Until now.

Ha, sorry, that was cruel, but sometimes you have to make your own entertainment when the movie you’re watching and writing about offers none of its own. Chum is the kind of bottom-of-the-barrel shark flick that we’ve seen a lot of in recent years, with interchangeable titles like Great White, Shark Bait, and Maneater. A sunny setting (usually the best thing about the movie), obnoxious characters, poor writing, and horrible effects – that’s the recipe for far too many shark attack movies over the past decade, and Chum ticks off each of those boxes in quick order.

It stands apart from those other bad films, though, with the addition of two simple letters. One is an A, and the other is an I, and together they spell shitty, job-killing digital effects. More on that in a minute, but for now, let’s dive into the guts of Chum.

We open on a fishing trawler moving through the water off Malta while a man provides voiceover. Roy (Jim Klock) talks solemnly about the endless ocean, his lovely wife, and the painful collision between the two that came when a Great White shark bit her in half. “I am not the sea,” he says, “I’m a man, and a man does not forget.”

A quick smash to the title card is followed by the introduction of Tina (Alice Eve) and Tom (Eric Michael Cole) at their wedding reception in Malta. There’s already trouble in paradise, but a last minute wedding gift sees them heading out to sea for a three-hour tour the next afternoon with three friends and Tina’s sister, Sadie (Elle Haymond). A couple of very contrived beats later, and the yacht is sinking and in flames, forcing them to be rescued by a conveniently nearby Roy.

He’s not their savior, though, and instead drugs and binds the gang with the intention of using them for a very particular purpose. It’s vengeance he’s after, and he intends to use them as bait in an effort to attract and then kill the shark that ate half of his wife five years ago. Roy apparently got a tracker on the beast at some point, and over the years, he’s tried luring it in with fish entrails, seals, cats, and dogs – but it only responds to live human chum. Uh oh!

A shark attack movie doesn’t need to be entirely original in its concept or execution for it to work, so I’m not put off that the filmmakers obviously watched Sean Byrne’s Dangerous Animals before concocting the story for Chum. The human antagonist is the only thing they lifted, though, as they apparently decided they just didn’t need any of that film’s fun, suspense, or onscreen/offscreen talent. Director/co-writer Jonathan Zuck and co-writer Joe Leone – this is Leone’s thirteenth produced script since 2017, a feat that grows less impressive if you actually watch those other movies – try to pair character drama with the twin terrors of a madman and a hungry shark, but everything here just falls flat.

What could have been an engaging piece of sunlit terror instead stumbles and falls beneath clunky dialogue and even worse delivery. The cast, Eve surprisingly included, are as unconvincing at saying “good morning” as they are at exclaiming “Jesus! Are you okay?” after pulling a spear from their friend and watching the blood gush out. Did I laugh when someone tells Roy, “You know, for a shark hunter, you’re not very good at this,” or when someone else refers to the aquatic threat as “some aggro incel shark”? Yes, but that says more about my desperate need for entertainment than it does the quality of the movie.

There’s a genuine litany of dumb things worth criticizing, questioning, and calling out with Chum  – one friend confronts Roy because they haven’t seen the shore for hours, but not only has the shore been visible throughout the film, it’s literally in the background of the scene when he says it. Slow motion and repeated, unnecessary flashbacks are frequently used to bolster the eighty-three-minute (pre-credits) running time. The red color tinting whenever there’s blood in the water is horrendous. We’re in Malta, but everyone, including the police, is American? A certain character is given an insulting, post-death voiceover. Climate change is lazily tacked on as a motivation for the shark’s behavior.

There’s also an argument to be made that the film’s serious tone is part of the problem. The issue isn’t that neither the writing nor the performances can deliver on that seriousness, which they can’t, but instead, deadly serious shark attack movies just rarely seem to work. There are examples of great ones like Open Water and The Reef, but in recent years, the overwhelming majority of the shark movies that deliver the goods all seem to have a sense of humor and a genuine personality. They’re not comedies, but from The Shallows and Deep Blue Sea 3 (shut up, it’s a really good time) to Under Paris and Thrash, the shark films that are having fun are the shark films that are fun.

But yes, better scripts, direction, performances, and visual effects would also help.

Which brings us, finally, to the ugly ass elephant in the room – Chum’s use of A.I. to create what looks like all of its shark carnage. The modern ideal will almost always be some combination of practical effects and traditionally created digital effects to breathe life into your film’s sharks, and even then, the end results can still be a mixed bag. Most recent films tend to rely almost exclusively on the digital, with plenty of the sharks looking laughable as a result, but there’s still at least the solace of knowing that hey, real digital FX animators were paid real money to create those ugly visuals, so kudos to them on their journey towards becoming better.

Chum doesn’t list a single digital effects artist in their end credits. Not one. There are a few supervisors and producers, but not a single VFX artist, compositor, or animator.

The charitable explanation is that the filmmakers just decided not to credit the individual artists for some reason. There’s no listing for the end credits song (called “Crimson Tide,” maybe?) either, so it’s entirely possible. The more likely explanation, though, is found in the film’s only credited digital intermediate house, Tunnel Post, which states on their site that their “Artificial Intelligence division augments all of Tunnel’s business disciplines.” A.I. has its place, obviously, and Tunnel’s use of it in other areas might be understandable, but replacing human artists with a garbage machine is just poor form.

Some of you might not care about that aspect, and I can hear you insensitive jerks now yelling, “Get off your soapbox, Hunter, and just tell us how the effects look!” Fair enough. The shark attack sequences in Chum look pretty darn good if you watch from fifty feet away while squinting through a fog bank and some partially closed Venetian blinds.

The A.I. sequences blend real shark and human footage with digital sharks and people to make it look like characters are not just beside the shark in the water, but actually being chomped and eaten. The quickest of glances might seem convincing, partly because we’re just not used to seeing “real” sharks biting down on “real” people, but watch for more than a half second or so, and it’s clearly a cartoon.

The shark looks too smooth, the people sometimes fluctuate weirdly – one character jumps onto the back of the shark and seems to temporarily grow three pant sizes while in the air – and it just never feels like a tangible situation or threat. Try chumming some of this shit, indeed.

Look, if you’re anything like me – well, first off, congratulations – but more relevant to the point at hand, you’re going to watch this movie regardless of what I say. I get it. Animal attack films are an addiction that I am unable and unwilling to quit. (I’m the same way with Bigfoot movies, and hoo boy, let me tell you, the decline rate on those is even steeper.) There are fun, effective shark films with shoddy effects, movies that entertain despite their visuals, but Chum is not one of them.

No thrills, no suspense, no entertainment value, no real effort, no digital effects artists, and no reason to watch. But you will, so I hope you enjoy it more than I do.

Chum releases in theaters on June 5, 2026.

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Not just loss. Not just unsuccessful inadequacy. But true, all-encompassing, cataclysmic failure.

The Vampire Lestat, much like the two seasons of Interview with the Vampire before it, is a series that’s profoundly interested in failure. The type of failure that can only be understood by someone who has been making the same mistakes for over 250 years. The Vampire Lestat is utterly consumed by failure, but also temptation, regression, obsession, and evolution. It remains unparalleled when it comes to sprawling, epic love stories that endure for centuries. 

The new season reminds us that we’re all slaves to the past, whether it’s in terms of repeating it or trying to rise above it. This season is such a potent cocktail of pain, vanity, fear, and regret that’s shared between this sad collection of lost souls that culminates in such explosive bursts of tremendous emotion. Human, vampire; nobody wants to burn alone. It’s all too appropriate that a season that functions as a sweeping ode to failure is genuinely one of the year’s most perfect pieces of television, horror or otherwise.

At first, The Vampire Lestat’s transition to rock and roll may seem like a radical pivot. However, this is a series that continues to creatively mythologize and normalize vampires. It presents them as a crucial societal pillar and creates rewarding parallels between vampires and rock stars, right down to their parasitically adoring groupies. Lestat goes so far as to argue that vampires are the original rock stars, and it uses Lestat’s latest metamorphosis as a way to highlight these toxic, unbalanced relationships.

Sam Reid as Lestat De Lioncourt and Jennifer Ehle as Gabriella – Anne Rice’s The Vampire Lestat _ Episode 02 – Photo Credit: Sophie Giraud/AMC

It’s a truly perfect setup that’s a beautiful extension of the previous two seasons as well as a sublime rebirth into a new “hedonistic pursuit of extremity.” It’s an inspired way to continue the franchise’s “interview” and unreliable narrator concept, while also doing something completely original with the construct. Each episode of this season takes Lestat’s traveling menagerie to a different city on his band’s 54-stop tour, while a foreboding sense of dread accumulates over the global catastrophes that are the consequence of this tour and its corresponding album.  

Lestat is like a virus that passes through these metropolitan cities, leaving them ravaged and changed by the time that he leaves. It leads to some stunning commentary and visuals of the New World Order that gradually sets in over the season. Additionally, there’s a powerful apathy to the idea that Daniel Molloy’s (Eric Bogosian) published exposé on Lestat would fizzle out after a year and that humanity would move on and stop caring as they flock to the next big thing that they’re supposed to care about. It’s a cynicism that makes so much sense for this universe and individuals who have been around for centuries and seen it all.

That being said, those who are hoping for more of a direct adaptation of Anne Rice’s Queen of the Damned are going to need to be a little more patient. Much like how the series’ first two seasons are companion pieces and halves of a longer story, The Vampire Lestat leaves its Akasha (Sheila Atim) teases to its final episodes. These perfectly set up a hypothetical fourth season, which would presumably tackle the rest of Damned’s material.

Jacob Anderson as Louis De Pointe Du Lac – The Vampire Lestat – Photo Credit: Sophie Giraud/AMC

It’s amazing that Letstat’s whole rockstar persona functions as a petty, egotistical response to regain control of the narrative so that his songs are the definitive text that usurps Daniel’s novel. It’s the perfect distillation of Lestat as a character and one that facilitates a deeply entertaining and even campier season of television that goes places that would have previously been impossible. The series’ evolution remains one of the most fascinating and impressive things about this season.

The Vampire Lestat’s rebirth is a reflection of life’s cyclical nature and how everything old is new again. This is highlighted both explicitly and subtly through not just the season’s messaging, but also through some clever and ambitious casting choices. Several actors pull double duty this season. This could easily be a disaster in less-skilled hands, and yet it’s never a distraction here. If anything, it manages to beautifully enhance the series’ obsession with duality.

The series digs deeper than ever into its characters, but the filmmaking artistry has never been better. It’s a self-indulgent display of aesthetic extremes that underscores how much care is put into every single frame. Much of this season is presented like a rock band doc that shifts between different film styles. It’s such a natural fit that meshes with the series’ broader tendency to be a cinematic magpie. There are so many different directions that The Vampire Lestat could take for its band material. The decision to explicitly pull from Madonna: Truth or Dare is so gonzo but perfect. It’s a strong way to put Lestat on a pedestal and simultaneously demystify him as his many sides are portrayed through the season’s fractured, nonlinear meta-narrative.

Sam Reid as Lestat De Lioncourt – The Vampire Lestat – Photo Credit: Sophie Giraud/AMC

To this point, there’s so much effort going into Lestat’s music. These are immaculately written by Daniel Hart, and they all feel like actual songs that could top charts and get audiences screaming and dropping drugs, even without any vampire glamor influencing their opinion. It’s hard territory to authentically nail, and it makes all the difference that The Vampire Lestat knocks it out of the park in this department and features a season that’s full of genuine bangers, rather than one half-decent song that’s repeated ad nauseam. It also doesn’t hurt that this season Baz Luhrmanns the fuck out when it comes to these grandiose musical spectacles. 

Sam Reid embodies the rock star persona so effortlessly that it’s wild to think that this wasn’t always the role that he was playing. It fits him as snug as leather pants. Lestat’s fame becomes so intense that there are literally people cosplaying as him in crowds so that his ego can reach even more untenable heights. This artificial future is powerfully juxtaposed against Lestat’s past, including some key formative moments from his life. There’s also a heartbreaking confrontation that arguably hits even harder than season two’s best moments. It’s so encouraging and exciting to see that The Vampire Lestat continues to top itself and that its best work is not behind it. It’s still finding new ways to thrive.

The series’ narration has always been on point. However, it’s easy to forget just how precise every word is and how perfectly Rolin Jones sticks the landing with his interpretations of these characters and Anne Rice’s universe, while still making it his own. ”Serving cunt has its consequences” might also be the most Lestat line to ever Lestat. Alternatively, the new role Daniel takes on as the director of a Lestat documentary is such a fun position for him to slide into that it becomes another playful echo of the past. It all reinforces the idea that we filter ourselves through the company we keep and that there’s conflict when we’re confronted with the truth.

The Vampire Lestat is everything you could want and then some. It’s a moving meditation on fame, fandom, and legacy that pushes its characters and relationships to their most satisfying places yet. Admittedly, this season throws a lot of new characters at the audience, but this never feels overwhelming or that this influx of new faces is superfluous.

I genuinely don’t know how these seven episodes could be any better. It’s the best Anne Rice adaptation to date and a series that truly feels like it’s just getting started and has greater highs to hit. Bring on the Queen of the Damned.

The Vampire Lestat premieres on June 7 on AMC and AMC+.

The post ‘The Vampire Lestat’ Bares Its Soul With A Rock N’ Roll Blood-Soaked Spectacle [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

MOLE, a new psychological horror game from Off Black Creations, fully delivers on this feeling, throwing you onto a Slavic post-war drilling machine with gloriously retro buttons and levers for you to play with, while managing to deliver a first-person, psychological horror story.

You play a navigator onboard a deep-bore vessel that’s in a fight for survival to keep the colossal machine and the mission going. Set in an alternate 1980s, it’s a world where a calamity has struck the world, and the answer lies deep below the ground. Following in the footsteps of a previous mission, you and your crew are trying to reach the source of a strange signal, one that seems to be having a disastrous effect on your mental state as you go further and further from humanity.

While you don’t interact with your crew in person, MOLE finds other ways to dig into its main character and interesting world. Without getting too much into it, it quickly becomes clear that the reason you are on this mission is to help pay off medical debt accrued after your son passed away.

It’s a heavy topic, but it adds a deep layer of grief to this cosmic horror adjacent setup, making it feel more nuanced in the process. Even though you don’t dig too much into other characters on the vessel, there’s a lot to chew on exploring the protagonist’s damaged psyche as the Signal gets its claws in him.

A Retro-Futuristic Drilling Vessel with Personality

The majority of the game takes place on the vessel, which is nicely rendered in a low-fi art style that brings home its retro aesthetic. This place is cramped, rusty, and moments away from falling apart, but it’s brought to life by 80s-style mechanical interfaces. Big CRT monitors, reel-to-reel tapes, and manual controls immediately convey the world it’s trying to create. There’s a unique focus on cartridges that are used for everything from room keys to data storage, making for a unique hook that makes the setting feel so much more alive and distinct. Even the game’s opening menu forces you to interact with these cartridges to start the game, weaving it thoroughly into the DNA of the experience.

Breaking up the time on the ship are flashback sequences that show you elements of your tragic life before taking this doomed mission. The closer you get to the Signal, the more past and present start to bleed into each other, transitioning to flashbacks in a surreal fashion, often mixing hallucinations with fact. After spending so much of the early portion of the game on the vessel, it felt like other locations were nice little surprises to keep me on my toes. It’s an effective storytelling technique that not only enhances the dread of the current situation but also effortlessly fills in the character’s backstory.

Both of these settings work in concert to deftly control the pacing and tone. The feeling of the vessel is so claustrophobic and catastrophic, with extremely cramped corridors to navigate and even tighter vents to call through. One nice mechanical touch is that you have to keep re-pressing forward to continue crawling rather than just continually holding it, emulating the feeling of squeezing yourself through an impossibly small space.

When you go to more traditional spaces in the flashbacks, it should feel like a relief to be in a wider space, but the somber and occasionally horrifying tone of these flashbacks does not allow you a moment of emotional respite. Constantly shifting across the many tones of the feel-bad spectrum keeps the game consistent without getting exhausted by just one.

Why MOLE‘s Process-Driven Puzzles Are So Satisfying

All the narrative elements are strong, but what makes this game work so much for me is the tactile nature of its puzzles. You feel like an operator on this massive, old vessel, desperately following step-by-step directions to interact with the many interfaces that keep it (just barely) running. Directions are often presented diagetically, with in-universe signs next to various stations that walk you through each switch flip and button press in a way that still leaves room for you to figure things out. The most satisfying part of it all is that many of these interactions require you to do the mouse movement to turn a dial or pull a lever, making it feel immersive in a very hands-on way.

To give you an example, one of the first things you’ll have to do is restore the lights in the floor you’re on (the game will not let you pass through dark spaces, making this a clever gating mechanic) by interacting with a fusebox. There are four slots, one for each of the four floors, and you pop in the one fuse you have into the correct floor. You then need to set the dial to the number of fuses installed, hold a button for a few seconds, flip four out of the eight switches, then pull a lever. It’s nothing overly difficult, but you end up doing it so many times that the first time you do it without referencing the instruction panel, it gives you the satisfying feeling of pattern recognition.

Since your role on the vessel is pilot, the most complicated recurring task in front of you is setting the navigation. It’s a multi-stage process that involves moving a cassette from console to console and dialling in a bunch of different values based on terminal readings. I love having a process-focused game like this that really puts you in the shoes of the role through its mechanics, and this one feels really great because of how tactile things are.

The important part about setting up a process-focused game like this is finding ways of meaningfully escalating things, and MOLE does a good job of forcing you to do these tasks under pressure as the game goes on. It’s the perfect way to reward mastery, making it feel like a satisfying flex of your skills to punch in the navigation sequence or swap out fuses while time is of the essence. It finds smart ways of taking the very specific interaction models they’ve built and adding tension within that framework, rather than adding other mechanics in a way that would feel out of place or extraneous to the scope of the game.

Chase Sequences Undermine Some of the Game’s Strongest Ideas

One element of tension that was less successful for me was the chase sequences in the game. Since this is a horror game, it goes without saying that there’s a threat aboard this vessel, but personally, it didn’t feel like it belonged in the game as much.

Getting chased by monsters in a horror game is a mixed bag sometimes, because the line between scary and frustrating can be crossed very quickly. The first time it showed up, it was a nice surprise that got a jump scare out of me, and I was able to make it to safety before it caught me, which felt tense and exciting.

Near the end of the game, there’s an extended sequence where you’re pursued by the same enemy, but this one was less successful for me. The area you’re being chased through, which starts to get surreal, is very dark in a way that hampered my ability to get through without being caught. I would get to an intersection, and would barely be able to see which way was a viable path forward.

After failing here a couple of times, I actually ended up changing the game’s brightness setting from 1.4 to 2.8 to give me even a fighting chance to make my way to safety. This was an example of that mechanic crossing over into frustration, as I found myself saying “oh come on” out loud anytime I took a wrong turn because I couldn’t see. It’s good in theory, but the actual context of how it plays out is lacking in execution.

A Powerful Psychological Horror Story That Occasionally Overstays Its Welcome

By the end of the game, I found myself really impressed with the way it explored some really deep themes within the context of its contained story. Ultimately, MOLE is a tale of grief and loss, examining the lengths we go to hold onto the past and the terrible effect it can have on our mental state if not done in a healthy manner. The surreal flashbacks put you directly in the shoes of a man going through the horrific loss, allowing you to figure out the exact circumstances of your son’s death, making it feel all the more tragic as you put together what’s going on. It’s not entirely novel, but the way it’s presented feels like it adds to the overall effect.

Some of these sequences went on a little too long, dampening their impact, and sometimes the surrealism felt a little too much like it was reaching for symbolism rather than focusing on the situation at hand, but overall, the narrative is definitely one of the game’s strengths. MOLE runs about four and a half hours, and it’s possible that trimming a bit off that runtime would have benefited it in both focus and pacing.

Scenes like standing in a phone booth making tough calls stand out in my mind way more than surreal chases through shifting landscapes, and a bit of editing might have been able to keep the focus on the former while still making the right amount of space for the latter.

Despite having some gripes with the pacing and chase sequences, MOLE was a surprisingly rich experience that I finished in about two sittings. Its setting feels so lived in and well thought out, allowing the drama that unfolds to feel real and grounded, even when things slip towards cosmic horror. While it wanders a bit in the climax of the story, it wraps up in a satisfying manner, with a great credits sequence that brings everything to a strong close.

The immersive, process-focused puzzles draw you in, putting you directly in the shoes of a tragic character caught in a horrific situation. Fans of games like Mouthwashing and Iron Lung should definitely take notice, because MOLE is another great psychological horror game for you to dig into.

Code provided by publisher. MOLE will release June 15 on Steam.

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An analog found footage cold open in 1990 gives an unsettling glimpse at the off-kilter dread that awaits wayward travelers before introducing Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a furniture store owner operating on a steady diet of rage and regret. So much so that he regularly sees Dr. Mary Kline (Renate Reinsve) to help him find a way out of his self-made life prison. Just as she coaches him to recognize his repeating patterns so he can then forge new pathways, his quirky furniture store presents him with the opportunity to do exactly that.

Late one night, Clark discovers he can slip through the basement walls, leading him to an expansive extension of the store he never knew existed.

The further he explores, though, the more peculiar things get.

There’s nothing subtle about the script that sees its two lead characters conversing over the looping patterns we can trap ourselves in before they find themselves stuck in a mundane cosmic purgatory that doubles as a metaphor for the labyrinthine human mind. It’s even reflected in background details, including The Neverending Story playing on a background television set. And like the mind, the mysterious furniture store backrooms present endless possibilities, forgotten and distorted memories, and a surreal setting with no borders or tether to physical reality.

Yet that lack of subtlety suits Kane Parsons’ debut well, considering how acutely his leads latch onto their characters’ palpable and profound sense of loneliness and isolation. There’s an impressive confidence in the young filmmaker as he methodically entrusts his quiet worldbuilding and talented leads to carry the dramatic weight.

More impressive is the way Parsons mines tension and rattles nerves from empty, brightly lit rooms adorned in yellow wallpaper. The vibes are seriously off in this place, but, like Clark, it’s impossible to look away even as the mundane rooms begin to distort into truly inspired nightmarish uses of uncanny valley.

The production design in Backrooms is as incredible as it is disturbing, and Parsons takes full advantage of the larger budget. As reality becomes more and more unstable, the more alive and intricate Parsons’ filmmaking becomes. Breathtaking transitions and camera trickery further disorients the sensory assault. It’s all so unnerving yet keeps you fully on the hook, made more engaging by cryptic storytelling and a general unpredictability. 

