google Play, YouTube Store, and Fetch TV) and released by Eagle Entertainment Australia.

Movie review: Sator (2019)

23 Tuesday Feb 2021

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LiEzvRpbvTo

It’s clear to say that Sator was a labour of love for director Jordan Graham who would take six years to complete.
Apparently, this was due to budgetary limitations, and when you are the writer, director, and producer of your sophomore outing in the field, this is completely understanding. Being a lover of the craft, especially one where the vision is clear and the passion evident, I can only applaud Graham’s efforts.

The slow-paced, stylized depiction of Graham’s vision however will not suit everyone’s tastes, and perhaps consider it too “artsy”, especially for mainstream horror lovers.

Shot entirely in black and white, Sator emphasises both fields of being a low-budget film, but looking smart because of the association to ‘highbrow’ entertainment.

Essentially this film is a supernatural occult horror that uses the subject of a broken family as its heart, slowly being ripped apart by Sator, an entity that eats away at each of their souls before it can claim them.

With any known demonic force, it will find the weakest chain and begin to wear it down until it breaks loose and exposes the frailty of us all.

It may be laboriously slow in the manner of its delivery, but Graham’s depiction is masterful in places and the essence of it is incredibly strong and harrowing.

The choice of setting also cements this further as the family are based in a desolate forest, isolated from the real world with only each other to depend upon, but combined with this separated from reality.
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The Prognosis:

It’s said that isolation can lead to depression and dissolution will set in with doubts and self-loathing, all fodder for demonism to take hold and seep its way into the humanity mainstream, fracturing any hope of surviving.

Here Jordan Graham crafts a deeply dark and disturbing tale, which will resonate for some, or find the stylisations too much to bear and ultimately turn them off.

  • Saul Muerte