But the Backrooms is a place with no easy explanation; this is the type of existential horror that operates at its best when intentionally vague. Screenwriter Will Soodik presents a more conventional third act that clashes with Parsons’ overarching cryptic vision, one that’s not visceral enough compared to the unnerving build-up. Not helping is the inscrutable coda teasing the obvious: we haven’t even begun to explore the Backrooms, really. That leaves one of its leads with an unfinished arc and a ton of unanswered questions, a move that feels deflating after such a strong front half.

Still, Kane Parsons’ strong eye for composition and visual storytelling marks him as a filmmaker to watch. It’s clear that the young filmmaker has a strong grasp of the mythology he’s building, even if he keeps that mostly close to the chest. Fans of the Backrooms web series will find plenty of Easter eggs and details to deconstruct and decipher, too.

Backrooms is at once complex and sparse, but never repetitive. It might be set in 1990, but it effectively captures modern anxieties and isolation in a way that frequently makes your skin crawl. While the journey ultimately loses steam by its cryptic end, Parsons’ visual representation of the human psyche disturbs like no other.

Backrooms is now playing in theaters from A24. 

The post ‘Backrooms’ Review – A Disturbing Liminal Voyage Through The Human Mind appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

This is basically universally true of any halfway competent horror movie, but unfortunately for many, potential energy is most, if not all, of the energy they can muster. There is loads of potential energy in sMOTHERed, the new Shudder original from directors Kevin Rahardjo and Rafki Hidayat, and it translates to something compelling early on. Sadly, all that potential never quite manifests into anything more, leaving us with a half-baked film that, decent squares aside, squanders all the goodwill it builds in the setup. 

And the setup really is quite compelling. Alif (Rio Dewanto) is a Jakarta-based artist who, after a serious car accident, is struggling with partial amnesia brought on by head trauma. His wife Nadine (Faradina Mufti) and son Emir (Jordan Omar) are supportive when he comes home from the hospital, even as he reveals he doesn’t necessarily remember the issues rumbling beneath his marriage before the accident. Before he has time to truly reacclimate, though, Alif gets a long-awaited visit from his mother, Aminah (Vonny Anggraini). Mother and son haven’t seen each other since Alife left home to seek his fortune as a teenager, and she’s never met her daughter-in-law or her grandson.

So, when she arrives, Aminah dives into her grandmotherly duties, brightening the family home even as Alif is plagued by nosebleeds, strange visions, and bits of his pre-accident life he still can’t explain. Perhaps it’s the memory loss, or perhaps it’s Aminah herself, but the more he digs in search of the truth, the more Alif starts to wonder if the woman in his house is actually his mother. 

There’s a lot of talent here, including Indonesian horror legend Joko Anwar (Impetigore, Satan’s Slaves) co-writing and producing. Throw in the film’s roots in an Indonesian folk tale, and it feels like we’re on the way to some stirring psychological drama with a little folk-horror mixed in. For the first half of the film, that’s exactly what we get. Rahardjo and Hidayat prove adept at composing shots (though the lighting often looks a bit flat) and, more importantly, at working with their cast, exacting tremendous emotional detail out of early scenes.

This is the story of a man whose entire recent life, and chunks of his distant past, has become a mystery to him, and so it’s a detective story even as it’s a surprisingly emotional tale of a man trying to reconnect, trying to be better than his former self as a husband, father, and son. Dewanto brings a ton of depth to this side of the story, as Alif’s visions and complaints of strange voices intensify, he never fails to keep us caring about this wounded man desperate to heal. 

It’s what happens next, after setting this remarkable emotional baseline, that starts to fragment the film, spinning it out into certain directions that are promising, and others that feel like duds. The more convinced he becomes that something in his life is not quite right, and the deeper he digs, the more the film threatens to topple its delicate human balance. For a brief handful of scenes, the film seems to forget its original tone entirely, branching off into a small-time crime film, which would feel more like an organic evolution if it didn’t then wildly swing in a different direction again.

Characters in the ensemble fade out, and the emotional tension they bring fades with them, until by the time the film builds to its big reveal about the secrets Alif has kept, it feels both underdeveloped and overdue. At 99 minutes, sMOTHERed still feels like multiple movies smashed together in the edit, leaving its back half littered with dead ends and stalls, which diminish its emotional returns. That said, there are some creepy little moments still lingering in there, so the film doesn’t entirely lose its sense of atmosphere.

This is made all the more frustrating in the case of sMOTHERed because, in the build-up to this derailment, we saw just how well everything was working. The cast has great chemistry, the dynamic between characters is complex and believable, and the emotional hooks of the film are firmly embedded.

Then it all just breaks down, piece by piece, leaving us with a classic case of potential energy squandered in a film’s back half. Still, that potential is pretty impressive, and I’ll be very interested to see what these filmmakers come up with next. 

sMOTHERed premieres May 29 on Shudder.  

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To say that a lot has changed in the ensuing 46 years is an understatement. Today, slasher devotees hail Terror Train as an early forward thinker in the subgenre, a film that plays within the established rules of the game while also daring to try new things with the form at a time when that form was still being set in stone. Many cult films stay cult films even as they find a bigger audience, but others find a more mainstream following when curious viewers realize that they missed something special. Thanks to a new 4K from Kino Lorber Studio Classics, Terror Train seems destined to find its permanent place among the best slashers of the golden age. 

As film historians Alexandra Heller-Nicholas and Josh Nelson point out early in their excellent commentary, one of two on the disc – on the film, Terror Train stands out for a lot of reasons, but one of the most important is the presence of cinematographer John Alcott. Alcott spent the late 1960s and early 1970s building a reputation as one of the most gifted DPs of his era, thanks to several films with the legendary Stanley Kubrick, including A Clockwork Orange and The Shining, and he brought all of that legendary talent to bear on Terror Train.

Working with director Roger Spottiswoode, Alcott imbues the film with often stunning beauty, painting shadows in among the firelight of the prologue sequence and the bright lights of a party train traveling by night across the Canadian landscape. His knack for shooting horror and framing slasher kills is on full display in this new restoration. The colors pop, the costumes are glossy and exciting, the expressiveness of the characters comes through, and yet the film loses none of its gritty, low-budget charm. As Nelson and Heller-Nicholas point out, the film was rushed through production in a matter of weeks in order to get tax credits lined up, giving it a seat-of-your-pants energy that’s buoyed by Alcott’s consummate professionalism and artistry. 

Terror Train is also, I was pleased to find upon rewatching this disc, a wonderfully mean-spirited slasher at a time when the subgenre was still all over the place, finding its footing amid rising box office demand. Like fellow Canadian classic Black Christmas before it, the film goes for the throat from the very beginning, putting its characters in absolutely merciless situations that are made all the more dread-inducing by the theatricality of the party on board the title train. Like My Bloody Valentine, which would arrive from Canada in early 1981, it’s a film that balances tremendous mirth and showmanship with pure brutality, from the opening prank to the final kill.

This new restoration highlights all of that and more, revealing a film that seems destined to reveal more depth with each new generation of fans. 

There’s so much potential exploration in this restoration, in fact, that I came away wishing the disc offered a little more in the way of behind-the-scenes flair. The features we do have, including both commentary tracks, are excellent, but I wanted to go deeper, and the features just aren’t there.

Maybe another future box set will shine an even brighter light on Terror Train‘s intricacies and the way this rushed, frantic production managed to deliver such a compelling piece of Canuxsploitation. As it is, though, this is a gorgeous restoration ornamented with solid special features, and it deserves a place on every slasher fan’s shelf. 

Terror Train is available now in 4K UHD from Kino Lorber.

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Victorian Psycho introduces Winifred Notty in 1858, as she travels to the sprawling Ensor House for her new role as governess to Mr. and Mrs. Pounds’ (Jason Isaacs and Ruth Wilson, respectively) children, Drusilla (Evie Templeton) and Andrew (Jacobi Jupe). Neither the Pounds nor their robust staff, including the children’s naive nurse Ms. Lamb (Thomasin McKenzie), seems to connect that their new hire’s previous job ended in catastrophe for her wards. Nor that her arrival coincides with a series of strange events and staff disappearances.

But something is very wrong with Winifred Notty.

Director Zachary Wigon (Sanctuary), working from an adapted screenplay by the novel’s author, Virginia Feito (Mrs. March), breaks his bloodthirsty satire into digestible chapters, the first of which introduces Winifred as the story’s narrator as she deceptively declares herself to the audience as the sanest person she’s ever met. That’s shortly before she consumes a collected trophy from a previous job: a severed ear. 

From there, Victorian Psycho draws clear parallels and inspiration from Bret Easton Ellis’ popular horror satire novel as an unreliable narrator wreaks havoc upon the rich. Unlike Patrick Bateman, though, Winifred Notty’s murderous compulsions are real. Winifred has a hidden agenda at the Ensor House, one she resolutely attempts to keep hidden even as she fights to repress her dark side while avoiding the jealous wrath of Mrs. Pounds. 

Monroe latches onto Winifred’s inner duality and conflict with aplomb. Winifred is the type who tries and frequently fails her social normality tests, just as often as she’s prone to impulsive violence. Monroe’s gleefully macabre mischievousness transforms the sociopath into a quirky, unpredictable monster that’s almost too easy to root for. That’s especially the case anytime Monroe’s Winifred gets caught in the icy crosshairs of Wilson’s effective Mrs. Pounds; it’s this imbalanced power dynamic that propels the lean 90-minute runtime toward its bloody finale and reinforces the unsubtle eat-the-rich themes.

Also helping is the snappy editing by Dustin Chow and Lance Edmands, along with cinematographer Nico Aguilar’s stylish camerawork, which enhances the quick-witted humor and propulsive pacing. Victorian Psycho looks like a stately gothic period horror movie, but with the rapid fire attitude and personality of a contemporary feminine psychopath. 

Less effective is the film’s climax. Victorian Psycho‘s steady build toward its promised bloodbath instead gets constrained by source novel deviations and a reluctance to unleash an unrepentant Winifred in full psychopathic glory. Instead, Winifred’s slaughter comes visually hampered by a conscience, one that feels at odds with the delightfully macabre character that’s won viewers over by the third act. It feels like a pulled punch, considering how much tongue-in-cheek fun Victorian Psycho has with unshackling its leading lady from the stuffy societal norms of the Victorian era.

It likely doesn’t help that Victorian Psycho is as straightforward and streamlined as Feito’s novel. There’s not a lot of thematic meat on its bones, making the flaws more noticeable. Still, what it lacks in depth, Wigon’s latest more than compensates for with infectious style, wry amusement, and a tour de force performance by Monroe as a fully unleashed sociopath who manages to charm despite her affinity for cruel violence. 

Carnage becomes pretty dang delightful in Monroe’s capable hands. Victorian Psycho operates on familiar slay grounds, but it’s an absolute blast thanks to its zany style and deranged sense of fun.

Victorian Psycho made its world premiere at Cannes and releases in theaters on September 25.

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As a fan of these unapologetically absurd films with cheap effects and bizarre storylines, I was understandably excited when I first saw the trailer to Jon Keeyes’ supernatural thriller Speed Demon. After all, this more action-oriented take on the exorcism subgenre feels exactly like the sort of flick I’d pick out from the “weird” DVDs at the back of Rogers Video in the days before streaming. However, Keeyes’ movie isn’t exactly what you might expect judging from Speed Demon’s marketing.

In the film, we follow the troubled nun Sister Lu (Katie Cassidy) as she embarks on a high-speed train ride with her mentor and experienced exorcist Father Novak (William H. Macy). Unfortunately for the bickering duo, an archeologist also happens to be making the trip alongside a cursed statue of the demon king Asmodeus. What follows is a high-stakes test of faith as Asmodeus escapes his inanimate prison and takes control of the speeding train.

It’s ultimately up to Sister Lu to confront her past in order to save the lives of the desperate ensemble of terrified passengers surrounding her before they all reach a hellish final destination.

An unexpected combination of Speed and The Amityville Horror, Speed Demon’s premise conjures up imagery from nunsploitation classics and even the supernatural action-horror flicks of the 2000s (such as Francis Lawrence’s Constantine), but Keeyes’ movie is a lot less over-the-top than you might initially expect. While Sister Lu’s characterization and Asmodeus’ interactions are delightfully exaggerated, the film’s overall tone and atmosphere are disappointingly tame.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the film’s polished photography and even some of the relatively impressive CGI (at least for a modest horror production), but it feels like the screenplay here fails to grasp the true entertainment value of its absurd setup. Despite a few brief moments of inspiration – like when Sister Lu is forced to confront her substance abuse problem or when one of the most annoying side characters decides to step up and become a hero – the narrative ultimately stumbles into familiar genre pitfalls and relies on the same old tropes we’ve seen a thousand times in other exorcism movies.

While there is an interesting ensemble of supporting characters here to both aid and hinder our intrepid nun, one of the biggest issues with the film is casting. William H. Macy is certainly a joy to watch as a jaded exorcist trying to keep his protégé on the right path, but he’s not in the film as much as I would have liked, and Cassidy feels like she was miscast in a role that requires equal measures of grit and traditional religious devotion. There are also a handful of stilted line deliveries from minor characters that really take you out of the experience during a couple of pivotal scenes.

That’s not to say that Speed Demon isn’t an enjoyable film, as there are a handful of effective scares and memorable character moments here. It’s just a shame that the filmmakers couldn’t quite come up with the appropriate vibe for the subject matter. I thoroughly enjoyed watching our lead nun face off against the demon and his zombified thralls (and the idea of a woman having to take on a traditionally masculine role in order to protect those around her has plenty of merit, especially in this religious context), but I feel like all of these ideas would have been more entertaining if they had shown up in a less solemn project.

In fact, the insistence on taking everything so seriously ends up highlighting some of the less intelligent aspects of the script. I may not have been a star pupil in Catholic School, but I paid enough attention to know that the film’s depiction of church doctrine is far from accurate. Not only that, but there are plenty of leaps in logic concerning the operation of the train itself and how Asmodeus is keeping everyone trapped. These things could have easily been hand-waved away in an unrepentant B-movie, but it’s a lot harder to justify lapses in narrative judgment when your film expects audiences to take things so seriously.

That’s not the entire story, however…

Speed Demon does a complete 180° when it comes to its action-packed finale, with the last fifteen minutes or so feeling so comparatively bonkers that they must be seen to be believed. I won’t get into details in order to avoid spoiling the best part of the movie, but suffice to say that the ending alone is worth the price of admission, even if it also serves as an example of why the flick would have been better had it committed to the absurdity throughout the entire runtime.

Your enjoyment of Speed Demon will likely depend on your tolerance for overly ambitious filmmaking, but I think there’s enough creativity on display here to warrant a watch despite some minor gripes with the flick’s tone. It may not be a groundbreaking genre experience, but I’d certainly be on board for a sequel expanding on that ridiculous ending.

Speed Demon arrives in theaters, On Demand, and Digital on May 31.

The post ‘Speed Demon’ Review – Exorcism-on-a-Train Horror Isn’t as Silly as it Sounds appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Unnur’s life revolves largely around two things: Work, where she’s hopefully due for a big promotion, and attachment to an emotionally unavailable man. Her life is small but, she insists, satisfying, free of complications but also prickling with moments of loneliness. When a black cat shows up at her door, she sees a problem to be quickly solved, and soon tracks down its owner: Asta, another local woman with her own issues. When the cat, named Io, turns out to be pregnant, Unnur and Asta are drawn into an unconventional petsitting arrangement to maximize the animal’s comfort, and what started as a small act of neighborly kindness soon becomes an unlikely friendship. 

But Unnur’s not the only one dealing with a man she has to make excuses for, and soon her bond with Asta is given the ultimate test, a bloody trial that’ll either bond them forever or ruin their lives. 

From the outside looking in, Dead Weight seems to fit most comfortably into the realm of revenge horror, the story of two women who decide they’ve finally had enough and act, however reluctantly, on that emotion. But Knútsdóttir doesn’t take the most direct route to getting us there, even if she’s always consciously playing with the expectations of the subgenre and the noir-tinged elements of her saga. Her prose is at once contemporary and hard-boiled, and the very nature of her approach casts Unnur, who narrates the whole novella, as a kind of detective out to solve not just Asta’s issues, but the puzzle of her own existence. 

This is where things get tricky, because even by the standards of a novella, it takes Knútsdóttir a little while to get to the horror goods here. There’s a lot of wind-up in Dead Weight, so much that sometimes it feels like the tension starts to slack just slightly. I suspect a re-read would solve this particular issue for me, but at first glance, it feels, momentarily, like the story might be treading water. 

When what Knútsdóttir’s really after kicks in, though, those concerns are quickly forgotten, and the beauty of Dead Weight is in its ability to deliver an emotional dagger at unexpected, often staggering moments, sometimes without an ounce of violence. Unnur sets out to solve Asta’s problems, but of course, her own issues – her relationship, her focus on work, her insistence that she’s figured everything out in contrast to her new friend’s messy life – are an even more compelling case to be solved.

The best narrative trick Knútsdóttir pulls in the book is setting the stage for a revenge story and spending most of the word count delivering a gripping psychological drama punctuated by the folklore-laden specter of a black cat crossing Unnur’s path. We get to see Unnur not only deal with her issues, but also come to realize they are issues before our eyes, all within the span of 100 pages. 

This, combined with Asta’s lingering troubles, creates a thread of tension that tightens throughout the first two acts of this narrative, and it’s so effective that you almost forget the brutality promised by the book’s premise and its opening pages. When that brutality finally circles back around, it smacks you in the face with remarkable, icy intensity, delivering one of the year’s best horror finales.

Dead Weight is available May 26 wherever books are sold. 

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The recent Absolute Batman has circumvented this concern by existing at the beginning of a new universe, but sometimes the best instances of Batman are miniseries that pick and choose when in Batman’s history they want to set their story in order to ignore whatever status quo is in place at the moment. This gives the story a timeless feel without allowing you to get distracted by trying to figure out who the mayor is or which Robin is active at the moment.

The strongest example of this in the past few years is Dark Patterns, a 12-issue miniseries written by Dan Watters and drawn by Hayden Sherman. In addition to excellent creator-owned books from Watters like The Seasons Have Teeth, Coffin Bound, and Home Sick Pilots, he had a great foray into the Batman corner of the DC universe with Arkham City: Order of the World, a creepy miniseries that had echoes of Grant Morrison’s classic Arkham Asylum: Serious House on a Serious Earth. Sherman has also been on a hot streak, drawing both the Annihilation-inspired Into the Unbeing and the Eisner Award-winning Absolute Wonder Woman. It’s a dream team that comes together to tell a moody series of tales that give me that classic Batman feel.

While Dark Patterns is a 12-issue miniseries, its greatest strength is that it’s divided into four distinct three-issue story arcs that each stand on their own. It feels like modern comics have become so focused on long-form storytelling, so it’s refreshing to see a title that’s telling a focused tale that doesn’t overstay its welcome. Not only are they bite-sized stories, but they are ones that focus on my two favorite aspects of Batman: creepy villains and street-level detective work.

The story’s stakes definitely do rise by the end, but it never gets to the point where a supervillain and their army hold the city hostage through fantastical means. Dark Patterns has that level of groundedness associated with the Christopher Nolan films, making for a refreshing counterpoint to the often grandiose scale of the main Batman books.

Hayden Sherman’s Art Gives Gotham a Distinct Visual Identity

Before delving into the plot of each of these arcs, I have to give Sherman their props on the art, which is consistently a highlight of the series. Not only are the designs of the villains, new and old, great, but they have some of the most interesting page layouts to bring the action to life. Their unique panel shapes bring to mind the J.H. Williams-drawn run of Detective Comics that focused on Batwoman, one of my all-time favorites.

The character illustrations themselves bring to mind the style of Tim Sale‘s The Long Halloween, with a bit of Batman: The Animated Series mixed in, but presented with unconventional angles and extremely human poses that emphasize Batman as a man rather than the near-supernatural being he’s often portrayed as. I came to the book as a fan of Dan Watters, but ended up being just as blown away by Hayden Sherman.

While each story can stand on its own, with only the final story somewhat building on events from the previous three, there are throughlines throughout the entirety of Dark Patterns that make it feel like a cohesive piece. Right from the beginning, we see a city that’s gone feral. Kids playing deadly games. Wild dogs roam the streets. A building on fire. In the opening narration, Batman, who at this point is three years into his career as the Caped Crusader, acknowledges that “there are heinous things in Gotham I can do nothing about.”

The stories focus on forgotten people, individuals the city has left behind to fend for themselves, with Batman trying to sort out how to find some form of justice for them in whatever way he can. One thing I love about this Batman is that he is fallible, often taking quite a beating over the course of these stories. None of these elements is new to Batman, but Watters uses them as a solid foundation for very contemporary stories. 

Meet One of Gotham’s Creepiest New Villains in “We Are Wounded”

The first story, titled “We Are Wounded“, introduces a terrifying new villain. It all starts with a horrific crime scene. Pathologist Dr. Sereika presents Batman and the reader with the body of a man found stabbed in every major nerve cluster, done with precision to keep him alive as long as possible. As Batman investigates, it leads him on a collision course with the killer, who has nails, rebar, and spikes stabbed through his body in a way that narrowly misses all his vital organs. Not only is he a ghastly sight, but he presents a huge challenge for Batman: there’s no place to strike him that won’t cause the many pieces of metal to kill him.

Dubbing him the Wound Man, named after the famous medieval medical manuscript drawing, this case takes Batman to an area outside Gotham known as the Town Without Screams, where corporate neglect resulted in a chemical spill that caused the entire town to no longer be able to feel pain. With the help of reporter Nicky Harris, who becomes a recurring character in the miniseries, he uncovers a tragic tale of greed and coverups, leading to a surprisingly sympathetic origin story for such a monstrous-looking villain.

“We Are Wounded” shows us a perfect blueprint for what this series is going to be going forward. The mix of horror and detective work is on display from the beginning, and the writing and art contribute to both of these elements equally. The Wound Man is a conceptual nightmare, a numb man looking to make people feel pain for taking away his ability to feel it, that’s brought to life with one of the most striking visual designs I’ve seen for a new villain since the Court of Owls. Just the sight of all the nails and spikes in him is enough body horror, but it’s clear that their placement was designed with care by Sherman for maximum effect, including a pattern of nails embedded in his face that almost mimics a mask.

The detective vibes of the story are not only conveyed by the intriguing legwork that Batman does to hunt the new villain, but also through the noir-esque locations and framing that Sherman uses to portray the action. The first arc is so important to a comic run to both hook readers and give them a taste of what’s to come, and “We Are Wounded” is a masterclass in opening chapters.

“The Voice of the Tower” Turns Gotham Into a Haunted House

After introducing a new villain in the first story, the second arc, “The Voice of the Tower“, decides to reinvent an old one by cleverly working with Ventriloquist and Scarface, an antagonist pair that always feels a bit like a cheap punchline. At the beginning, it doesn’t even seem like a Scarface story, introducing us to the soon-to-be-demolished Bledin Towers, where residents have refused resettlement packages and holed up in their homes, refusing to leave. The situation has escalated to the point where they’ve killed a police officer, so Batman infiltrates the apartment complex in an effort to save another cop that’s being held hostage by unknown forces within.

Once he gets inside, he finds Scarface, not accompanied by his normal Ventriloquist Arnold Wesker, and breaks the villainous dummy, only to hear Scarface’s voice reverberate through the tower. At this point, several residents armed with Tommy guns don Scarface masks and attempt to kill Batman.

The mystery of what’s going on in Bledin Tower is a compelling one, forcing Batman to question if the building itself is perhaps possessed by the spirit of Scarface. It’s one part haunted house, one part The Raid, seen through the lens of Batman, making for a compelling arc that feels unlike any other Scarface story I’ve read before. Batman feels truly out of his element and overwhelmed here, with Sherman’s panel layouts emphasizing the labyrinthine nature of the tower as he tries to untangle the truth. Action. Horror. Mystery. “The Voice of the Tower” has it all, balanced perfectly to set itself apart from “We Are Wounded” while still maintaining the previously established mood.

The Rookery Explores Gotham’s Cycles of Violence in Unconventional Arc “Pareidolia”

The third arc, “Pareidolia“, begins with a battered Bruce Wayne talking to Gotham, trying to make sense of the rash of fires that have been plaguing the city, theorizing that it’s the city itself trying to burn him out as though he were an infection. From his window, he sees another blaze and decides he’s had enough and will deal with this one. Police aren’t rushing to this fire because it’s in the Rookery, a neighborhood in Old Gotham that’s been decimated and neglected by the city at large.

It’s a maze of ramshackle houses rebuilt out of temporary materials with several places that have no running water or proper electrical wiring. When Batman finally gets to the husk of a building left behind by the blaze, he finds a body left in a dryer, which resembles a macabre method of execution used by the Red Hood Gang decades ago.

“Pareidolia“, as the book tells us, is the name for how we perceive patterns where there are none, and Batman spends this arc trying not to go down a rabbit hole as he attempts to find the killer. His descent into the history of the Rookery brings him back to both Dr. Sereika and Nicky Harris, all while the neighborhood violently rejects his presence. It’s a story that doesn’t turn out exactly as you, or Batman, expect it to, with a tragic conclusion that is far more intimate than anticipated.

There are some real standout pages here from Sherman, particularly the series of pages that are topped with headlines of Batman’s desperate campaign in the Rookery paired with striking panels of his actions. It’s the most unconventional story in the collection, both in content and in structure, but it’s effective in driving its point home about the forgotten people of Gotham.

“The Child of Fire” Delivers a Haunting Finale

The final arc, “The Child of Fire“, reveals the titular new villain as the source of the city’s rash of fires. After the conclusion of “Pareidolia“, Bruce is completely spent, with Alfred helping him as he recovers from a fever. As the blazes continue, Batman attempts to push past his sickness and chase down this new villain, who seems to be trying to recreate the Great Fire of Gotham, a 1835 blaze that originated in the financial district and reshaped the city.

This is definitely the highest stakes that the book reaches, but it still remains grounded in detective work as Batman attempts to figure out the identity of this unsettling villain.

The Child of Fire’s image is almost the exact opposite of the Wound Man. Rather than spiky and horrific, they look soft and comforting, wearing a fireproof suit that looks comparable to the Michelin Man’s body. The doll mask they wear gives them an off-putting child-like visage, especially creepy when seen peering through the flames. The arc incorporates the classic Batman villain Firefly in a way that immediately allows you to see the difference between the two villains, with the Child of Fire being more philosophical and high-minded. There’s an almost mythological aspect to this story, something many Batman tales like to play with, but it still feels rooted in reality, even when it’s at its most dreamlike.

There’s a phenomenal sequence in the second issue of the arc where Batman, still suffering from his fever, is swinging through Gotham, seeing and hearing flashbacks of the Great Fire. Sherman’s layouts do an amazing job of alternating between the past and the present, with a strong visual variation provided by excellent work from colorist Triona Farrell. It’s a harrowing scene that not only delivers exposition about the history but also sets high stakes for Gotham. “The Child of Fire” is a wonderful finale, feeling like a culmination of everything that’s happened in the three previous, disparate tales, doubling down on the strengths of the entire series in a big way.

Batman: Dark Patterns feels like an audition for Detective Comics, one that the team passed with flying colors. It’s both classic and experimental, feeling old-school in structure but forward-thinking in execution. Not every story needs to shake the foundation of Gotham City forever, and Watters understands how to make smaller-scale stories that resonate on a more personal and existential level. He’s currently still in the Batman corner of the DC universe, writing the ongoing Nightwing series, while Sherman continues as the regular artist on “Absolute Wonder Woman“.

Both of those series are excellent in their own right, but I can’t help but hope these two will be back together again writing Batman, because Dark Patterns demonstrated that this team will go down as one of the finest to write the character.

The post ‘Batman: Dark Patterns’ Harkens Back to Old-School Detective Stories With Haunting Style [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

After an effective cold open that sees a road trip among friends run afoul of the eponymous entity, Passenger introduces young couple Maddie (Lou Llobell) and Tyler (Jacob Scipio) as they pack up their Brooklyn apartment and embark on a new van lifestyle, roadtripping across the country. But their novice experience leaves them exposed to danger, and crossing paths with the ill-fated opening sequence vehicle on a rainy night leaves them vulnerable to a demonic entity that latches on and refuses to leave them in peace.

Llobell and Scipio as the central couple are perhaps too precious and adorable for a film like Passenger. Maddie and Tyler are so wholesome that they gift each other with Bob Ross bobbleheads before a major life upheaval. The type that plot sickeningly sweet marriage proposals and offer unwavering support. They’re also almost completely devoid of conflict.

The script by Zachary Donohue (The Den) and T.W. Burgess (Mister Howl) bides its time acclimating to the van life with a novice pair who take nearly half the film to drum up any kind of drama or conflict to break up the increasingly formulaic haunting they’ve stumbled headfirst into. While Maddie and Tyler are endearing, they’re also extremely uninteresting.

Lou Llobell as “Maddie” and Jacob Scipio as “Tyler” in Passenger from Paramount Pictures.

That quickly becomes a glaring problem as Passenger doesn’t have much to say about its entity, either. The underserved Melissa Leo does pop up now and again as a veteran nomad more savvy to the road’s supernatural threats, injecting much-needed energy and urgency in a film that’s as laid back as its peripheral van life characters. But there’s not a lot of exposition for Leo to deliver, aside from vague formulaic warnings that propel the couple further along their fight for survival.

This is ultimately where Øvredal’s strengths as a filmmaker pick up the slack, compensating for the sparse mythology and plotting with stunning vision and set pieces. You can count on Øvredal to find inventive ways to frame a scene and raise visual interest. A scenic wooded screening of Audrey Hepburn’s Roman Holiday transforms into a breathtaking vision of terror. The film’s climax injects scale and awe with its scale and eerie imagery. And endless praise should be heaped on Passenger for its ability to capture night and darkness with rare clarity.

Joseph Lopez as “The Passenger” and Lou Llobell as “Maddie” in Passenger from Paramount Pictures.

As gorgeously well-crafted and tactile as Passenger is, it’s ultimately undone by a screenplay that offers nothing new aside from putting its haunted house on wheels. Joseph Lopez does make for a haunting vision as the demonic entity, but Passenger never really fleshes this character out beyond superficial, undefined motives. Without anything for the audience to latch onto here, both character-wise and lore-wise, the barrage of jump scares winds up mostly toothless. 

In keeping with the road trip metaphors here, Passenger doesn’t really offer much in the way of a journey or a destination. Its setup is novel, but the lack of depth prevents this handsomely made haunted house road tale from ever becoming truly interesting, let alone scary.

Passenger releases in theaters on May 22.

The post ‘Passenger’ Review – A Gorgeous Yet Bland Haunted House Road Trip appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

It’s no surprise that there are plenty of age-based horror films like Cocoon, The Leech Woman, and Old that tap into this space, not to mention genre movies like VFW, which celebrate bad-ass boomer energy. 

In this sense, Netflix’s The Boroughs isn’t doing anything that hasn’t been done before. It’s an eight-episode series that looks at a bunch of people who feel invisible to society, only for them to gain a remarkable purpose that won’t just change their lives, but the entire world. It’s full of futile rage against getting older that’s balanced by the reassuring freedom that comes from accepting that it’s a normal – and even empowering – experience. It’s a sci-fi horror adventure about how to find meaning, value, and community when you feel utterly alone and like you’re just marking time.

The Boroughs is guilty of coming across as “Geriatric Stranger Things” as it stumbles through often-clunky puzzle-box storytelling. There’s still a lot of heart on display in this inspirational story, even if it’s unlikely to capture a fraction of Stranger Things’ fandom and become Netflix’s next big hit.

The Boroughs. (L to R) Clarke Peters as Art, Alfre Woodard as Judy, Alfred Molina as Sam, Denis OÕHare as Wally, Geena Davis as Renee in The Boroughs. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2026

The new series takes an idyllic retirement community – the titular Boroughs – and transforms it into a paranormal prison where its discarded residents are turned into defenseless cannon fodder. Sam Cooper (Alfred Molina) is a retired engineer with a respect for the classics who becomes the newest resident. He’s immediately skeptical of this macabre community that’s proudly billed as “a town that’s just for grown-ups.”

Cooper is a curmudgeon with a capital C who can’t even let his guard down around his family. There’s an authenticity to the formulaic-but-comfortable lifestyle that’s laid out for Cooper and his fellow neighbors. He is an empathetic character, despite his rough edges. The bristling and loss of autonomy that he experiences highlights the similarities between trauma and getting older, with both subtly affecting one’s sense of self and physical body.

It’s fair for Cooper – or anyone – to resent having their agency taken away from them. Cooper grows especially resentful of this scenario and the Boroughs’ many modern creature comforts, such as the community’s personal Alexa-esque digital A.I. helper. 

The Boroughs. Alfred Molina as Sam in The Boroughs. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2026

The Boroughs is a little glib when it comes to how it juxtaposes youth and modernity against the older generation in order to make its points. The same is true regarding how it approaches loneliness as a sickness and that a place like this can actually be an opportunity to live, rather than a place where people fade away and die. The Boroughs isn’t subtle about any of this, but it’s a mission statement that works more than it doesn’t, thanks to a cast that’s full of phenomenal performances.

The best thing that The Boroughs has going for it is a murderers’ row of top-tier performances. Bill Pullman, Geena Davis, Denis O’Hare, Clarke Peters, and Alfre Woodard help round out the cast alongside Molina. Everyone really commits and is clearly having fun in these roles. It’s a delight to just watch these characters bounce off of each other and slowly open up, even when it’s mundane moments where there are no active threats.

It’s a series that’s all about celebrating life, but there’s also a really melancholy nature to all this. This isn’t wholly unexpected in a series like this, as characters reflect on their fleeting mortality and how much of their lives they have left. Wally’s (O’Hare) storyline about dealing with a terminal illness as he tries to embrace an existence of “cocktails and chaos” is particularly poignant. Each episode functions as cathartic character studies outside of the grander paranormal developments.

The Boroughs. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2026

The Stranger Things parallels in The Boroughs are front and center, right down to the Duffer Brothers being on board as executive producers. There are also shades of other mysterious community series like Wayward Pines, From, and even The Prisoner present here, with some Stepford Wives-esque conformity thrown in for good measure. Also, much like Stranger Things before it, The Boroughs suffers from the ongoing issue with Netflix programs where characters repeat the plot and what they’re about to do ad nauseam. It also doesn’t help that The Boroughs is airing at the same time as Apple TV+’s far superior Widow’s Bay, which nails this type of tone and genre so damn well. 

The Boroughs is at its best once it gets out of its own way, but there are still awkward affectations and unnecessary vestiges of puzzle-box storytelling that don’t feel natural. It actually feels like a series from the early 2010s during the height of the Lost copycat craze. It’s easy to picture The Boroughs as a successful contemporary to Revolution and Alcatraz, whereas its mysteries struggle to pull their weight in a modern context. 

The Boroughs. Clarke Peters as Art in The Boroughs. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2026

There’s plenty in The Boroughs that falls short of expectations. However, it’s not just hollow and gratuitous mystery-driven storytelling. There are satisfying answers that connect to creative mythology that explore an original idea through a curious lens. It’s also clever to connect antiquated technology and relics of the past to Cooper and company’s solution to these supernatural threats. 

It’s earliest episodes take a minute to find their rhythm and really get moving. It gradually overcomes a cumbersome start in order to become something really special and heartwarming once it does its own thing. I found myself caring less about the mystery and more about these characters. There’s inventive lore, but also some telegraphed twists. The tone is also initially all over the place as if it can’t make up its mind over whether it’s supposed to be a comedy, drama, or horror series.

The Boroughs takes a really long walk to make its points. Some people may jump ship along the way, but they’re still powerful thoughts, all the same. The season ultimately turns into a battle between compliance and rebellion that’s presented through a supernatural filter, but speaks to a universal concept. It works well enough for what it is.

There are creative monster designs, suspenseful stakes, and effective needle drops that speak to these characters. Outside of its heartfelt performances and brief flashes of inspiration, The Boroughs is unfortunately as forgettable as the very people who have been shipped off to its community.

All eight episodes of The Boroughs begin streaming on May 21, 2026.

The post ‘The Boroughs’ Is Boomer ‘Stranger Things’ For Better & For Worse [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

But this is not the limit of the horror novella, and Ito Romo‘s new book Filth Eaters proves it. A vampire story spanning a full millennium, this is epic horror in a slim volume, a book that pushes the limits of the novella in exciting ways while never losing its propulsive punch.

In a future version of New York City ravaged by floods, when vampires are a known reality and blood drinkers gain followings by broadcasting their kills on untraceable livestreams, Doro is ready for the end. He hasn’t been a vampire that long, but he’s been around long enough to know that he’s weary, that the world is falling apart because of humans who recklessly warped and destroyed it, and that he’d rather go out in a blaze of glory than watch it all fade away. But to understand why Doro feels this way, Filth Eaters has to tell much more than his story.

So, Romo’s narrative goes back, way back, chronicling the descendants in a long vampiric line that runs from the Indus River Valley to the fall of Muslim Granada to the Aztec Empire amid Hernan Cortez’s conquest. Along the way, Romo unspools his vampiric mythology with just enough detail to hook us, and plenty of room left for future explorations. We meet ancient vampires, recent converts, vampires who have evolved to give birth like humans, and much more, all while Romo explores the emotional toll such a legacy could have on a fiery personality like Doro at the edge of a dying world.

Because Romo’s novella only runs roughly 140 pages while covering a full millennium of vampiric history, we get to know these immortals in a form nearing a string of vignettes, catching them at crucial moments in their development, the linchpins around which Doro’s story turns. Because of the nature of his family line, he cannot simply reflect on his own life. He carries centuries of memories and knowledge, filling his mind to bursting, and he must look back on all of it as he contemplates the end.

So we see his recollections in flashes, in vampiric births and deaths and movements across continents, like Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles in miniature. It’s a breathless narrative of big, sweeping brushstrokes across a small canvas, and yet the book retains an arresting sense of intimacy.

That intimacy comes not just from the way Romo paces out this vast narrative, but from the themes with which he’s playing. You cannot dig into the battle over Granada or the fall of the Aztec Empire or the history of New York City as this book does without considering colonialism, and by charting a course for one bloodline over centuries, Romo takes on the issue like he’s weaving a dark fable.

What is colonialism, after all, but the ultimate vampire, a force that sweeps through a populace and drains its life, mutating it into something new or wiping it off the Earth altogether. Ito Romo not only grasps this but wields it like a delicate dagger, making precise cuts in our psyche as the book moves with lightning quickness through centuries of devastation, rebirth, and regret, all leading back to Doro.

Filth Eaters is a highwire act, a magic trick, a novella so rich with detail and lore that you’ll want a five-book series in the same world even as you leave completely satisfied with what it offers. It’s an indie horror triumph, and if you love vampire fiction, it belongs on your shelf.

Filth Eaters is available May 19 from Deep Vellum.

The post ‘Filth Eaters’ Review – Ito Romo Packs Epic-Scaled Horror Into Intimate Vampire Novella appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Also like Slender Man, many video games adapted this concept to varying levels of success. One of those games, released the same year as the viral post that defined much of the accepted mythology of the Backrooms, was from indie developer Puppet Combo, the creator of games such as Nun Massacre, The Glass Staircase, and Stay Out of the House. Originally titled “Day 7“, it was distributed via their Patreon, but with the impending release of A24’s Backrooms film, Puppet Combo has decided to rebrand the game simply as The Backrooms for release on consoles.

Initially, this felt like a strange mismatch to me. Puppet Combo is really known for a grindhouse aesthetic, focusing on scuzzy, violent slasher games. Would that gel with the eerie liminal horror vibe that had been established?

While there definitely are some more gnarly elements in the final act of this hour-long game, I found that their signature style actually worked to give everything a found footage aesthetic, one that brought to mind the YouTube shorts that the feature film is based on. The PSX graphics style works perfectly to heighten the feeling of unreality, making you wonder if that thing you’re seeing in the distance is merely a trick of the low-fi filter.

Retro Style Held Back By Retro Mechanics

The retro look does a great job of setting the mood right off the bat, but unfortunately, the retro controls do not. Playing from a first-person perspective, I expected to be able to control with the traditional dual joystick layout people have used forever, but instead of left and right on the left joystick strafing, it turned my character. I understand that it’s meant to evoke the feeling of an older era, like many Puppet Combo games, but this took a bit for me to get used to.

There also appeared to be a bug that prevented me from inverting the y-axis, which I do for all games, making it take even longer for me to acclimate to the game’s controls. I saw a post from the studio’s account saying both these issues would be fixed in an upcoming update, but they were definitely barriers for me starting out.

The game’s prologue does a nice job of setting up the main character, Terrance, another thing I wasn’t really expecting from the game. It’s not the most in-depth personality, but it was nice to see some dialogue of him interacting with his coworkers or people on the subway, where he finds himself in the titular labyrinth. Dialogue sequences are charmingly low-fi, with characters popping in and standing static in front of you, only to disappear immediately when they finish.

Their models aren’t even in the world as you’re navigating, making for a slight jump scare when they start speaking. It may look pretty janky, but the old school charm works on me in a way that makes it feel endearing rather than unfinished.

While I enjoyed the vibe that these interactions set up in the beginning, I did not enjoy getting through it. Before you get to the titular location, you spend some time going from your office to the subway, and this location felt really easy to get lost in. It was not clear where I was supposed to go, and I felt like I only stumbled upon the subway entrance by happenstance. I’m not sure if this is supposed to be a thematic feeling, prepping me for the feeling of getting lost in the Backrooms, but I found it more frustrating than interesting, especially with the slow walk speed. I was holding the run button the entire time, and even that didn’t quite feel fast enough.

A Liminal Walking Simulator

It should go without saying that most of the game is about exploring the Backrooms, navigating the seemingly endless space to progress to different story beats. It does a good job of creating the illusion that there are lots of different ways for you to go while actually being pretty linear. Branching paths quickly lead to dead ends, ensuring you stay on the critical path to keep the story rolling. That’s not to say you can’t get turned around given the intentional sameness of the environments, but there’s just enough landmarking that you can keep moving forward even if you get lost for a moment.

That’s mostly it as far as gameplay goes. It fairly firmly sits in the genre of spooky walking simulator, forcing you to wander from beat to beat. Eventually, you find a purse that allows you to drop coins like breadcrumbs, which are crucial for being able to backtrack when the story asks you. This mechanic is a fun little twist that feels thematically in line with the lost-in-a-liminal-space vibes it’s going for. It’s a welcome addition that gives you at least a little bit of agency, something that the game lacks by design.

Despite having a mostly repeating set of environment pieces, the game finds clever ways to have things break down as you explore further. The uncanniness of the Backrooms itself is played up when things start glitching, again taking advantage of the retro aesthetics to give you a feeling of reality falling apart at the seams. Needless to say, you’re not alone down there, leading to some creepy encounters and strange happenings. These are the strongest elements of the game, with a good understanding of what makes the premise work.

To break things up, there’s a dream sequence in the game that once again gives us a glimpse into the character while also providing some liminal horror of its own. Taking place at a funeral, it shows Terrance interacting with family members as a child, getting lost while playing an ill-advised game of hide and seek at the funeral home. The concepts of the Backrooms bleed into this setting, creating some of the more effective parts of the game both narratively and tonally. This takes place pretty early in the runtime, and I wish they had found more space for these types of sequences, as they offer a good break from the monotonous location.

The Final Verdict: An Atmospheric but Slight Creepypasta Experience

While the build is solid, I feel like the ending is very abrupt, especially given the extremely short runtime of the game. The climax does a good job of paying off some elements, but it escalates so quickly that it doesn’t feel natural to me. There’s a strange confrontation at the end that all takes place via menus, which technically works fine but doesn’t really feel all that satisfying.

I literally exclaimed “that’s it?” at the end of the game, as it felt like it had just gotten going at the moment it ended. I don’t really know much about the production of the original game, but I’m a little surprised Puppet Combo didn’t go back and add a bit more to the end to make this console version stand out more.

I’ve seen a lot of people online say that this release feels like a cash-in on the upcoming film, and it definitely is, albeit one that was created about three years before the Kane Parsons short films came out. I don’t begrudge Puppet Combo for spending resources on a console port of this and timing it with the film, but I wish there were more care taken with the package.

While I’m glad to hear that the control issues are being addressed, it feels like a little extra work to extend the game would have helped it fully take advantage of the concept. I enjoyed the atmosphere created in this version of the Backrooms, with the low-poly graphics enhancing the vibe, but it feels like it never has a chance to fully get going.

Review code provided by publisher. The Backrooms is out now on PlayStation, Nintendo Switch and Xbox Series.

The post Puppet Combo’s ‘The Backrooms’ Exudes Atmosphere, But Ultimately Feels Lacking [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Devil May Cry is blissfully lost in the 2000s, and it effortlessly taps into the pop culture aesthetic that was present when Devil May Cry first landed on the PlayStation 2. Netflix’s series continues to tonally nail the gaming franchise’s style and ethos, even if the storytelling, world-building, and characters don’t always mesh with their source material counterparts. After a promising debut, the second season is just as strong as the first, if not even a little better once it discards some of the first season’s unnecessary baggage and grows more confident in its writing.

After season one’s chaotic cliffhanger, Devil May Cry doesn’t waste any time as it launches right into new nightmares. Dante and company must assemble demonic artifacts so that Mundus can be defeated and Hell on Earth doesn’t literally come to pass. It’s a solid enough foundation for an eight-episode season of television that never stops moving or looking ahead as a result. Devil May Cry’s second season is well-paced and never strays from its grander purpose and the apocalyptic clash that it culminates in. It’s also appreciated that it doesn’t needlessly draw out Dante and Vergil’s reunion. Rest assured that these two cross paths – and blades – well before the season’s end.

Devil May Cry S2. Johnny Yong Bosch as Dante in Devil May Cry S2. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2026

The storyline seems to largely be pulling from Devil May Cry 3: Dante’s Awakening, albeit while still taking many liberties with the source material. This means a heavy focus on Vergil this season, who gets to pick up a lot of the slack while Devil May Cry demonstrates a surprising degree of restraint before Dante reenters the picture. This impressive act of withholding is only possible because Devil May Cry now has Vergil – and Lady, for that matter – to lean on for its signature absurdist action spectacles. 

This season also adopts a structure where Dante and Vergil’s childhoods are juxtaposed with their fractured relationship in the present. This helps reflect the full complexity of their relationship and just how far it’s fallen. It’s an approach that’s hardly revolutionary, but it still gives this season a little extra dramatic juice and an emotional center that makes sure that it’s more than just heightened battles of good versus evil. That being said, Vergil’s backstory and the fate that he’s subjected to are truly awful and a fitting depiction of Hell.

Devil May Cry spends a lot of time telling characters that loved ones are weaknesses and impediments against perfection, only to then reinforce that unity is always better than destruction. A family member’s shortcomings are just an opportunity for someone else to step in and pick up the slack. That’s what family is. This may seem glib and obvious, but Devil May Cry really interrogates the power and meaning behind that word. Everything in Devil May Cry’s second season boils down to family.

Devil May Cry S2. (T) Ray Chase as Mundus and (B) Robbie Daymond as Vergil in Devil May Cry S2. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2026

This makes it all the more interesting that these episodes entertain the deeply cynical idea that malevolent corporations are using two superpowered siblings as bargaining chips against each other. Their divine purpose ultimately fuels corporate profits and market dominance. The Devil May Cry games were always deeply sarcastic and sardonic, but this adaptation is decidedly more nihilistic about society, even when it’s not being taken over by hell demons.

This season also really leans into the self-aware propaganda that’s released by DARKCOM in an effort to appease the masses and control the narrative, that’s all very Robocop-coded. It’s an interesting element for season two to expand upon as the series tries to broaden its scope and add a few more irons into what’s already a very crowded fire. That being said, most people aren’t going to get overly excited by lengthy boardroom scenes with bureaucrats. There are also some heavy-handed moments that involve the liberation of innocent demons that feel forced and a little too “Saturday Morning Cartoon” for Devil May Cry. They’re just sporadic enough that they’re never a real distraction. 

This is Devil May Cry, so at the end of the day this is a series that needs to truly deliver on extravagant action setpieces. Fortunately, the second season still kicks off with a bombastic assault on brutal hell beasts – all while the soundtrack blares with Papa Roach and Evanescence. From that point forward, Devil May Cry continually raises the bar for its carnage. Studio Mir does great work with this property, but the chaotic carnage still falls short of the impossibly high standards that Powerhouse set with Netflix’s Castlevania series.

There are really gruesome, exaggerated sequences that deliver a level of brutality that’s hard to find in this style of animation outside of Invincible. At the same time, it’s so impossibly removed from reality that it functions like a manic fever dream. At one point, Dante fires a rocket launcher and then rides the missile into battle. There are some messy massacres with soldiers that allow for a more reckless body count. Devil May Cry oddly succeeds as a loving tribute to the works of Go Nagai.

Devil May Cry S2. Johnny Yong Bosch as Dante in Devil May Cry S2. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2026

This second season works just as well as a companion piece to Devilman Crybaby as it does for any game from the Capcom franchise, especially when it comes to the season’s concluding clash. On the topic of the final fight, it’s the type of nonsensical pandemonium that gamers have come to expect from any of Devil May Cry’s boss battles.

On a grander scale, it’s impressive how this season handles Mundus as the central antagonist. It’d be very easy for Mundus to operate like some superfluous shadowy figure who barks orders from afar without actually proving his power. Devil May Cry uses the bulk of its premiere to highlight Mundus’ incomprehensible power and why he’s such an apocalyptic threat. Mundus’ God-like nature and the enormity of all this bring Netflix’s Blood of Zeus to mind, which admittedly had a lot more to say with its exploration of omnipotence and mankind’s fragility. 

This season suffers from being slightly repetitive with so many battles that come down to the same blade-based combat and choreography. Devil May Cry sometimes expects the introduction of an exaggerated weapon to be enough to replace creative strategies and clever plot twists. Repetition aside, this season features some genuinely unique demon designs, even if a lot of this blood-soaked carnage blends together. The design for Jester is eerie perfection and considerably more distinct than season one’s White Rabbit.

Devil May Cry’s second season is an easy weekend binge that maintains the madcap tempo of the first season. Winning chemistry between Dante and Vergil, as well as a narrative that isn’t afraid to put other characters in the spotlight, helps this season overcome some of the past season’s hurdles. This is a tight, economical season that doesn’t overstay its welcome, but part of the charm and impact is weakened the second time around. This season’s world-building teases plenty of more adventures to come. Two seasons in, Devil May Cry needs to be careful not to become a parody of itself, which at times already feels like a parody, and still find ways to raise the stakes.

If nothing else, Devil May Cry is the best television series you’ll see this year that blares Korn during its final showdown.

Season two is now streaming on Netflix.

The post ‘Devil May Cry’ Season 2 Is a Double-Barreled Blast of Demon-Slaying Debauchery [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

The foolish wish maker in Obsession is Bear (Michael Johnston), a shy, sensitive type whose closest friends are his co-workers at a music store. He’s been trying to confess his enduring love for childhood friend and co-worker Nikki (Inde Navarrette), but can’t seem to work up the nerve. He makes a stop at a specialty shop before the latest group meeting, armed with intentions to finally make a move. Instead, Bear makes a casual but wistful wish on a novelty item, unaware that it’s a supernatural token with the ability to grant his heart’s desire.

It works, and Nikki instantly changes her entire personality as lovesickness takes root.

Inde Navarrette quickly becomes Obsession‘s not-so-secret weapon in this increasingly disturbing masterclass of wish-fulfillment horror. Early introductions to the core characters present a crystal clear picture of Nikki as feisty, independent, and uninterested in Bear beyond their platonic friendship. But where Navarrette truly impresses is her disturbing portrayal post-wish. At first, Nikki seems caught in a manic breakdown, unsettling in itself, but that slowly gives way to more sinister behaviors as it becomes clear that Nikki isn’t Nikki anymore.

Worse, the real Nikki occasionally breaks through the hollow, love-stricken shell. 

Curry Barker amplifies Nikki’s erratic and increasingly violent behavior with chilling atmospherics and smart direction. Obsession is one freaky movie, especially in the night sequences that see Barker turn his romantic lead into a boogeyman for Bear. It’s often here that Barker obscures Nikki’s face as she utters eerie things, leaving you squinting and questioning whether there’s something inhuman lurking in the dark. Barker also dials up the violence to a shocking degree, offering a variety of scare tactics and off-kilter humor to keep you on your toes. 

It’s the type of brilliantly executed horror that could coast by on its ability to send shivers down your spine, but Barker ensures Obsession has substance, too. Framing the story entirely from the nice guy who is, ultimately, a morally bankrupt perpetrator, mines new ground in the well-trodden concept. Bear is the type to buy into his own lies, refusing to acknowledge his complicity in swapping out Nikki’s soul with something other, all for the sake of reciprocation. He’s so likable that it’s too easy to go along with him, at least to a certain point. Barker dangles the carrot of introspection and redemption throughout, opening up discussions of morality, autonomy, and consent. He doesn’t let any of his characters off the hook.

Obsession takes you on a wild ride. While Monkey’s Paw scenarios often yield predictable outcomes, and this outcome is practically telegraphed from the start, Barker manages to surprise with the journey itself. And it’s one insane journey paved with blood-soaked violence and no shortage of nightmare fuel. Barker acknowledges other wish-fulfillment horror, like Wishmaster in a throwaway line, but puts his stamp on the niche subgenre with frightening flair. 

Editor’s Note: This TIFF review was originally published on September 6, 2025.

Obsession arrives in theaters May 15 from Focus Features.

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For so many of us born in its aftermath but before its wider availability, John Alan Schwartz‘s film was a ghost, a film so shocking and unreachable that it might never have existed to begin with.

It would be easy now, with cult horror films on streaming services worldwide and clips of real gore and suffering a click away at all times, to feel that the film’s aura has faded. Like Cannibal Holocaust and, to a lesser extent, The Blair Witch Project, Faces of Death has been deconstructed and demystified so much that the original footage might appear now as clinical at best and hokey at worst, but somehow that’s not what’s happened. Faces of Death still retains something of that doomy, mondo reputation, and thanks to a new 4K release from Vinegar Syndrome, it actually feels downright dangerous again. 

The new disc, presented in a lovingly crafted package that includes a booklet of essays, a pair of stickers mimicking the film’s original advertising, and more, begins with standard boutique release fare. There’s a new 4K scan of the original negatives, a Blu-ray disc loaded with archival features, a new featurette interviewing fans and followers of the film from around the world, and an archival commentary track.

In typical Vinegar Syndrome fashion, this is all put together with affection, wit, and attention to detail, and if I had one major gripe with it, I’d simply say that I wish more of the features on the Blu-ray had been ported over to the 4K. Still, this is all solid stuff, and if the Faces of Death 4K stopped there, it would make a handsome addition to any collection. 

But it doesn’t. 

There’s something lurking in this two-disc set that stood out to me not just as interesting additions to the package, but as genuine enhancements to the Faces of Death experience beyond a 4K restoration. That restoration, it should be clear, looks great, and diminishes none of the haunting power of watching a real suicide shot on grainy video or following a handheld camera as it tracks hypnotically around an autopsy table, but it’s not what opened my eyes to what this film can still do as a piece of horror cinema. For that, we have to get into the sound.

You’ve got several options on this Faces of Death 4K, including the default restored soundtrack and a track featuring the original mono audio, bringing the film back to its analog roots in a way that anyone who managed to snag a copy on VHS will appreciate. But there’s also the option of turning all of that off entirely, and playing an audio track that offers nothing but the film’s half-droning, half-whimsical score. I have no idea why this feature is there, but watching Faces of Death again with that option selected, something about it felt flat-out revelatory.

After all, what do we come to Faces of Death for in the first place, when we’re young and hungry horror fans eager to test our limits and push our experiences into the most infamous of genre films? We come to it for the death, of course, and for the way the film blends the staged and the real, the dramatic and the prosaic, to create a montage of morbidity with the goal of overwhelming our senses.

Taking out the dialogue, the voiceover, and the sound effects brings the film back to the core of its impact, allowing you to focus on how it was assembled and paced, what the shots are able to achieve, how some death lingers while other death passes with the flash of a bullet. I expected to rewatch this film on 4K to admire technical specs and analysis from its admirers and students, but instead, I came away riveted by the journey the film takes us on in a way I’d never been before. 

This strange, dialogue-free Faces of Death odyssey, when coupled with the film’s many special features and a sometimes jaw-dropping restoration, is enough to reinvigorate this icon of cult cinema in ways that even its reboot could not. It’s a gem for cult horror fans, and even if you think you’ve seen it all, Vinegar Syndrome’s release proves there’s still more to see. 

Faces of Death 4K UHD  is now available from Vinegar Syndrome as a website exclusive before releasing wide on May 26.

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There’s a very unique thrill of playing the role of both director and participant in a story, and Supermassive figured out that there’s no better genre for this format than horror. After Until Dawn, their most significant contribution in this space has been The Dark Pictures Anthology, a series of smaller scale games that all take this formula into different subgenres to tell standalone tales unified by a Rod Serling-esque host that frames the drama as it unfolds.

The four games that make up the first season of The Dark Pictures Anthology had their ups and downs, but Supermassive decided to take some time off from their annual schedule to make sure the next entry was an evolution of the series. Directive 8020 is the result of that work. Not only does it keep the much loved choice-based gameplay, but it adds several wrinkles that put it more in line with more traditional survival horror games, a direction they’ve been slowly moving towards for the past few entries.

Despite having supernatural elements, the previous games have been all grounded in modern times. Directive 8020 immediately sets itself apart by moving into sci-fi horror. Set in the far future, it follows the crew of the Cassiopeia, a space vessel that’s making its way to a planet in Tau Ceti to make way for a colony ship that’s following close behind. Their role is not to land on the planet, but to do a dry run and act as a scouting mission for the real deal.

Obviously, since this is a horror game, the crew is woken up early to deal with a crisis on board. It’s clear that Supermassive is taking inspiration from Alien and The Thing, two of the most iconic sci-fi horror stories of all time, as they are confronted with a shape-shifting being that can take the form of anyone on board.

It’s a solid setup, but something like this succeeds or fails based on the strength of its characters. Fortunately there’s just enough going on to create believable relationships that you can easily slip into as your control shifts from character to character. None of them are particularly deep, but they all have their role on the Cassiopeia in a way that sets up interpersonal drama to play out as the tension ratchets up.

The actors bringing these characters to life are all up to the challenge, particularly Captain Marvel star Lashana Lynch, delivering solid performances that make some of the stiffer lines still feel real.

Choices Feel More Meaningful Than Ever

Because this is a four year space journey where people are in suspended animation for most of it, characters are introduced as they are woken up in different groups, continuing to mix up the dynamic by adding fresh faces as time goes on. It’s a smart way to have a fairly large cast without forcing you to meet an overwhelming number right at the beginning, letting the relationships breathe before things hit the fan.

As with most of these games, you have a hand in defining who they are through the choices you make. With dialogue, these are often adding flavor to the scene, showing the character as more jokey or practical based on your selections. Interestingly, each character has two Destinies they can fall into depending on how you portray them, and once these are locked in it can have narrative implications for the character going forward. Supermassive has always experimented with ideas like this, having various stats that show their traits or relationships, but this system feels more streamlined, with easier to understand consequences.

Directive 8020 introduces a text-based messaging system that everyone has built into their wrist-mounted computers, allowing you to communicate with other members of the crew instantly. I found these to be really satisfying, giving you opportunities for interactions that were less plot relevant and more about meaningfully building the relationships, making them feel more lived-in and natural. As identities become unclear when the shape-shifting presence starts to become more of a threat, there’s some really great moments of tension created using this system.

Choice again plays a big role in how things play out, allowing each of your characters to make decisions that can drastically alter the course of the narrative. These choices can have immediate consequences in the scene, or have ripple effects that won’t play out until later in the story. Each of these branching moments is marked by a UI notification so you know there were consequences to something you did, putting emphasis on the moment in an effective manner.

Some choices even warn you beforehand that they will be gamechanging, which feels particularly stressful, in a good way, when it’s combined with a ticking clock. Moments of confrontation are still resolved with the series’ signature quick time events, providing tense games of Simon Says as your characters fight for their lives.

The Turning Points System is a Smart Addition

Character interactions, dialogue choices, branching narratives – these are all mechanics that have been used in The Dark Pictures Anthology in the past, but the three years away from the series has led Supermassive to make a lot of substantial changes to the core of the game. One of the biggest among them is the Turning Points system, which allows you to rewind to pivotal moments in order to try the other options available to you.

As much as I love the possibility space that Supermassive’s brand of branching narrative design provides, I never actually find myself replaying them to see other paths, as much as I might tell myself I want to. That makes this feature very appealing, allowing you to immediately give it another go if your favorite character died due to a missed QTE or a choice you didn’t fully think through. There’s even a tab on the menu that lays out all the branching paths visually, showing you just how many different permutations of the narrative exist.

If you’re a hardcore fan of the game that wants to live with your consequences, there’s a mode that completely deactivates this, forcing you to live with the consequences for your playthrough. I always appreciate more options for the player, and this feature is a welcome one that’s there for people to use if they feel so inclined.

One of the biggest changes in gameplay is the addition of stealth mechanics, moving the much of the danger out of QTEs and into real-time action. Many times throughout the game you will be required to crouch your way through areas, hiding from the alien menace that stalks you through the ship. These sequences are never too complicated, involving just one creature to keep track of, but it’s a welcome addition, if a little undercooked. One of these sequences featured another character watching security cameras and guiding you to safety, which left me wanting more variations on the idea.

Enemy behaviors aren’t very complex, and you don’t really have a ton of tools at your disposal to deal with them, though your wrist computer can occasionally hack things in the environment to cause distractions, but the fear of getting caught is a great shortcut to creating tension. You usually get one “free” mistake where you can shock them with your cattle prod-like tool to break away, but these stealth sequences can be just as lethal as the standard QTEs, so you will need to take care. I definitely lost characters to sequences like this, but there are difficulty options that can help you deal with these moments if you’re coming to the game for more of an interactive movie-style experience.

Puzzles and Exploration Add More Traditional Survival Horror Elements

Another way they mix up gameplay is with some fairly rudimentary puzzles. There’s more of a feeling of exploration in certain spaces, with doors locked by missing batteries or unpowered wires. With your wrist computer, you’re able to scan the area, following power lines and performing tasks to restore functionality and progress forward. There’s even a little timing-based lockpicking minigame that feels satisfying to do, especially when under pressure. These aren’t the most complicated or compelling activities, but I appreciate Supermassive trying to incorporate more traditional game elements into their house style.

Some of the more compelling moments combine these puzzles with stealth, forcing you to track down batteries while also hiding from an enemy. I wish there was a little bit more resource management to mix things up, but I fear that would alienate their fans who are looking for a more casual experience. As it is, it feels like it’s trying to satisfy two audiences in a way that might not be enough for either.

A change that hurt the game for me was the lack of the framing story with the Curator. I know the model for the actor, Tony Pankhurst, passed away a couple years ago, but I was really missing the character’s interjections after big narrative beats. This has always felt integral to the style of Supermassive games, with the therapist from Until Dawn and the fortune teller in The Quarry being other successful examples, and its absence was notable, though he does show up in neat little Easter Egg moments if you jump through some hoops. The seven-hour story is broken up into eight chapters, usually ending with some voice over narration from one of the characters, but it didn’t have the same “Twilight Zone”-style impact that I was used to.

Directive 8020 Struggles to Escape Its Horror Influences

It’s very clear that Supermassive had specific inspirations for this narrative, that being Alien and The Thing, and while it’s a good foundation for ideas, I wish it did more to get out of the shadow of its influences. While the space colony dry scouting mission is a strong setup, most of the threats that the game explores are so derivative that it feels like we as an audience are way ahead of the characters as far as the mystery goes, robbing the story of anything that truly surprises the player. It takes them a while to figure out that whatever is on the ship can mimic other crew members, something that’s very obvious to the player from an early stage.

This isn’t used to create moments of dramatic irony, but instead drags the pacing down a bit. I was also surprised that the who-is-real-and-who-is-an-alien concept wasn’t used more often in regards to the choice system, as that type of tension is one of the things that shapeshifter narratives thrive at.

The pacing problems are also apparent in the very structure of this type of game, even if they try some storytelling techniques to mitigate it. There’s a lack of tension in the early hours of the game because it’s clear that characters won’t be dropping too early, as it would be hard to write around their absence. This leads to some early sections of the game feeling a bit hollow, even if you are making choices that set up success or failure later down the road. Directive 8020 does remedy this a bit by including flashforwards in most of the chapters, cutting to life and death situations that take place later in the narrative in order, but it made me want more experimentation with linearity to fully take advantage of this.

The final two chapters of the game finally land on the story’s unique selling point, breaking away from the concepts laid out by its influences and creating something that feels more its own, but it happens too late to fully explore the interesting concept. Directive 8020 has some smart things to say about the way corporations treat people as disposable assets and what it means to hold onto the concept of humanity, and I feel like we don’t get a chance to fully explore it. I kept hoping it would explore certain parallels or revisit specific concepts, but in the end I got a mostly satisfying story, even if it didn’t go as in depth as I wanted into its themes.

Despite Familiarity, The Dark Pictures Anthology Moves Forward

Much like the narrative, I wish the visuals had a bit more of a unique identity. There were some neat elements of future tech, but no signature thing that would make it instantly recognizable among screenshots of other sci-fi horror space games. The graphics are great, with moody lighting and detailed environments, even if there were a few technical polish issues here and there. Creature designs are generally good, particularly when things start getting crazy around the end, though they rarely do much to set themselves apart from enemies seen in games like Dead Space or Resident Evil.

Despite my complaints about originality, this still ranks among the upper half of Supermassive’s games in my book. The new gameplay additions, particularly the stealth mechanics, do a great job of combining tension with a more active sense of player agency. The signature choice-based narrative remains solid, enhanced by the new Turning Point system that lets you freely explore other options without forcing a full replay of the game.

While I wish the narrative took more time to explore the concepts of its final act twist, it still provides a nice little thrill ride sure to entertain fans of sci-fi horror. It’s obvious that Supermassive took the time to rethink the franchise, and Directive 8020 takes more steps forwards than steps back, making me excited to see what comes next.

Review code provided by publisher. Directive 8020 launches May 12 on PlayStation 5, Xbox Series and Steam.

The post ‘Directive 8020’ Review – Supermassive’s Derivative But Effective Sci-Fi Horror Evolution appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

As a roguelike with no substantial metaprogression, it made pushing through each loop extremely challenging, especially when runs could run for several hours. It felt far too time-consuming to push through early biomes to get a shot at a later level, needing to spend over two hours to get another chance to learn a boss’s pattern. The arcade-y shooter gameplay was perfect, but the loop didn’t fully work for me, pushing me away from a game I loved.

Saros, Housemarque’s follow-up to Returnal, bears a lot of resemblance to its predecessor gameplay-wise, but it stands on its own narratively. It also learns a lot of lessons from Returnal, keeping the roguelike structure but making helpful concessions to make it more accessible, without sanding off any of the edges on its tough-as-nails, bullet-hell-like gameplay.

It’s definitely still not a game for everyone; the challenge level is a lot higher than your standard AAA first-party Sony game, but those who are looking for a game to test their shooter mettle will be in for a treat.

The Mystery of Carcosa and the Cosmic King in Yellow Influence

At the beginning of the game, you’re given vague notions of what’s been going on. You play Arjun Devraj, the Enforcer of Echelon IV, a ship sent to the planet of Carcosa by the Soltari corporation to follow up on the three previous colony ships that they have lost contact with. Instead of finding the colonists, they find a shifting world overrun with dangerous creatures.

On top of that, there’s something strange calling to them in the back of their mind. The air of mystery is apparent right from the beginning, with Devraj inexplicably returning from the dead, and the only way to solve it is to venture out into the hostile environment for clues to what happened and what is happening.

While Returnal, which had only one character, was a very isolating game, Saros has a whole cast that you chat with in your base. They all have different roles in the Soltari mission, a mission that’s meant to help the corporation extract a valuable energy resource called Lucenite from Carcosa. The nuanced performances from each of the voice actors help bring these characters to life as their sanity slowly unravels bit by bit. Rahul Kohli, of “Midnight Mass” and other Mike Flanagan works, is the standout as Arjun, creating a complex character with hidden motivations that are slowly revealed.

You may recognize the name Carcosa, which is associated with the Robert W. Chambers’ book of short stories titled The King in Yellow. He originally borrowed the name from an Ambrose Bierce short story called An Inhabitant of Carcosa, but the name and the titular King in Yellow went on to be referenced by H.P. Lovecraft and incorporated into the larger Cthulhu Mythos that many authors have added to since. Allusions to the King in Yellow and Carcosa have popped up in TV shows like “True Detective” season 1 and video games like Signalis.

Cthulhu has definitely hit a cultural saturation point in the past several years, so I’m glad to see something fresh have a chance to shine, even if it’s fairly functionally similar. The importance of the color yellow gives Saros an interesting visual motif to set itself apart, so the Carcosa name is definitely more than just an Easter Egg-style allusion to the work.

As I mentioned before, there’s a roguelike core to the structure of Saros, but it’s more flexible with that definition than its predecessor. There are several interlinked biomes that you’ll explore, but instead of having to start over at square one each time you die, you can pick which of the discovered areas you’d like to start in. It immediately makes the game feel more accessible, keeping your run time for a single section down to about thirty minutes, a reasonable length compared to the multiple hours you need to play continuously in Returnal.

Saros’ Roguelike Progression Feels More Rewarding

During each of your runs, you’ll start out at a base level and acquire various power-ups as you progress. Oftentimes, you’ll be given options of which to choose, allowing you to build a playstyle in your run that is catered to your needs. As you progress further in the game, the options expand, particularly for your weapons, to ensure that the game doesn’t feel stale as you run through it over and over again. I did find that later weapons were a bit more complicated in ways that I didn’t find interesting, which led to me falling back on the weapons I’d been using since the beginning rather than taking the time to learn something new, but I appreciated that fresh options were being presented.

Even though they provide you with a nice power curve throughout, the power-ups themselves aren’t always the most interesting. If there wasn’t a choice, I was often picking them up without reading them, since I likely wouldn’t be changing my tactics all that much in play. The most substantial choice you make is when presented with a new weapon. In addition to your weapon type, which ranges from pistols to rifles to crossbows, they also have a power level, so choosing between a gun you’re familiar with and a gun with a higher level is going to come up a lot.

I was a huge fan of the Horde Shotgun, and it seemed like when I had one, I would rarely run across a stronger one, meaning I either had to stick with a numerically weaker weapon or switch to one I didn’t care for as much. While I understand this is meant to be a meaningful choice, I wish they had found different ways to allow you to upgrade your weapon instead of just swapping it out. For me, the weapon felt like something I would like to pick at the start of the run, like in Hades, then upgrade with different modifiers as I go, rather than constantly changing to new weapons as they are presented to me. I can’t tell if this is a problem with the game or a problem with how I played it, but it’s something I think Housemarque could rethink in future titles.

In addition to your advancement during a run, you can now upgrade yourself at your home base after you die. Using Lucenite collected from defeated enemies, you’ll enhance three core stats, as well as purchase various modifiers that will make you more capable over time. While many debate whether this should be allowed in a roguelike, I think it’s a welcome addition that gives you a meaningful power curve that isn’t as dependent on what randomly shows up for you mid-run. Not only does it give you more agency for your improvements, but it also gives you a satisfying feeling as you get better in both stats and skills.

Saros Features Some of the Best Shooter Combat on PS5

None of this would mean anything if the combat wasn’t up to snuff, but I’m happy to report that Saros has a game feel unmatched by other shooters. You feel like a nimble dealer of death, fighting overwhelming odds with a combination of quick, precise movement and rock solid shooting mechanics. Each of the weapons has an alternate fire, which can be activated by pressing the left trigger down halfway.

It can take a bit to get used to, but since this is a PlayStation 5 exclusive, it takes full advantage of the adaptive resistance to let you know where that alt-fire point is. Saros also perfectly uses the haptics of the Dualsense to emphasize every shotgun blast and explosion to make you feel the chaos that you’re embroiled in.

Aside from just feeling great, there are some nuances to action that elevate it above your standard shooter fare. As enemies bear down on you, the screen will fill up with their multicolored projectiles, and those colors aren’t just for visual spectacle. Devraj has access to a shield that can be brought up for a limited time, and that shield can be used to absorb blue projectiles, which charges your power meter that can be used by a special weapon that’s activated by fully pulling the left trigger. The extremely responsive dodge already gives you tools to deal with the bullet hell patterns created by your opponents, but having to make the split-second decision of “dodge or shield” makes for compelling moment-to-moment gameplay.

Other projectiles will be yellow, which will give you corruption, even if you block them with your shield. This lowers your maximum health, but it can be cleared when you use your power weapon. Now you have a rhythm of “get corruption, absorb blue projectiles, clear corruption,” on top of the already challenging task of just surviving. In addition, there are red projectiles, which cannot be dodged or shielded. You will eventually be given the ability to parry them back at enemies, but Saros wisely waits to introduce that mechanic and others until later in the game, so as not to overwhelm you.

With the amount of visual information on screen and the speed at which you react to it, it seems like it should be impossible to play, but Saros is the ultimate flowstate game, allowing you to truly be in the zone when you finally find your rhythm. At times it felt like I was completely in sync with the game, reacting to things without having to think about it. Much like Cypher talking about how he sees the Matrix, I don’t see blue, yellow, or red projectiles; I just see block, dodge, and parry. It all felt like natural reflexes by the end, allowing me to get fully lost in the gorgeous spectacle of visual effects that flooded the screen without stumbling over the gameplay.

The enemies behind these projectile patterns are also a feast for the eyes, each with their own distinct look to set them apart. With the speed of the game, you need to be able to scan the arena quickly to prioritize targets, and strong visual design allows you to do that with ease. There are some issues with them standing out from the environment on occasion, but several UI elements keep them from getting lost. You can really see the cosmic horror influence in their aesthetic, combining weird tentacle monsters with strange Geiger-esque machinery, making for some nightmarish creatures for you to blast your way through.

Exploration, Platforming, and Risk-Reward Choices

Biomes are randomized, mixing combat arenas and platforming challenges that will test your reflexes. For being procedurally generated, I was always astonished by how these levels felt so perfectly paced, knowing exactly when to give you high-intensity encounters and when to give your trigger finger a bit of a break with exploration that requires you to navigate between patterns of beams and orbs while making precise jumps to proceed. By doing a quick scan of the environment, your path forward is clearly labelled, as are any side paths for you to explore, preventing you from ever losing forward momentum on your run.

There’s definitely a risk-reward calculus you need to do when considering these side paths, as the amount of health you could lose might not be worth what you find, and this choice always felt meaningful to make.

One thing I love about the spaces you explore is the sense of visual wonder. Not only are they beautifully rendered combinations of natural, architectural, and mechanical settings, but the sense of scale in them is awe-inspiring. On top of that, there are tons of visual effects that add to the splendor, with ashes floating through the air and tentacles reaching out from the walls. This makes so much of the traversal feel truly exciting, as you scale colossal structures with daring leaps. Eventually, you get a grappling hook that allows you to travel even faster, zipping across these massive arenas quicker than ever before.

The visual motif of the eclipse is one that’s important to the overall narrative of Saros, but there’s also a mechanical level to it. There will be specific altars that you come across that will allow you to activate an eclipse, which changes the world before you in meaningful ways. Not only are the visuals warped to be darker and more twisted, but the enemies become harder, more frequently using the corrupting yellow projectiles to up the challenge. This won’t always be required, though oftentimes there will be a gate that won’t open unless it’s activated, so to reward you for bringing the eclipse, you’ll be given more Lucenite. It’s yet another way to push your luck that is just as likely to end up hurting or harming you.

Even with the change in structure from Returnal, Saros definitely still challenges with its relentless bullet hell gameplay. In order to help mitigate this, you eventually unlock Carcosan Modifiers, options that allow you to very specifically adjust the difficulty of the game. Rather than have just Easy-Medium-Hard, you can go in and tweak specific things like damage received or damage dealt, among many other things. You can also tweak things in the opposite direction if you’d like to push yourself for a more difficult time.

Each of these adjustments has a positive or negative value, and you need to keep within a certain range to be able to lock in the changes, preventing you from completely nerfing the game. I played around with this in the later areas when things got really tough, and even with adjustments, I don’t feel like I ever got to the point where the challenge level was completely trivialized. To me, this is the best type of difficulty system, allowing you to change things that specifically trip you up or to challenge yourself in ways you think you can deal with.

A Brutal but Rewarding Cosmic Horror Shooter

From what I remember, there were reports shortly after the release of Returnal that showed only 21% of people had completed the final boss, which is a fairly low number for a game of its size. I’m very happy these difficulty options were added to Saros, as the narrative is worth digging into. In addition to text and audio logs you find while exploring, there are some really clever dreamlike flashback sequences later in the game that help fill in the backstory, adding interesting twists to the surface narrative that recontextualize earlier ideas.

The more I learned about what happened to Echelon I-III and Devraj himself, the more drive I had to push forward and see it through to the end. There’s even a neat series of little quests after the final boss that allow you to see the true ending of the game, bringing it to a satisfying narrative and emotional conclusion. With their background in arcade-like shooters like Resogun, I’m massively impressed with the storytelling skill on display here from Housemarque, both from a writing and presentation standpoint.

With so many AAA games trying to make themselves appeal to the widest possible audience by smoothing out the rough edges, I’m glad to see Sony allow Housemarque to make a game that challenges players in ways we rarely see in games of this scale. Saros is a brutal world that doesn’t hold your hand, forcing you to die over and over as you hone your reflexes.

Blazing through beautiful landscapes under fire from a staggering amount of projectiles makes for one of the most thrilling and satisfying gameplay experiences I’ve had in a long time, and the surreal cosmic horror story of greed and corruption is icing on the cake. Saros is the total package, combining gorgeous visuals, perfectly tuned combat, and compelling narrative into one of the best games of the year.

Saros is now available on the PlayStation 5.

The post ‘Saros’ Blends Cosmic Horror With Tough But Addictive Gameplay [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Before the tournament begins in earnest, Mortal Kombat II establishes the stakes with a cold open that introduces the villainy of Shao Kahn (Martyn Ford) as he conquers a kingdom and claims its queen and princess as his own. Cut to the present, where that princess, Kitana (Adeline Rudolph), has grown into a fierce Outworld warrior with a hidden agenda toward her oppressor.

That’s great news for Earthrealm, which will need all the help it can get against an Outworld overlord with no qualms against cheating or playing dirty. They’re also down a champion after the last film. Enter Johnny Cage (Karl Urban), a washed-up action star who’s lost his confidence. Cage’s skepticism and insecurities don’t exactly even the playing field, but they do ensure that the fan-favorite character becomes a fun audience proxy for the nonstop barrage of Mortal Kombat.

Adeline Rudolph as “Kitana” in New Line Cinema’s “Mortal Kombat II,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release.

And it is a nonstop barrage. Jeremy Slater’s script moves at the speed of Raiden’s (Tadanobu Asano) lightning to pack in multiple realms, villain machinations, and battlegrounds lifted straight out of the games. The set pieces are nearly as robust as the increasingly large cast of fighters, a revolving door of fatalities, and set pieces lifted straight out of the games.

The game’s co-creator, Ed Boon, even makes an amusing cameo. The swaying on the feet before a KO? That’s here, too. Not a fan of original character Cole Young (Lewis Tan), introduced as the central protagonist in the last film? This sequel pushes him to the outskirts, as Sonya Blade (Jessica McNamee) takes charge as unofficial team leader and Liu Kang (Ludi Lin) holds steady as Earthrealm’s MVP.

All of which to say that Mortal Kombat II is designed solely for fans, addressing nearly every complaint while dialing up the fan service. While that makes for a propulsive spectacle, it’s so jam-packed that it crowds out room for the endearing character moments of the previous film.

Johnny Cage fares strongest here, with his character doubling as meta commentary over the drastic shifts in the action genre over the decades. Karl Urban adds vulnerability and nuance to Cage’s inner turmoil, complemented well by the Hollywood artifice and snark that lands the character in comical trouble. His confrontation with Baraka (CJ Bloomfield) becomes the standout set piece for its balance of violence, heart, and humor.

(L-R) Ludi Lin as “Liu Kang”, Karl Urban as “Johnny Cage”, Jessica McNamee as “Sonya Blade”, and Mehcad Brooks as “Jax” in New Line Cinema’s “Mortal Kombat 2,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release.

Josh Lawson retains his scene-stealer status as Kano; Slater and McQuoid give the character a special resurrection to ensure no shortage of raucously entertaining quips and zingers. Kano’s constant insults of necromancer Quan Chi (Damon Herrimon) are particularly quote-worthy.

Quan Chi’s sole purpose here, besides Kano’s punching bag, is to ensure that there’s a death loophole for any departed fan favorites. Mortal Kombat II lives up to its name and dispatches warriors from both sides with the appropriate brutality, but removing almost all permanence from death also means this particular tournament isn’t as mortal as it claims, and impact diminishes.

For all the fun character moments or iconic game elements recreated, it’s the action that suffers most in this VFX extravaganza. Nothing comes close to the exhilarating opening sequence of the previous film, the stunning Edo period introduction to the Bi-Han (Joe Taslim) and Hanzo Hisashi (Hiroyuki Sanada) rivalry.

(L-R) Karl Urban as “Johnny Cage”, Hiroyuki Sanada as “Scorpion”, and Josh Lawson as “Kano” in New Line Cinema’s “Mortal Kombat 2,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release.

In a sequel where superpowers become the default over fluid fight choreography, the climactic showdown centered around two action film giants should be far more exhilarating than the mostly lethargic and muddled green screen brawl in the Netherworld. Luckily, Mortal Kombat II wraps up in a much more satisfying manner with a final, more intimate battle.

Mortal Kombat II plays it safe, adhering more firmly to game canon and lore. It delivers plenty of fun and fan service, but it loses some of its original spark along the way in its fervent rush to pack an entire tournament of plotting into its runtime. But its winsome cast and delightfully gory fatalities ensure just enough investment to bop along to the iconic theme song once the end credits arrive.

Mortal Kombat II releases in theaters on May 8.

The post ‘Mortal Kombat II’ Review – The Gory Tournament Finally Begins in Propulsive Sequel appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

From analog horror ARGs to Adult Swim’s patented style of over-the-top satire, these entertaining blasts from the past have been proven to work in short form, but few creators dare to experiment with the format when it comes to feature films. However, Simon Glassman’s retro oddity Buffet Infinity aims to change that with a Lovecraftian homage to Second City Television (an underrated comedy sketch show where heavy hitters like John Candy, Eugene Levy, Harold Ramis, and even Catherine O’Hara poked fun at TV tropes).

Originally meant to be a YouTube short produced during the Covid-19 pandemic before Glassman realized that the idea had the potential to become a full-length movie, Buffet Infinity is presented as a series of recordings depicting local commercials from the fictional Canadian town of Westridge County, Alberta. As we comb through the VHS-style footage, a bizarre rivalry between two neighboring restaurants soon expands into a cosmic nightmare as a mysterious sinkhole threatens to consume the entire community – one local business at a time.

What follows is a delightfully absurd exploration of capitalist excess and low-budget advertising combined with a healthy mix of Analog Horror that would make Local 58 blush. The best part is that you don’t actually have to be versed in any of the media that Glassman is referencing to enjoy the show.

The commercials themselves are fantastic, with such attention to detail and authentic period-accurate charm that you could easily mistake them for real ads if the filmmakers removed some of the more obvious nods to the underlying horror of it all. Not only that, but all of this simulated low-budget marketing never repeats itself with similar jokes or formats. From intentionally crappy musical numbers to sinister infomercials backed by sci-fi death cults (as well as local super-heroes that keep the public safe from unfair pricing), there’s genuinely never a dull moment here.

That being said, the real genius of Buffet Infinity lies in the way that the filmmakers manage to establish an ensemble of memorable characters with actual story arcs between individual commercials. You end up becoming just as interested in the fate of quirky figures like Ahmed Ahmed, the music-loving pawn shop owner (not to mention the unfortunate Babbacock Insurance Lady) as you are in the cosmic horror that’s slowly taking over Westridge County.

These solid characters and the charming performances behind them keep the experience grounded enough for viewers to remain invested even as the flick switches between conflicting different styles and formats. In fact, while some of these segments could work as standalone sketches, the overall context connecting them makes them even more entertaining, which is why the movie never feels like the loosely-connected anthology I was expecting.

This avant-garde style of comedy results in a unique experience unlike anything I’ve ever seen in the realm of genre filmmaking. In fact, the only movie I can really compare it to is Chris LaMartina and company’s WNUF Halloween Special (as well as its spiritual sequel, Out There Halloween Mega Tape). However, that film still benefits from a much more traditional story than Buffet Infinity’s narrative puzzle pieces that slowly come together to form an absurdist satire of capitalism that’s usually reserved for exaggerated internet humor.

While the film is first and foremost a comedy, the cosmic horror elements are so well executed that it’s easy to imagine a project shot in the exact same style but replacing the humorous bits with more disturbing examples of supernatural anomalies slowly sneaking into day-to-day life. In fact, plenty of the footage in the latter half of the flick is legitimately creepy even within the comedic context, especially once you realize that this entire community has been so utterly dominated by eldritch forces that they can’t help but normalize the insanity surrounding them. I’m also a sucker for emergency broadcasts with a paranormal twist, so this movie was right up my alley.

Of course, breaking new ground in any art form will always unearth new and exciting challenges, so it’s not that surprising that Buffet Infinity stumbles from some minor pacing issues during its final act as the overarching story struggles to tie up all of its loose ends. I’d actually argue that removing about 10 minutes of footage from the project would have helped the experience to flow more smoothly and would guarantee that audiences never get a chance to become bored with the constant deluge of bizarre visuals. That being said, fans of meta ARGs might actually enjoy the batshit insanity of the finale so much that they’ll be left wanting more, so your mileage may vary depending on your personal media diet.

As it stands, Buffet Infinity is one of the most rewarding genre productions of the past few years and a must-watch for fans of absurdist humor and Lovecraftian terror. The internet-inspired rapid-fire humor may not appeal to everyone, but I was thoroughly impressed with what may very well be the very first instance of a true analog horror comedy.

Buffet Infinity will be available on VOD starting May 8.

The post ‘Buffet Infinity’ Is The Analog Horror Comedy We Didn’t Know We Needed [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Notty indoctrinates herself into this opulent family, while dark, disturbing impulses fill her head and threaten to spill out into the world. Victorian Psycho is Jane Austen by way of Brett Easton Ellis. It begins with its twisted tendencies suppressed and internalized until they culminate in an explosive rampage. It’s a strong – albeit flawed – sophomore novel from Feito that shows her progress as a growing voice in psychological thriller and horror literature.

It’s very apt that Victorian Psycho begins with a beautiful preface on death’s ingrained nature in society, both subtly and overtly, and how it’s the true currency that spins the world round. Feito routinely contrasts ornate pomp and circumstance against gothic death and decay. Death is culture, as far as Victorian Psycho is concerned. There’s an especially evocative spectacle that’s described where Londoners fight over mummy corpses like it’s a Black Friday sale, unconcerned if they happen to maim the bodies or tear off limbs in the process. Death’s commodification is reduced to a status symbol and fashionable centerpiece.

This is the perfect context for Winnifred Notty, someone who is filled with darkness and evil that, as much as she tries, seeps out of her like viscous sludge. Notty sees death everywhere, and it acts as her grounding North Star. Victorian Psycho features an adage about cuckoos and how their chicks “kill as soon as they are born.” This essentially becomes Notty’s mission statement through this infiltrative exercise.

It’s clear from the jump that Notty’s torturous past has more than a little to do with her placement at Ensor House. Victorian Psycho never folds into a full-on mystery. However, Feito gets a lot of mileage out of what’s not said about Notty as the audience attempts to fill in the blanks. She’s a powder keg of pent-up revenge that’s ready to blow, and the reader is just waiting to see how big the blast radius will be. There’s a grim, foreboding nature to Notty’s narration as she teases the death and tragedy to come, like she’s a messenger of darkness who is fulfilling her poisonous destiny.

Feito’s novel leans into tongue-in-cheek satire that pokes fun at how well Notty passes as high society, only for it to be more of a commentary on her attempts to pass as a caring human and not a murderous sociopath. As Victorian Psycho’s title suggests, there’s a very Patrick Bateman-esque arrogance and disdain for humanity in everything that Notty does. Also, much like American Psycho before it, Notty is a fascinating unreliable narrator who is constantly taken over by flights of fatalistic fancy as both she and the reader are left to parse out where the truth lies. 

Victorian Psycho keeps the audience guessing over how truly lost Notty may be or if she’s just looking for excuses to disguise viciousness as mercy. This cascades into an unnerving performance that highlights the increasingly ill-fitting human suit that she uses to masquerade as normalcy. One of the more successful aspects of Feito’s text is how it subtly normalizes such ridiculous, brutal ideas so that you don’t even flinch when Notty reveals another horrendous omission.

Feito’s prose has such a knack for making things – and more importantly, people – come across as extremely gross. At times, they feel like the exaggerated caricatures you’d find in a Roald Dahl story. This spills over into such disdain for nearly everyone in the Pounds household. Victorian Psycho has a lot of fun with the many housekeepers, staff, and insular hierarchy that exists within the Ensor house. It plays with these expectations and finds ways to push them to new places. Class and privilege are deeply baked into Victorian Psycho’s storytelling.

It builds to a really wild, cathartic Christmastime conclusion that brings everything together in a frenetic, debaucherous fever pitch. That being said, it does feel like the whole novel is just a setup for this wild final spectacle and biding its time, to some extent, before it reaches this raw release. At just over 200 pages, Victorian Psycho makes for a brisk read. It still gets a little monotonous and repetitive as Notty cycles through many of the same motions. The final act also feels rather rushed, and it’s an instance of a novel that could stand to be a little longer. 

Victorian Psycho already has a cinematic adaptation on the way starring Maika Monroe, and this feels like a story that is actually better suited as a movie that can streamline the madness into a tighter, more visually chaotic package. The novel is a dark, disgusting satire of life, death, status, and everything in between. It’s not necessarily one that necessitates a re-read, but it’s still full of powerful passages that will stick with the audience.

There’s a lot of meat on Victorian Psycho’s bones, even if some of it is rotten. It’s no American Psycho, but it’s an encouraging evolution of Virginia Feito’s storytelling.

The paperback edition of Victorian Psycho publishes on May 5, 2026.

The post ‘Victorian Psycho’ Is Disturbing Gothic Satire That Goes For The Jugular [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

The oppressive and abusive nature of psychiatric hospitals is well-trodden territory for the horror genre. The Terror: The Devil in Silver, based on Victor LaValle’s novel, fearlessly embraces the invasive horrors of these psychiatric institutions in order to tell an unnerving new story that depicts a very visceral, timely side of terror that, in some respects, is the most disturbing of the anthology series’ three seasons. The Terror, in all its supernatural scares and traumatic trickery, has never been more back.

In the series’ third season, Pepper (Dan Stevens), a struggling musician with financial troubles and a short temper, finds his anger getting the better of him. Pepper is sent to New Hyde Hospital, a questionable and seemingly forgotten mental health facility, for 72 hours. What begins as a perfunctory hold becomes something considerably more concerning.

The Terror intentionally keeps Pepper’s character at a bit of an arm’s length distance, and not much of him is seen before his admission at New Hyde. Nevertheless, there’s enough of Pepper provided to still get a solid sense of who he is and what matters to him before he’s swallowed whole. Pepper’s chivalrous instincts kick in, and he tries to liberate his fellow New Hyde peers as he gets to the bottom of what’s going on.

Meanwhile, The Terror plays with the idea of whether there’s actually a malevolent presence here that’s feeding off of the patients’ plight and pain, or if it’s just a symptom of this rampant abuse and mass delusion. This schism occasionally grows a little tired, but The Terror makes sure to always be moving forward.

Judith Light as Dorry – The Terror: Devil in Silver Season 1 – Photo Credit: Emily V. Aragones/AMC

Devil in Silver has a lot to say about fate and the idea of being “summoned” to serve a bigger purpose. Each season of The Terror has also explored unique cultural cryptids and urban legends. It finds the space for “duppies,” lingering ghosts or spirits – primarily from African and Caribbean folklore – that cause mischief before they move on. It’s a surprising piece of mythology that naturally fits Pepper’s predicament at New Hyde.

It should come as no surprise that the season excels with its raw depictions of paranoia, delusion, and appropriately enough, terror through creative, claustrophobic camerawork that reflects how trapped and powerless Pepper is in this sick experience. Devil in Silver is rich in inexplicable sights and sounds that are meant to get under the characters – and the audience’s – skin. 

The horror and psychological thriller genres are used to extrapolate upon these subliminal terrors, but Devil in Silver preys upon the natural fears and insecurities of a psychiatric hospital so that these ideas are infinitely amplified. Some of the season’s strongest moments involve disturbing mental breaks that aren’t at all telegraphed. They’re inspired, intuitive sequences that never just feel like empty jump scares. You’re left to stew in the mental fallout.

The season is filled with genuinely haunting imagery that features what’s easily some of the most disturbing visuals from Karyn Kusama’s career, which is saying something. There are moments that play out like Kusama’s take on a Mike Flanagan project. Even the recurring visual of the hospital’s red guiding navigation line operates like a twisted Yellow Brick Road that leads to damnation.  

Dan Stevens as Pepper – The Terror: Devil in Silver Season 1 – Photo Credit: Emily V. Aragones/AMC

As Pepper spends more time with New Hyde’s lifers, The Terror gets into the abject pain of loneliness, abandonment, and misunderstanding, either by people, society at large, or yourself. Pepper finds himself up against something that’s so impossibly bigger than a corrupt hospital staff. However, this season still gets endless mileage out of the sheer terror of being held somewhere against your will, experimented on, and being forced to change. It’s so deeply unsettling, especially in a modern context where this dehumanizing treatment is meant to be treated as a kindness, but is really just hierarchical bookkeeping by a sad, power-hungry staff. It’s no coincidence that Devil in Silver begins with a vicious tableau of pain in which bones are broken as an act of compassion and benevolence for the greater good.

Pepper remains Devil in Silver’s guiding light. However, it’s appreciated that this season makes space for other people’s perspectives and occasionally gets out of Pepper’s head, so it’s not purely filtered through his unreliable POV. These become welcome opportunities to demonstrate intent and highlight that these people aren’t necessarily evil, just burnt out and scared about losing their jobs, which in some ways is even worse. “We’re supposed to be helping people. You’re all just helping yourselves,” becomes a nihilistic accusation that echoes through New Hyde’s walls as the season continues. 

The Terror’s ideas are gripping, but it sometimes gets a little too lost in the purgatory allegory that it repeatedly pushes. Pepper is trapped in a real hospital that also functions as a karmic purgatory of sorts as he confronts his past and discovers a grounding purpose to pull him through to the other side. The message remains moving, and Stevens’ performance never falters, even if it does sometimes get a little too lost in itself.

At the same time, Devil in Silver is also self-aware enough to criticize other mental health narratives that dabble in comparable territory like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The Terror is at least aware of any naval gazing that it may occasionally indulge in. It also doesn’t hurt that the supporting cast really brings these roles to life. Judith Light, in particular, gives an Emmy-caliber performance.

Hampton Fluker as Scotch Tape – The Terror: Devil in Silver Season 1 – Photo Credit: Emily V. Aragones/AMC

The Terror’s deconstruction of New Hyde also turns into a larger commentary on how this hospital is really just a microcosm for America. Everyone covers their ass and moves the problem somewhere else, while the true allies and enemies hide in plain sight. There’s a powerful, if not occasionally heavy-handed, message here that reinforces why this story isn’t just being told, but being told now, seven years after The Terror’s second season. The Terror argues that this story is bigger than New Hyde alone and that maybe America has experienced so many terrible and selfish acts because its people invited evil in. 

At six episodes, The Terror: Devil in Silver is the perfect length before it starts to grow repetitive, spin its wheels, and run out of steam. The season does fall into a bit of a formula where problems continue to plague Pepper, even when they’re not his fault, which prompts a longer stay at New Hyde and a deeper descent into its suffocating maw. Fortunately, The Terror builds to a rewarding finish before it needs to start repeating itself.

There are a few convenient turns of fate in The Terror’s final episode. However, the audience is left with an overwhelming appreciation for the healing power of community, understanding, acceptance, and forgiveness, whether it’s for others or ourselves. The Terror: Devil in Silver beautifully articulates the melancholy tenet that everyone has their demons, but some are just more debilitating than others.

The Terror: Devil in Silver premieres May 7 on AMC+ and Shudder.

The post ‘The Terror: Devil in Silver’ Is A Primal Psychological Assault Against Unstoppable Evil [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Shamelessly riding the coattails of Five Nights at Freddy’s (a franchise that has, itself, proliferated a thousand times over like some kind of malignant tumour), these releases don’t need clever design, artful scares, or unique mechanics to get eyes on them. All they’ve got to do is reproduce the same hackneyed formula that’s enabled FNAF to become a multi-film, multi-game, multi-million-dollar franchise.

You know the drill by now: a blank-slate protagonist finds themselves trapped overnight in some deserted hotspot that we’re accustomed to seeing densely populated (toy store/ gimmicky restaurant/ shopping complex: delete as appropriate) and is then hounded by preposterously creepy children’s entertainers. Having forsaken their original mission to bring joy to families, these anthropomorphic stalkers now harbour much more sinister intentions. More often than not, their diabolical plans involve getting right up in your face and shrieking at ear-piercing decibels, so that (equally shrill) streamers can performatively overreact to something that the rest of us are utterly desensitised to.

In case it’s not apparent, this subgenre’s mass appeal eludes me somewhat. Whenever I am forced to endure the hysterical caterwauling of a thirtysomething YouTuber —suffering from what John Hammond would call “a deplorable excess of personality” — playing through one of these cash grabs, it makes me feel like Tommy Lee Jones at the end of No Country for Old Men. I’ve become a man out of time, despairing at a senseless world that he can no longer understand or relate to.

You’d be forgiven, then, for assuming I went into Dark Pals: The 1st Floor with an axe to grind. After all, it follows the genre’s blueprint to the letter. Not only does it have the stock premise described above, but, just like FNAF, it substitutes proper storytelling for inscrutable lore (which you have to consult ancillary materials to have a cat in hell’s chance of penetrating). Meanwhile, it also has an episodic structure, à la Poppy Playtime, that leaves you on an inherently unsatisfying and abrupt cliffhanger (in this case, The 1st Floor is chapter one, and it concludes with you counterintuitively taking a lift down to the second floor).

All of which is to say, Dark Pals was at an immediate disadvantage for me. It looked like a creatively bankrupt Five Nights at Freddy’s clone, sounded like a creatively bankrupt Five Nights at Freddy’s clone, and was lumped together on its Steam page with a bunch of creatively bankrupt Five Nights at Freddy’s clones.

Yet I honestly didn’t hate it! For all the red flags, within just a few minutes of booting up Dark Pals: The 1st Floor, it becomes very clear that it was a labour of love for its six-person development team. Skunx Games didn’t just churn out some low-effort shovelware here, as they probably could have, and instead delivered a solid experience with slick presentation, an intriguing world, and a welcome reliance on puzzles over worn-out jump scares.

Adult Supervision Required 

The title casts you as a (presumed) grown-up who returns to a familiar place from their half-remembered childhood, known as “UpWard”. A sort of amusement park mixed with a behavioural conditioning camp; this old haunt appears to have been caught in stasis ever since we left it in the 1980s, stuck now playing the same Tannoy announcements and infectious earworm tunes that we recognise from over forty years ago.

To put it mildly, the venue could do with a bit of TLC. The fairground attractions have all fallen into disrepair, the lobby balloons seem to have deflated long ago, decades-old stains have accumulated around the busted soda fountains, cockroaches scuttle through the commissary areas, and the roof is quite literally crumbling around your head.

Suffice it to say, it’s not quite the whimsical wonderland that our prodigal son recalls from their youth, although further inspection reveals that this was always just a façade anyway. Indeed, we soon learn that — back when UpWard was still fully operational — management employed brainwashing techniques to keep the kid guests in line and would turn to even more unsavoury methods to root out any behaviour deemed “non-compliant”.

The latter was policed by a cast of ostensibly jovial and kid-friendly characters who, for whatever reason, still linger in the abandoned building today. And it’s these ghosts from the past who will try to halt your investigation into UpWard and its sordid history, by any means necessary.

Never Work With Children or Animals

On a surface level, Dark Pals’ narrative doesn’t really offer anything you haven’t seen before in this genre. Yet the well-defined setting and kooky denizens that inhabit it are unique enough to give the game an identity of its own.

From the second you pass through the UpWard admissions gate — your arrival heralded by a band of ill-serviced audio-animatronics — you can tell that serious thought went into how this place would actually work if it were to exist in real life. It’s got a coherent geography (echoing the hub-and-spoke layout of Disneyland), detailed operations, and all of the facilities you’d expect a twisted theme park like this to have. Everything from the diner to the sports centre and the Main Street USA analogue feels authentic, balancing a sense of playful childishness and sinister authoritarianism without overdoing the contrast.

Crucially, the actual mascots in this mascot horror are distinctive as well. First, you’ve got Chompy Chasey, a sprightly dog with an oversized head, play block jaws, and an especially deadly case of the zoomies. And then there’s Binky Drinky, a hulking enforcer whose stomach is lined with razor-sharp teeth and who has a pacifier for a head.

The latter is a truly striking creation and can be found at the centre of some of Dark Pals’ most imaginative scenes, including one where (and trust me, dear reader, I tried to think of a more delicate way of phrasing this) he forcibly sucks himself off to prevent his sentient maw from trying to eat you. It makes more sense when you see it in context … Kinda.

On the subject of that bizarre image, which will forever be etched into my brain, the characters’ various actions and behaviours are consistently well animated here. For a team of just six developers, Skunx Games did a very impressive job bringing their antagonists to life, imbuing them with expressive facial features, ensuring that their movements are fluid, and integrating them seamlessly with their surroundings. They don’t ever look real — on account of their cartoonish designs — but they are believable as characters, and that’s what matters most.

I particularly liked how Binky Drinky’s pacifier will deform whenever it bumps against a doorway lintel, or how Chompy’s eyeballs exaggeratedly bulge outward when he’s trying to squeeze through a tight corridor. There’s even a fun scripted event near the end that has the two villains interacting, and it looks far more polished than you might expect from an indie title of this scale.

Paint-by-Numbers Mechanics

The other major UpWard resident you’ll meet is Inky, a stitched patchwork octopus who serves as both your stalwart companion and a multi-purpose tool. When held aloft like a gun and squeezed, this cutesy cephalopod will discharge ink out of his sack (again, I promise I’m not trying to be gross) for use in various situations.

It’s this shooting mechanic that serves as the basis for much of Dark Pals’ gameplay, although it’s interestingly never used for combat purposes. Contrary to what you might assume, enemies will be completely undeterred if you attempt to drench them with your gun, and the resulting splat barely even registers on their character models.

That’s because Inky is not meant to be used as an offensive weapon, but rather as an aid for solving puzzles. When aimed just right, his painterly discharge can propel objects, trigger mechanisms from afar, or add a splash of colour to monochrome illustrations. All of which will be required to progress through the facility.

His utility is cleverly demonstrated in an early tutorial, where you must compete in a series of carnival games to gain access to the first major zone of UpWard. You know, tin-can-alley type stuff!

From there, the interactions get trickier and more in-depth, but it’s still hardly Blue Prince. For instance, there’s a bit where you’ve got to identify the right sequence of steps for navigating a library of rotating bookshelves —  while using Inky’s colour-coded projectiles to open up new paths —  and another wherein you’re required to interpret audio-visual clues so that you can figure out the correct recipe for a childhood favourite dish.

Again, none of these brainteasers are especially taxing, but they’re varied, integrate nicely with the wider theming, use the Inky mechanic in creative ways, and give you just enough breadcrumbs to be able to solve things on your own. Indeed, the difficulty is appropriately judged in terms of how much the developers hold your hand. I rarely deciphered the answers to riddles on my first go, and often had to stop and think about things for at least a couple of minutes. However, I equally never found myself getting too frustrated because I had no idea what on earth the developers wanted from me.

My Kingdom for Some Yellow Paint

Alas, the same cannot be said for Dark Pals’ patience-testing chase sequences. Mercifully kept to a minimum for much of the game’s runtime, these dominate the last act and severely dampen my enthusiasm for the overall experience. Because whenever I was thrust into one of the poorly signposted, rage-baiting sequences, I felt an overwhelming desire to knock another half-star off my rating.

The problem is that the enemy encounters here are extremely choreographed and don’t let you stray an inch from the predetermined path. Granting little in the way of leniency, they’ll fussily demand that you follow a rigid script that you’re never privy to as a player, leaving you in a confounding trial-and-error loop until you eventually decipher the exact steps needed to progress.

Sometimes you’re supposed to turn left when everything about the situation at hand would appear to scream “turn right”. Other times, they’ll want you to double back on yourself without any clear indication that was an option to begin with. At one point, you’re asked to sprint forward towards danger, despite that going against your every gut instinct. And then there’s a fucking doozy of a sequence, wherein you’re meant to take refuge in a particular hiding spot (a bunk bed), even though it isn’t appreciably different from about a dozen other identical assets in the area. I guess you’re just meant to extra-sensorily intuit that it’s the specific one the level designer had in mind.

Worse still, you’re often expected to make these very precise deductions in a split second, because the game is insanely unforgiving when it comes to assessing your reaction times. The reality is, unless you have some kind of psychic connection with the developers, you’re bound to get stuck during at least one of these insta-kill sections. And it completely ruins the tension! After all, when you’re forced to watch the same unskippable cutscenes over and over again just to have another try, it’s inevitable that the threat of death will lose some of its power.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that this is a case of user error and/or a gaming journalist skill issue. Hell, maybe I’m just profoundly inobservant and need the entire level to be slathered in yellow paint for me. Yet I don’t think that’s true, given that I rolled credits within the developer’s anticipated 90-minute window and didn’t have any real trouble with the puzzles.

Regardless of whether I’m an incompetent who should have his credentials summarily revoked, I’d still maintain that this isn’t a great way to design horror gameplay. These ultra-scripted encounters are fine when used in small doses, but you need to have more substantial mechanics propping them up, whether it’s in the form of combat, stealth, or even dynamic chases that aren’t quite so staged. Otherwise, you might as well just be watching one of those YouTube Let’s Plays!

Putting these reservations aside, though, I liked Dark Pals: The 1st Floor more than I expected to. It falters on the gameplay front, but I was engrossed by its singular world, its polished visuals, and its memorable characters. Perhaps enough to want to come back and see what mysteries its second floor holds.

Review code provided by publisher. Dark Pals: The 1st Floor is available now on Steam.

The post Come for the Weird World of ‘Dark Pals: The 1st Floor’, Maybe Stay for the Derivative Gameplay [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Adam Scott stars as Ohm Bauman, a successful author struggling to conclude his conquistador book series that seems destined to end in bleakness. That’s likely because Ohm is very much haunted by the loss of his parents, and so he travels to the hotel where they honeymooned for a sense of closure. Ohm isn’t a very nice guy, though, and alienates much of Billberry Woods Hotel’s staff.

He does manage to make two friends in bartender Fiona (Florence Ordesh) and forest dweller Jerry (David Wilmot), both of whom warn him of the witch haunting the closed-off Honeymoon Suite. When Fiona goes missing, Ohm’s attempts to find her and the truth plunge him into an existential nightmare straight out of a twisted fairy tale.

Hokum‘s setting and acerbic author call Stephen King to mind, 1408 and The Shining specifically, in that the supernatural causes its protagonist to confront their issues in a baptism by unholy fire. While that means that McCarthy places higher emphasis on Ohm’s journey than the witchy folklore, the filmmaker firmly marches to his own drum with a unique and haunted vision. 

While Ohm’s introduction brings an effective scare, Hokum bides its time building anticipation and mystery. That’s not to say it’s light on scares; trust that McCarthy will scare you silly here. But dread and atmosphere take precedence over a constant barrage of jump scares; though there are plenty of those, too. One of McCarthy’s biggest strengths is his ability to conjure up chills from seemingly mundane spaces or objects, and with such imagination. 

There’s a distinct look to a Damian McCarthy horror movie. The filmmaker has a way of making whimsy pure nightmare fuel; Hokum distorts a kids’ show into eerie, uncanny valley-induced terror in its torment of Ohm. Production designer Til Frohlich ensures the hotel, and the Honeymoon Suite in particular, is as tactile and immersive as it is full of personality. When Ohm eventually finds his way in, you can practically smell the musk and mildew.

Adam Scott’s Ohm makes for a pleasant surprise, and his complicated emotional journey gives way to a deeply moving story of a man, not unlike his fictional conquistador bookending this film, so thoroughly broken by personal trauma that he constantly dwells in darkness. In true McCarthy style, expect the creepy as hell witch to dole out some supernatural retribution for crimes committed, but never in the way you’d expect. 

Damian McCarthy excels at defying expectations, also reflected in the way that every supporting player surprises: first impressions are very deceptive here. It’s also reflected in Hokum‘s narrative structure. McCarthy is unhurried in doling out details and uninterested in handholding. The Irish, at least in Hokum, simply accept the existence of folkloric entities like the witch. How she got there isn’t as important as the fact that she’s there and for good. Those hoping for an expansion of lore will likely come away disappointed, but that’s not what’s important to this story.

Hokum so thoroughly invests you in Ohm’s off-kilter quest, one that keeps raising new intrigues and questions, and in a way that’s not easily predicted. The full scope of terror takes a while to arrive for the sake of building anticipation, such nail-biting anticipation that explodes in a folkloric freakout, yet it still holds you firmly in its grip.

McCarthy dangles close to the precipice of bleakness, but ultimately rewards with a magical story about storytelling and the ability to heal. Hokum just also happens to be really freaking scary. But, as Jerry explains to Ohm, you have to be open to it.

Hokum premiered at SXSW and releases in theaters on May 1.

Editor’s Note: This SXSW review was originally published on March 15, 2026.

The post ‘Hokum’ Review – ‘Oddity’ Director’s Latest Irish Folkloric Horror is Nightmare Fuel appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Forbidden Solitaire, a co-production between Home Safety Hotline devs Night Signal Entertainment and Shadowhand creators Grey Alien Games, takes this idea and puts you in the shoes of a player who recently came across a CD-ROM of the titular controversial game, a 90s game that might have rightfully earned its controversy.

Right off the bat, you’re presented with a fake desktop login screen where you sign in as Will Roberta, a clever reference to Phantasmagoria creator Roberta Williams. You get some messages from your sister Emily that explain the setup: at a thrift store, you’ve purchased a copy of Forbidden Solitaire, a game from the mid-90s that you remember seeing ads for but never got around to playing. As you launch the CD-ROM, you find a low-fi adventure game that leads you through the Forbidden Dungeon, on a quest for whatever secrets lie within.

Two Stories, One Game: Emily’s Investigation Sends Players Into Nostaglic FMV Territory

This makes for a great dual-narrative story. The in-game quest is an atmospheric, clichéd-in-a-fun-way dungeon delve filled with strange locations and even stranger monsters. There’s an almost dreamlike vibe to its progression, following weird video game logic in a way that reflects the style of the times it’s emulating. At certain points, Emily will interrupt the game with messages that pop up on your screen, sending you news articles and videos as she researches why Forbidden Solitaire was so hard to come by. Both plotlines get more and more sinister as they go along, slowly beginning to intersect as it creeps towards its conclusion.

Neither of the stories is particularly surprising, but the presentation absolutely sells it. The crunchy 3D models look exactly like they would have been cutting edge in 1995, making for a delightfully surreal, retro nightmare. Even more fun is the content that Emily sends you, including crime scene photos, old game ads, and full motion video news segments. I’m such a huge sucker for FMV content in games, and they pull it off perfectly. All the acting is surprisingly good, particularly the sections that focus on the behind-the-scenes drama around the creation of the game. It was fun to see Strange Scaffold founder Xalavier Nelson Jr in such a prominent role in this, especially after enjoying his acting work in El Paso Elsewhere.

You never really make choices about how you navigate through the dungeon, so your main mode of gameplay is a clever little card game. Anytime you come to a point of conflict in the game, whether it’s fighting a horrible creature or trying to unlock a door, you resolve it by playing a variant of solitaire. Strewn about the screen are various piles of cards, sometimes with strange statuses on them that change how they play.

Each turn, you flip over a new card from your deck, and you’re trying to find a card on top of these piles that’s either one up or one down in value. You continue to chain cards until you have to flip over another one and repeat the process. If your deck runs out, it’s game over, and you’ll have to start that encounter again. Clear all the cards on the screen, and you’ll proceed to the next part of the story. It’s not exactly the traditional solitaire that I played on my 90s PCs, but it’s easy enough to understand and layered with twists to the formula.

A Unique Twist on Classic Solitaire Gameplay

The most common twist is when you are in battle against a creature, changing the combo aspect into a crucial aspect of the fight. The longer the combo, the more damage you’ll do that turn. Even though your opponent doesn’t play cards, they will have a turn that’s telegraphed, so the other layer of execution is making sure that you can mitigate whatever they are trying to do. As you flip cards from your deck, you’ll build up mana, which can be used for various advantageous moves that can shift the tide of battle. Mixed in among the card piles are bonuses that grant things like temporary armor, extra mana, and even armor-piercing damage to your opponent.

My favorite variant of the formula was reserved for when you’re sneaking past monsters in the dungeon. During these encounters, there’s a cone of awareness over some of the cards that moves each turn. Grab a card that’s in the cone, the cone turns red. Grab a card in the red cone, it’s a game over. It’s a great combination of narrative and mechanics, simulating the feeling of trying to do your task right under the nose of something that’s trying to kill you. They weren’t exactly scary, but they did simulate tension in ways that few other sections of gameplay could.

There’s some interesting decision making you need to do regarding these cards that add some nuance to the play. For example, you may have a large pile of cards with an armor card on top, and while it would be nice to grab that one so you can start working through the cards under it, it might be better to save it until a turn where the enemy is attacking.

Even more strategy is required when you have different statuses applied to cards. Sometimes they are locked until you play a certain number of cards in a suit; other times they explode when you play them, doing damage to you. It’s never anything overwhelming, but these twists mostly keep things fresh as you do one battle after another.

Forbidden Solitaire didn’t strike me as a game where you unlock upgrades, but there’s a surprisingly robust system that involves buying gems from an eye in the wall and jamming them into your increasingly bloodied hand. Gems will give you special abilities like being able to undo a play, reshuffle the card piles, or sometimes just change the odds of drawing the card you need. The merchant also allows you to purchase jokers that can be added to play, each with a different special ability. These will appear either in your deck or among the card piles, and they are always helpful in saving a potentially bad hand.

Currency for the shop is earned during play, generally through clearing piles or getting combos, but it always felt like I had plenty of money without even trying. By the end, I was able to purchase everything, which, on one hand, is nice to feel that power curve, but on the other hand, I would like to be forced to make some meaningful choices about what I want to focus on rather than be funneled towards one inevitable final build.

Does Forbidden Solitaire Overstay Its Welcome?

While all these upgrades and jokers definitely add a certain amount of strategy to the card game, it did sometimes feel like I got certain rounds where I just didn’t win through little fault of my own (though probably some fault). In the end, there’s only so much you can do to solitaire to make it more interesting, but the game pushes the concept farther than I anticipated.

There were definitely encounters in the middle of the game where I was effectively using new powers are recently acquired jokers in ways that made me pump my fist in satisfaction, but it felt a bit like the gameplay ran out of new ideas about two thirds of the way through the game’s six hour story, making the big boss fights near the end feel a bit more like a test of patience than skill. As the game progressed, it went from feeling excited to play the solitaire encounters to just trying to get through them so I could see whatever neat bit of narrative was up next.

Despite the mechanical complaints, Forbidden Solitaire charmed me with its dedication to the retro style, creating a holistic product that truly felt like cursed lost media. Both sides of the dual narrative provided equal amounts of fun, swapping between the two of them at a perfect pace. The six-hour story may have stretched the gameplay a bit thin, but the fun I had with the narrative made any friction feel worth it.

With a little editing and a few more surprises, in both gameplay and narrative, it feels like this could have been an absolute cult classic, but as it stands, it’s a spooky throwback that’s a bit more style than substance.

Review code provided by publisher. Forbidden Solitaire is available now on PC via on Steam and GOG.com.

The post ‘Forbidden Solitaire’ Works as a Stylish, Spooky Throwback to Yesteryear [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Widow’s Bay is full of eccentricities and tantalizing secrets, but there’s a rock-solid foundation underneath it all. It’s a community with good bones, in more ways than one. It’s one of 2026’s best horror surprises. A confident first season hits the ground running to deliver consistent scares and laughs that are anchored by passionate performances, creative chaos, and an ambitious scope that sets the stage for many more seasons to come.

The series looks at a humble New England town that doubles as a hotbed for supernatural superstitions and paranormal activity. It effortlessly taps into that whole eerie island town vibe that feels ripped right out of a Stephen King novel. Widow’s Bay is also rife with the same style of community eccentricities that ran rampant in Parks and Recreation. There are definitely moments in Widow’s Bay in which it feels like a bunch of Pawnee residents have wandered into Jerusalem’s Lot, in the best way possible.

Matthew Rhys in “Widow’s Bay,” premiering April 29, 2026 on Apple TV.

There are clear parallels between Widow’s Bay and other Stephen King series, like Castle Rock, Kingdom Hospital, and even Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass. Widow’s Bay makes sure to assert an original voice and viewpoint so that this doesn’t just feel like “Diet King.“ There are also shades of John Carpenter and reflections of Jaws in regard to how Matthew Rhys’ mayor stubbornly refuses to acknowledge Widow’s Bay’s increasing supernatural concerns, even as a body count accrues.

Widow’s Bay has a lot to say about the power of superstitions and how they can be a tool to preserve culture, protect a town’s secrets, and keep its residents safe. However, superstitions can also transform a community’s reputation or embrace lore that’s more interested in division than unity. The series even flirts with the idea that this New England town is cursed and is actively rebelling against attempts at gentrification and modernity as it tries to remain pure. It’s a creative take for this sort of story that cleverly ties together social concerns with heightened genre storytelling. Widow’s Bay tells a tale that’s eerie and unpredictable, but also surprisingly poignant and prescient.

Series creator Katie Dippold doesn’t just know comedy, but genre-blending comedy. Parks and Recreation, 2016’s Ghostbusters, and Spy represent just a fraction of Dippold’s career. Widow’s Bay is the perfect wheelhouse for Dippold, and it’d be so easy for this to be a predominantly comedy-forward series. One of its greatest assets is that it doesn’t try to undercut its scarier moments with comedic punctuation. The moments that are meant to be scary are genuinely unnerving and carefully constructed with the right cinematography, score, and visual aesthetics to evoke fear from the audience. 

Widow’s Bay stands out from many similar small town horror stories by giving these more intense moments the respect that they deserve, so that the series’ horror truly shines. This is also largely a credit to Hiro Murai (Atlanta), Ti West (House of the Devil, X), Andrew DeYoung (Friendship), and Sam Donovan (Severance, Utopia), who are all directors who actually know how to shoot horror. The series would fall apart in less competent hands, and there’s such a palpable and meticulous appreciation for gothic horror storytelling and frightening folklore.

Jeff Hiller in “Widow’s Bay,” premiering April 29, 2026 on Apple TV.

It cannot be stressed enough that Widow’s Bay is a series that is actually scary. It easily clears Apple TV+’s previous horror efforts like Lisey’s Story, Shining Girls, and Pluribus, while it’s about on par with M. Night Shyamalan’s suffocating Servant. As much as Widow’s Bay nails the horror elements, the comedy is also incredibly on point. The first season also contains what might possibly be my favorite joke ever about the ridiculous resilience of slasher villains and how impossible it is for them to truly die.

Widow’s Bay does great work with how it closes the walls around Loftis as he grows more susceptible to this island’s disturbances. It uses these moments to breathe life into rote scenarios that might otherwise wear thin and feel superfluous, like Loftis’ attempts to get his dating life back in order. Formulaic exchanges are then effectively subverted as Loftis loses sight of what’s real and what might be some antagonistic obstacle. Widow’s Bay routinely weaponizes its accomplished genre instincts to push generic ideas to uncomfortable places so that Loftis, and the audience, is left on guard.

On the topic of Tom Loftis, Matthew Rhys is such a delight here and infinitely watchable as Widow’s Bay’s frantic mayor. Loftis constantly oscillates between passionate town pride and defensive damage control. It’s an entertaining performance that really connects and allows Rhys to do something different that slightly pushes him out of his comfort zone. Rhys doesn’t hold back, especially once Widow’s Bay’s terrors intensify. Widow’s Bay also does a good job when it comes to highlighting Loftis’ constant stress level and the many balls that he’s juggling in his personal and professional life. Loftis tries to put his teenage son on the right path and successfully turns Widow’s Bay into a thriving tourist destination that puts Martha’s Vineyard to shame.

Kevin Carroll in “Widow’s Bay,” premiering April 29, 2026 on Apple TV.

Rhys’ Loftis steals the show, but Widow’s Bay is rich in a strong supporting cast of character actor weirdos that includes Jeff Hiller, Toby Huss, Neil Casey, Stephen Root, Kate O’Flynn, and Dale Dickey. Stephen Root is always enjoyable when he’s playing an exaggerated old coot, and he really commits to the bit in Widow’s Bay. He commands plenty of authority and plays a crucial part in this story instead of being some washed-up local punchline. All this works together, and it’s so much fun to see Loftis get swept up in a cyclone of nonsense between Widow’s Bay’s irregular residents and brewing paranormal activity as he tries to stay on top of it all.

Widow’s Bay is occasionally guilty of the “mystery box” style of genre storytelling that’s only become increasingly prominent in the streaming era. That being said, it isn’t overly gratuitous in this regard, and all of the hidden developments that it teases properly pay off and don’t just become red herrings or the equivalent of narrative white noise. There’s a sublime flashback episode on Widow’s Bay’s origins that’s justified and not just unnecessary lore-gazing. It highlights the cyclical nature and impossible circumstances of this cryptic curse.

Season one makes a perfect first impression, and its debut is strong enough that viewers will want to set up permanent residency there. There’s an excellent sense of storytelling, character development, and an engaging mystery that’s strengthened through pitch-perfect horror and comedy. A proper sense of closure is reached by the end of ten episodes, but the narrative also dramatically evolves and sets the series’ future up for success.

Widow’s Bay has the potential to simultaneously succeed as Apple TV+’s next comedy classic and horror hit.

Widow’s Bay premieres on Apple TV+ on April 29th with two episodes, with new episodes following weekly.

The post ‘Widow’s Bay’ Is a Horror Comedy That’s Actually Really, Really Scary [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

But even with that in mind, there’s never been a discussion of King quite like Monsters in the Archives: My Year of Fear with Stephen King. Part in-depth analysis of King’s creative process, part memoir, part ode to the synchronicities and magic of stories, Caroline Bicks’ nonfiction dive into several of King’s most important works is an essential piece of horror nonfiction, and a thrilling odyssey into one of America’s most productive imaginations. 

The book began a few years after Bicks was named the inaugural Stephen E. King Chair of Literature at King’s alma mater, the University of Maine. The position was simply named for King; he did not create or fund it, but thanks to childhood experiences reading his work, Bicks felt a certain distant kinship with the author, a kinship furthered when King reached out and asked to meet her. A short while later, Bicks became the first major academic granted access to King’s private archive of his papers, including manuscripts going back six decades or more. The result is this book. 

Bicks’ scholarly experience tends more toward Shakespeare than Stephen King, yet from the beginning she applies the same rigor and emotional investment to the King of Horror as she would to the Bard. She also wisely limits her explorations to five key books – Pet Sematary, The Shining, Night Shift, ‘Salem’s Lot, and Carrie – rather than attempting to grapple with King’s entire catalogue. This allows her the space to really dig into the minutiae of King’s compositional habits while also reflecting in each chapter on her own relationship to the work. 

Even diehard King fans will learn something from the depth to which Bicks dives. Her research, including thousands of hours with King’s first drafts, revision notes, and correspondence with editors, uncovers everything from The Shining‘s much darker original ending to the shifts in characterization that make Pet Sematary even more frightening to the surprisingly personal roots of ‘Salem’s Lot. Bicks, through engaging and personal prose, conducts her excavation with care, humor, and constant curiosity, reaching out to King himself to ask what Shakespearean tragedy he might have been thinking of throughout the writing of The Shining, or why he discarded a supporting character at the last moment in Pet Sematary.

She even digs into King’s column in UMaine’s student newspaper back in the 1960s, and explores how his emerging political convictions and anger of the state of America shaped the stories in Night Shift. It’s a mesmerizing view of King’s early work, rich in details that’ll have you going back to the novels themselves to see the secret scaffolding lurking behind the scares. 

But perhaps more importantly than her academic rigor and enthusiasm, Bicks seems to grasp from the beginning that it’s King’s humanity which sets him apart, which helped catapult him into the upper echelons of the bestseller lists and remain there for decades. Rather than focusing entirely on King’s thematic concerns and emotional leaps through the work alone, she carefully intertwines her analysis with King’s personal history, his evolving views on the world, and the instinctual decisions which shape key moments in his defining work.

Then she goes further still, infusing pieces of herself into the narrative both as a fan and as a person attempting to undergo a form of creative mesmerism through immersion in King’s world. Along the way, everything from the daily word games she plays to the drives she takes through Maine to and from King’s Bangor home seem to take on a preternatural aura. 

The result is not just a portrait of a young artist writing the work which would shape his professional life, but a portrait of a scholar in search not just of answers, but of the magic behind the basic facts and strokes of blue pencil in the margins of a manuscript. Monsters in the Archives is not just a wonderful companion to King’s work. It’s a journey in and of itself, revealing the spell King’s work continues to cast, and the hard work which made that magic possible.

Monsters in the Archives is now available wherever books are sold.

The post ‘Monsters in the Archives’ Review – An Essential Volume for Stephen King Fans appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Unfortunately, Stranger Things: Tales From ‘85 doesn’t rise above these low standards, and it’s hardly essential viewing. It’s a shameless attempt to recapture the magic of Stranger Things’ past at a point when it feels like they should have already left the party.

The most frustrating thing is that this spin-off teases so many other ideas and angles that would have been a great concept for this show. Instead, these appealing premises are ignored as Tales From ‘85 veers into a more derivative and generic direction that comes across as discarded B-sides instead of anything new. The prospect of a new paranormal mystery in Hawkins that’s experienced by the core cast is the least interesting vantage point. Tales From ‘85, as its title suggests, is also set between Stranger Things’ second and third seasons, even if this spin-off breaks some of its predecessor’s established canon. 

It’s easy to picture Tales From ‘85 working as a spin-off expansion had it been released during the middle of Stranger Things’ run, rather than after the series’ conclusion, when there’s been considerable burnout. Tales From ‘85 tries to inject some rejuvenating energy into the formula with Nikki, a new kid who enters the gang’s orbit, even if her presence doesn’t make any sense. It’s not difficult to suspend one’s disbelief on this front, but it’s just so awkward that this pivotal character came and went, without ever being referenced again afterwards. She can conveniently be slotted into this series and removed without consequence.

Stranger Things: Tales From ’85. (L to R) Braxton Quinney as Dustin, Jolie Hoang-Rappaport as Max, Elisha Williams as Lucas, Luca Diaz as Mike, Brooklyn Davey Norstedt as Eleven, Benjamin Plessala as Will and Odessa A’zion as Nikki in Stranger Things: Tales From ’85. Cr. COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2026

Stranger Things: Tales From ‘85 would actually be greatly improved and feel more natural if the whole show were from Nikki’s perspective, rather than making her just one of the gang. It’d be valuable to watch core characters from a fresh vantage point and to explore past events through a parallel and complementary perspective. Instead, it tries to shoehorn a new story onto existing characters. This angle could have better justified a lot of what Tales From ‘85 explores, yet it lacks the confidence to fully rid itself of the security blanket of existing characters. Ironically, it’s these characters that become its greatest weakness.

Tales From ‘85 is at its best when it captures that classic Saturday morning cartoon vibe, and it feels reminiscent of Tales from the Cryptkeeper or Goosebumps. It floats the idea of the Hawkins crew becoming the equivalent of Upside Down Ghostbusters, which is actually kind of perfect and would be great fodder for a spin-off. Unfortunately, the animated series doesn’t give itself the freedom to be more episodic in nature and go all out with this idea, which is really what’s necessary. It tries to saddle this premise to a greater timeline and gets lost in serialization.

Stranger Things: Tales From ’85. Cr. COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2026

The prospect of Stranger Things in winter shouldn’t be such an exciting development, but it’s appreciated to see how much mileage Tales From ‘85 gets out of the presence of snow. It’s a fun change of pace that provides some fleeting moments of entertainment. It also facilitates a winter mitt moment between Lucas and Max that’s actually quite sweet. However, it’s still something that would have been better suited for the main series, and here it comes across as a deleted scene afterthought.

This spin-off also features plenty of Stranger Things’ signature “science experiment exposition” sessions where crunchy lo-fi high school science provides the key to defeating some Upside Down demon. It’s well executed in Tales From ‘85, but it’s another example of this spin-off playing it far too safe. It’s more proof that Tales From ‘85 runs to the comfort of what’s previously worked, rather than using this spin-off as a chance to subvert expectations and discover something different. It’s so worried about being palatable that it fails to be interesting. Without these ambitious detours, it’s doomed to repeat the past’s mistakes and conjure increasingly diminishing returns. It’s the last thing that anybody needs from this.

Where Stranger Things: Tales From ‘85 does shine is with many of its presentation elements. There’s a great, moody score that’s amplified by a pretty impressive soundtrack that’s full of era-appropriate needle drops that give off the energy of a major blockbuster. The visuals are sure to be a more polarizing point of controversy. The animation actually looks great when it’s depicting stylized sci-fi creatures and chaos. The monster designs and the neon-splattered color palette are Tales From ‘85’s most distinct features. That being said, people are another story. 

Stranger Things: Tales From ’85 (L to R) Jeremy Jordan as Steve and Braxton Quinney as Dustin in Stranger Things: Tales From ’85. Cr. COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2026

Humans don’t look great here, and they come across as some uncanny valley version of the cast that doesn’t do the actors any favors. The visuals have the aesthetic of a Telltale Games title, which works just fine in a video game, but it’s jarring to watch in motion across a full season of television. It’s such a miscalculation that reiterates why this show should have probably just told interconnected stories within the established universe with new characters. 

Honestly, it wouldn’t come as a huge surprise if Tales From ’85 was just a way to salvage the cancelled Telltale Games title and retrofit it into a season of television in order to do something with it. The Telltale Games release was announced during Stranger Things’ second season, which would also lend credence to why Tales From ’85 is haphazardly set between seasons two and three, a decision that seems random now but would have been logical during the game’s development. None of this would even matter if Tales from ‘85 still punched above its weight and was doing something original, but it’s not.

Stranger Things: Tales From ‘85 builds to some decent action spectacles in the finale that even hit a little harder than the final fight from Stranger Things’ final season. It’s quite kid-coded and feels more like a Metroid boss battle than a Stranger Things setpiece, but it works. It’s the type of ending that Stranger Things fans have come to expect from a season of this franchise, for better and for worse. These paint-by-numbers climaxes aren’t going to hit as hard in a second season.

There are plenty of issues with Stranger Things: Tales From ‘85, and it’s not the restorative vehicle that the franchise needs most right now. This doesn’t seem like it’s going to appeal to many people other than the most devoted Stranger Things fans who have already seen The First Shadow enough times to have memorized its script. It’s a fun sci-fi adventure for those who lower their expectations and expect something frivolous that skews younger, like how Camp Cretaceous connects with Jurassic World.

Stranger Things: Tales From ‘85 is branded content that’s passable for second screen viewing, that’s just familiar enough to drag the audience along. Hopefully, a hypothetical second season truly takes advantage of the full potential of a Stranger Things spin-off and peels back Hawkins’ layers like never before.

All ten episodes of Stranger Things: Tales from ’85 begins streaming on Netflix on April 23.

The post ‘Stranger Things: Tales From ‘85’ Gets Lost in the Past With Reheated Adventures [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Matched with disorienting camerawork from cinematographer Carmen Cabana and alternately squelchy and roaring sound effects on the soundtrack, the opening is both a standard horror movie cold open and deeply emblematic of Hive as a whole. The narrative messaging is deeply influenced by class and race, while the technical elements are playful and high energy.

The film’s protagonist is Sasha (Xochitl Gomez), a low-income girl with aspirations of living in an affluent gated community like Coral Grove. It’s her first day working as a nanny to a rich, entitled brat named Zaley (Victoria Firsova), whose mother Camille (Tanya van Graan) is the kind of stereotype who condescendingly refers to Sasha as “sweetpea” while fretting about the dangers of consuming sugar or playing with other kids.

Sasha puts on a brave face through all of this ridiculousness because she needs the money and a reference to a prestigious school. As her landscaper brother Marco (Aaron Dominguez) reminds Sasha, “We need this gig.” The money is tied to their livelihood, and it’s clear from an early call with her father that this job is an opportunity to help not just Sasha and her family, but also to ensure a future that extends beyond domestic labor.

Photo Credit: Marcos Cruz

Naturally, the conflict is that Coral Grove hides a nefarious secret (though, to be clear, it’s not exactly a Get Out situation). While the people are definitely part of the problem, the children are under the influence of something living beneath the ground that is fond of gobbling people up. And since people don’t miss nannies, housekeepers, and landscapers because they’re typically people of colour, Sasha and Marco are next on the hit list.

The commentary in Hive isn’t subtle, and it does tend to belabor the point a few too many times, particularly in the film’s last act, but that’s mostly forgiven because – despite its dark racial implications – it’s a surprisingly fun time. The majority of the film takes place around colorful playground equipment, weaponizing familiar items like swings, merry-go-rounds, kiddie pools, and slides in a variety of set pieces.

Sasha, Marco, and Marco’s co-worker Darius (Thulani Nzonzo) learn from the film’s harbinger, housekeeper Frances (Zenobia Kloppers), that Coral Grove has been infected by a creature that uses these items as traps. Unsuspecting targets are lured in, usually by infected children, and then swallowed up into a subterranean world that looks like a combination of construction site and abandoned children’s playroom.

Photo Credit: Marcos Cruz

Considering this is a relatively small film, Hive has a lot going for it with regard to sound, production design, and make-up. The camera is constantly on the prowl, which ensures that even in the more sedate interior scenes, it feels as if Sasha and the others are being stalked. Sound mixer Derek Mansvelt rachets up the tension by accentuating the sounds of the playground, along with hungry rumblings and angry roars from the entity, particularly as Sasha, Marco, and (eventually) Frances discover ways to fight back.

The bright visual aesthetic of the playground, including the ball pit in Zaley’s backyard, is sharply contrasted by the world below. For example, Hive gets plenty of mileage by turning the interior of a slide into a threatening tarp with laughing, chanting children lurking around the bend.

Hive. Photo Credit: Marcos Cruz

It doesn’t hurt that the action sequences tend to involve a horde of infected individuals. Since the creature itself is never visually seen, Vargas’ screenplay wisely uses the Coral Grove residents as a stand-in. Sasha and Marco routinely find themselves surrounded by a circle of children who move and chant in unison. They’re not acting of their own volition, though; as Frances will explain later, they’re in a kind of spell, snapping to command before violent outbursts; then they’re released, bewildered, and none the wiser about the horrors that they’ve committed.

These moments, with their child-like rhymes mocking victims, herky-jerky motions, and acrobatic feats (expect back bends aplenty!), effectively toe the line between threatening, silly, and exciting. There’s something delightfully Goosebumps-y about Hive that makes it feel both familiar and distinct, so even though the film sometimes pulls its punches when it comes to stakes or leans too heavily into obvious messaging, it’s still a fun time.

Tubi originals can be a little inconsistent, but thanks to its candy-colored production design, evocative sound design, grotesque scabby yellow make-up, and prowling camerawork, Hive is a solid watch. 

Hive is now streaming on Tubi.

The post ‘Hive’ Review – Goosebumps-esque Tubi Original Weaponizes The Playground appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

It’s a crowded space, especially with the recent release of the runaway hit Slay the Spire 2, but it finds fun and surprising ways to both stand out from its peers and stay true to the vibes of the original.

The first thing that’s apparent with the game is its change of perspective. Instead of looking at the action from a top-down view, you’re in first person, moving square by square through dungeons. Even with the switch-up, it still retains the same nostalgic pixel-art style that made it famous. It’s really cool to see these creatures and environments up close, presented like 2.5D-style Doom monsters. It’s wild how well it translates, being extremely familiar while also feeling completely new.

Moving through the space in the new way definitely changes the pace of the game, allowing you to take on encounters at your own pace rather than being bombarded and constantly moving. You’ll select a specific area and be dropped into a small map that’s marked with several enemies, including a boss that is your final goal for the stage. Each area has a specific number of stages that make up that run, which are all procedurally generated. Since treasures are marked on the map, there’s an interesting risk-reward element of trying to figure out how thoroughly you want to explore the map before taking on that final challenge and moving on. It’s helpful to be able to collect things and level up by taking on all the enemies and collecting every power-up, but it puts you at risk of losing valuable hit points.

Familiar Weapons Translate Into Card Mechanics

While the exploration is solid without being too innovative, the card mechanics are where the game really sings. The subtitle for the game is “The Turbo Wildcard from Vampire Survivors, and it definitely earns the turbo. Roguelike deckbuilders sometimes suffer from analysis paralysis, slowing you down to think about all your card options with each hand, but Vampire Crawlers does an amazing job at keeping up the pace.

Each of the cards is based on a power-up from the main game, like garlic, whip, or cross, translating their concept into standard card archetypes. Most of the weapons attack slightly differently, but it’s not complex enough that you’re ever going to have to puzzle over it for too long, and hovering over a card shows the amount of damage it will do to the enemies as a preview, so you’re able to make your selections quickly without being too hasty.

During each battle, you will face waves of enemies that come at you in various rows. Only the front row will attack you, so killing them or pushing them back will help negate incoming damage, which is all telegraphed in the UI. Blast through all the waves of enemies, and the encounter ends. Each time you kill a creature, you get the same blue gems that would pop out of monsters in Vampire Survivors, filling up your experience bar. Upon filling your bar, you’ll level up and be able to select a new card to add to your deck. It’s a super simple system that cleverly allows you to power up in the middle of the fight. The card you add to your deck is free to play for that first round, so your choice can have consequences for both the long and short term, making for complex decision-making.

In addition to attacks, you’ve got cards that buff your stats and cards that add armor. Armor has a base level that you’ll get each turn, but it will go away if not used up by the end of your current hand. Damage numbers can get pretty high when the waves build up, so if you don’t have the firepower to take them all down, you’ll need to lean on armor to help out, as healing is fairly rare.

There are two categories of stats in the game: those that build up within an encounter and those that are built up throughout the whole run. Stats like might and hand size can be upgraded, but will always be set back to a base value at the beginning of a fight. Other stats like XP gain or money gain are persistent, slowly building as you explore. The base values of the resettable stats can be upgraded, but moments like that are rare treats that feel like you’re really powering up.

Crawler Combat, Character Abilities, and Build Strategies

While most of this is pretty basic deckbuilder stuff, there are a few systems that add some complexity to the mechanics. The first, and more revolutionary for me, is the combo system. Like many games of this type, you’ll have a specific amount of mana you can spend per turn, and the cards each have a mana cost associated with them. In a standard deckbuilder, you’re looking at your cards and figuring out which ones you can play within your limit, trying to chain them together to take advantage of synergies. Vampire Crawlers does that, but you’ll also get a multiplier if you play them in ascending mana value.

If you start out with a zero-cost whip attack and follow it up with a one-cost garlic attack, that garlic card will do double damage. Follow it up with a two-cost axe, and that’s triple damage. This doesn’t just apply to attacks; it will also multiply armor or stat buffs, adding lots of flexibility to how your hand goes.

This extra layer really makes the combat sing. Instead of just looking at the effects, which are important, there’s another vector on which to consider your choices, making optimizing even simple turns really fun. It never feels overwhelming to do, even with all the extra math it creates, but you always feel like a genius when you’ve set yourself up with the perfect sequence. It feels extra great when you mix in cards that refresh your mana, because playing them higher in a combo will yield greater mana gain, allowing you to get through more and more cards per turn.

Order of operations becomes so important, and figuring out when it might be better to break a combo in order to play a stat boost is a good challenge. It’s also a consideration when you’re picking your new card, as having a strong spread of different value cards helps make sure that each hand you draw will be fertile ground for combos. I’m not sure if this is something that other games in the genre have done, but it feels like a great hook that made every encounter something that tickled the numbers-go-up part of my brain the same way that Vampire Survivors so perfectly tapped into.

When you start a run, you pick a crawler, which is your character. They have a starting deck, as well as a unique crawler card. When you play that card, it will have a one-time effect, but they’ll also stick around in play with a specific trigger-effect combo. For example, one of them does bonus damage any time you play a red attack card, making this crawler perfect for an offensive deck build. Another heals you if you’ve played blue cards during that encounter, making them good for keeping your character’s health topped off. It’s a subtle mechanic at first, but as you unlock later characters, you see just how valuable it ends up being and how timing it well can be crucial to your run’s success.

Cards also have gem slots on them, and adding gems that you find in the level or select from a level up augments the card in an important way. A double power gem makes a powerful card even more powerful, while an armor gem will give you armor every time you play it. Some gems allow you to put the card back in your hand or make a single-use copy of it. More and more gems unlock as you progress, and the variety of strategies that emerge from them makes it tantalizing to play over and over again.

Between runs, you’re able to spend coins earned during your runs on all sorts of different upgrades. Just like the original Vampire Survivors, you can upgrade your base stats in substantial ways, helping you power your way through the more difficult later levels. New characters can be purchased after you meet their unlock conditions, and you can even alter cards by adding more gem slots. There are also over 150 achievements to hunt down, each of which will add something new to one of the shops. If Vampire Crawlers is anything like the original, I’m sure more options and achievements will be added post-launch, giving you plenty of reason to return over and over again.

Why Vampire Crawlers Keeps You Coming Back

Much like the original game, Vampire Crawlers succeeds at being a real dopamine generator, tickling the right part of your brain through flashy VFX, crunchy old-school sound effects, and amazingly satisfying power scaling. Seeing the big damage numbers you’re inflicting on the enemies before they pop into a shower of pixels as you hear the ding of the gems getting added to your experience bar feels incredible, which only makes the clever card mechanics feel that much better.

I find myself questioning if the game is great or just addicting, but after about 15 hours, I’m still unlocking new cards or gems or upgrades that change the way I play, so I’ve landed on the great side of things. The combo system adds a great layer on top of already compelling card gameplay, activating my brain in the way only the best card games can. There were times when I would finish an encounter with the first card of a hand, and I would feel disappointed because I had a perfect combo lined up that I didn’t get to unleash.

Vampire Crawlers finds a way to distil the essence of Vampire Survivors into a completely different genre, and succeeds with flying colors. I almost always have at least one roguelike on my Steam Deck for when I want to play a quick run of something while I’m winding down for the day, and Vampire Crawlers has just earned its way into the category.

Review code provided by publisher. Vampire Crawlers launches April 21 on PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, Nintendo Switch, and PC via Steam.

The post ‘Vampire Crawlers’ Replicates The Addictive Fun of ‘Vampire Survivors’ in a New Genre [Review] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

Kylie Lee Baker, fresh off the success of her phenomenal novel Bat-Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng, is concerned with precisely these kinds of things in Japanese Gothic, a time-hopping, vivid saga steeped in both Japanese history and modern true crime. The book earns its title within moments, and quickly sets out to weave a tale both unpredictable and inescapable, so rich with meaning and texture that you’ll get lost in it. 

In present-day Japan, college student Lee Turner has fled his NYU campus life, running away from a crime he can’t quite explain or remember to hide out in the centuries-old home where his father has opted to spend his golden years. Rural, quiet, and hidden by sword ferns, the house seems like the perfect escape from the wider world, but Lee cannot so easily escape himself. Ever since the disappearance of his mother nearly a decade earlier, he’s been troubled by the depth and breadth of his own perception, so flooded with sensation that he drowns his senses out with near-constant sedation. But here in this old country house, something calls to him that he cannot ignore. Reality seems to strain here, not just flickering but sometimes opening up pathways to the past. 

In 1877, Sen is a young woman living in the same house with her destitute family, training under her father to be among the last samurai Japan has to offer. Their way of life has been banned by the Imperial government, but Sen is determined to make her father and her ancestral traditions proud by carrying on the samurai way of life, fighting for it to the death if she has to. At least until the space behind her closet crackles with strange life, revealing a doorway to the future where a strange foreign spirit waits to converse with her, and reveal some truths she might wish she’d never heard.

Yes, this is a novel about a rogue samurai in 19th-century Japan and a present-day runaway college student connecting across time through a single haunted country home, and while that’s a phenomenal hook, it’s only the beginning of the ambitious, sprawling yet intimate narrative Baker seeks to weave here. In the first section of the novel, comprising roughly 80 pages, she is unhurried in her pursuit of the emotional truths behind this compelling scenario, patiently laying out the emotional landscapes through which both Lee and Sen move, and the darkness to which they’re privy.

Lee fixates not just on what he’s done that made him flee America, but on the eventual fate of his mother, which remains a mystery even after she’s been declared legally dead. Meanwhile, Sen lives in mortal peril of her own, remembering the losses her family has suffered amid the fall of the samurai and looking ahead, through her father’s own brutalist view of the world, at the death she must still face if she is to retain her honor. 

What, then, does it mean when these two death-obsessed souls encounter one another? What happens to your own psyche when, to the person staring at you across time, you are nothing but a ghost, or worse, an evil spirit? These are the questions that consume Sen and Lee’s early relationship, but just as she did with Bat-Eater, Baker quickly proves that she’s just getting started.

To give away the directions in which this novel pushes its characters would be to spoil the achingly beautiful, emotionally devastating magic trick Baker’s able to pull off in these pages, but I will tell you that this feels like a book I could have read forever. I was lost in the magic, in the chemistry between these two souls looking for a way to reclaim their own stories even as they’re enrobed in the darkness of their own pasts. Kylie Lee Baker is, quite simply, one of the most important voices in modern horror, and with Japanese Gothic, she has reaffirmed her place as an essential storyteller in the genre. This is one of the best horror books of 2026, and should not be missed.

Japanese Gothic is now available wherever books are sold.

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Of course, I’d argue that this is an excellent problem to have, especially when these releases are passion projects like Malformation Games’ Resident Evil-inspired Ground Zero.

A survival horror throwback that looks and feels like a long-lost Dreamcast title in the vein of Carrier or RE: Code Veronica, the Swedish-developed Ground Zero is the latest attempt at scratching that familiar genre itch that AAA gaming has long since forgotten.

In the game, you initially take control of South Korean special operative Seo-Yeon as she and her Canadian partner Evan investigate the aftermath of a mysterious meteor impact that devastated Seoul and the surrounding area. The agents soon discover that the impact site isn’t as dead as it seems, with the apocalyptic environment now being home to mutant creatures and a cancerous growth that may soon threaten the entire world.

Classic Survival Horror Gameplay with Modern Twists

In gameplay terms, this setup translates to players exploring a charmingly lo-fi (yet still visually stunning) rendition of South Korea as they fight monsters, solve puzzles, and deal with limited inventory space in an attempt to progress through the area and find out exactly what’s going on. This process is enhanced by modern additions such as upgradeable stats that you improve through a series of color-coded vials, an intensely satisfying critical hit system, and “genome points” that you can trade in for items at certain automated vendors.

The main gameplay loop is still pretty much identical to the survival horror hits of yesteryear, with progression involving plenty of backtracking to item boxes and consulting a detailed map (which automatically updates with icons indicating door functionality and missed items). However, you’ll soon find that the constant running around between previously explored areas means that it’s almost always better to deal with enemies as soon as possible, a situation that removes much of the tactical thinking that makes these games so thrilling in the first place.

In fact, the overall Ground Zero experience is a little on the easy side if you have any prior history with this sort of game – especially if you can master melee combat and keep an eye out for upgrades. That being said, I’d much rather deal with a title that occasionally holds my hand a little too hard than an obtuse nightmare that removes all the fun from the experience. Plus, there are separate difficulty sliders for both combat and puzzle solving, so this shouldn’t be much of an issue.

Pre-Rendered Backgrounds and Immersive Sound Design Contribute to Haunting Atmosphere

Besides, the atmosphere is the real highlight of the game, with Seoul and the surrounding area appropriately feeling more real than Raccoon City or even Silent Hill. The pre-rendered graphics and colorful art style make the devastated area look hauntingly beautiful, and the hand-crafted visuals are enhanced by a highly effective soundtrack that keeps things interesting even after you realize that the plot isn’t going to win any writing awards.

Ground Zero is also a surprisingly lengthy experience, with some of its mechanics being spread a little thin over so much game. While the title never truly wears out its welcome, things get a bit repetitive once you’ve upgraded your character to superhuman levels and understand more or less where the story is going. That being said, not only do the level and monster designs continue to be excellent throughout the entire campaign, but you also get a lot of bang for your buck here.

The title offers multiple playable characters, branching paths, and a plethora of cosmetic upgrades, and there are also alternate game modes containing a plethora of unlockable secrets that will likely have you playing and replaying for much longer than the promised 15-20 hour story mode.

Unfortunately, this embarrassment of genre riches is somewhat marred by a handful of technical issues endemic to ambitious indie projects. While I didn’t encounter any game-breaking bugs, it’s clear that the title could have gone through another round of testing in order to deal with clunky item hitboxes and unpredictable enemy collision detection (especially where the critical hits are concerned). I also had to reload to an older save file after encountering a glitch where Seo-Yeon became invincible after upgrading her stats.

Final Verdict: Is Ground Zero Worth Playing?

None of these issues kept me from enjoying the title, but it’s a shame that the developers came so close to delivering a masterpiece but ended up fumbling the details. This also applies to the game’s narrative, as the characters are all quite likable (I particularly enjoyed Evan’s charming sense of humor and Seo-Yeon’s badass demeanor), but the story itself is a retread of established survival horror tropes covered up with a South Korean-flavored coat of fresh paint.

The minute-to-minute experience of actually playing through Ground Zero is so entertaining that most of these issues simply melt away. It’s hard to worry about the occasional missed critical hit when you’re thinking about how gnarly the monster designs are and how the pre-rendered backgrounds make Seoul look beautiful in spite of the ongoing apocalypse.

That’s why I’d recommend Ground Zero to both new and veteran fans of classic survival horror, as the game’s unique blend of South Korean style with fleshy homages to the genre titans like Dino Crisis and Alone in the Dark makes it one of the best Resident Evil Clones in years.

Just be sure to play on a higher difficulty if this isn’t your first survival horror rodeo.

Ground Zero is available now on all major consoles and PC.

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Writer/Director Lee Cronin employs all the Evil Dead Rise tools in his arsenal, including a rather strong affinity for the split diopter shot, as he centers another family in a harrowing demonic nightmare. This time, it’s the Cannon family, who, when we meet them, are living in Egypt for work when young Katie Cannon (Emily Mitchell) gets snatched up by a stranger. Yet the senior detective dismisses Katie’s parents, journalist Charlie (Midsommar‘s Jack Reynor) and nurse Larissa (Laia Costa), suspecting them as prime suspects in a disappearance case that spans eight years, at the end of which Katie’s discovered alive (now played by Natalie Grace) but unwell in a nondescript sarcophagus near Aswan.

In the first of many moves that stretch plausibility and suspension of disbelief, Katie’s doctors immediately discharge the catatonic and traumatized girl back to her parents, who have since relocated from Egypt to New Mexico along with Katie’s brother Sebastian (Shylo Molina), younger sister Maud (Billie Roy), and abuela Carmen (Veronica Falcon). It doesn’t take long for Katie to throw the household in disarray with creepy behavior that continues to escalate as Charlie seeks answers regarding her disappearance.

ACK REYNOR as Charlie Cannon and NATALIE GRACE as Katie Cannon in New Line Cinema’s, Atomic Monster’s and Blumhouse’s “LEE CRONIN’S THE MUMMY.” A Warner Bros. Pictures Release.

Logic and rational behavior become nonexistent as the Cannon household descends into, essentially, another Evil Dead movie. Lee Cronin’s The Mummy owes great debt to it as well as The Exorcist, as Katie slowly emerges from her catatonic state, emulating the similar telltale signs of possession that Regan MacNeil exhibited before ramping up to full-blown Deadite mayhem. Imagery plays a far more prevalent role than mythology here, which simply trades Kandarian demons for an Egyptian demon without much depth.

The lack of depth or fleshed out lore and themes becomes glaringly noticeable in a runtime that stretches past the two-hour mark, especially when the story feels more like a series of unconnected horror scenes meant to test your mettle. It’s here where Lee Cronin’s latest has the most fun, unleashing a variety of freakouts, including a toenail clipping moment meant to rival Cronin’s attention-grabbing cheese grater moment from his previous film. But for every inspired bit of gore or cruel carnage unleashed, it’s often offset by illogical choices.

The discovery of a particularly nasty bit of bile and viscera under a rug should trigger alarms in a concerned parent, for example, but simply gets forgotten for a much larger payoff later. The scene does make for a demented bit of fun, but it flattens its characters in the process. Not helping is the Mummy design. Cronin’s approach to the wrappings is novel and yields skin-crawling body horror moments, but SFX Creature Designer Arjen Tuiten evokes a sickly possessed girl that calls his work on Wolf Man to mind, another too-far deviation from source material.

MAY CALAMAWY as detective Dalia Zaki in New Line Cinema’s, Atomic Monster’s and Blumhouse’s “LEE CRONIN’S THE MUMMY.” A Warner Bros. Pictures Release.

The Cannon family isn’t very smart, nor are the parents all that observant or aware of their own children. Finding rooting interest or connecting with any central characters in this story is tricky, making May Calamawy‘s Detective Dalia Zaki, who’s resolve to course correct for her partner in Katie’s disappearance, a revelation. Calamawy’s character isn’t just responsible for driving the story forward in her quest for answers; she quickly becomes the cultural bridge and the trustworthy authority with the determined physical prowess to see The Mummy through to its big exorcism finale. Calamaway isn’t just an engaging and nuanced performer; she fully commits to the grotesequeries Cronin subjects her character to in the demonic confrontation.

Despite its namesake and occasional Egyptian imagery, Cronin’s latest is less a reinvention of the Mummy and more a conventional possession horror movie with an Egyptian twist. One that bears all the familiar earmarks of Evil Dead Rise, complete with an expositionary tape recording and a cameo by Lily Sullivan. Cronin succeeds in topping the viciousness of his previous effort, but sacrifices nearly everything else in the process.

It’s gross and gory in all the right crowd-pleasing ways, but it completely forgets to define its new Mummy, one that instantly breaks its first tenant: this Mummy isn’t even dead, let alone mummified, really. Perhaps it should’ve been titled “Evil Dead Unwrapped” instead.

Lee Cronin’s The Mummy releases in theaters and IMAX on April 17, 2026.

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Right off the bat, you can see why Ubisoft decided to publish a small game like this. Every part of the moment-to-moment experience is undeniably slick, with a rock solid game feel that immediately grabs you. I’ve seen it pitched as Devil May Cry meets Returnal, and that’s not entirely far off, at least at first glance.

Morbid Metal is a third person action game with extremely mobile combat, throwing you into small arenas where you slash your way through hordes of enemies with fast-paced melee combat that has an amazingly kinetic feel thanks to great audio-visual effects. Between these encounters, which probably last about a minute at most depending on enemy composition, you’ll find yourself a combination of traversal and light exploration, using your double jump and dash to do some rudimentary platforming.

Meet Flux, Ekku, and Vekta: Character Playstyles in a Post-Apocalyptic Setting

There’s some very light story content that sets up why you’re stuck in this roguelike loop, but at the moment, it doesn’t feel particularly fleshed out. Best I can tell is that you’re an AI in a post-apocalyptic setting that’s being run through a simulation by the mysterious Operator to help eliminate corrupted robots. In parallel to this, an entity known as Eden is trying to help you from the shadows, giving you a safe space known as the Void to hide out between runs. It’s not a ton to go on, but the voice acting is strong enough in the limited dialogue you get that you have a sense of who the Operator and Eden are, hopefully setting up for some solid story content in later versions.

While this doesn’t sound entirely unique, the big hook of the game, aside from how good it feels, is that you have a set of characters that you can instantly swap between in the heat of the battle. There are three in the current build of the game, with a fourth planned to be added before the game hits 1.0. Each of the characters has the same movement options, but their suite of skills and attacks varies. Flux is much faster in their basic attacks, with skills focused on closing the gap between you and your enemies. Ekku is extremely slow with their strikes, but hits like a truck, with skills focused on popping enemies into the air or knocking them off their feet. Vekta relies on projectiles, focusing more on crowd control.

Each of these skills, which can be swapped out for another option during your run, has a cooldown before you can use it again, which means that combat sometimes breaks down to you using each skill, then switching to the next character, using their skills, and so on, as you try to waste time between cooldowns. For me, this had the effect of not really treating each character as their own distinct individual, but rather the option of where you spam a skill from.

Routines and Upgrades: How Progression Works in Morbid Metal

The main issue that leads to this for me is the fact that the encounter variety isn’t really there yet, especially given that you’re going to run through them over and over due to the roguelike structure. The robotic enemies you face fall into pretty basic archetypes – fodder, flyer, heavy – and it doesn’t really feel like there’s a ton of thought required for strategizing how you approach the fight. It seems like I’m starting every single fight in the exact same way, using Flux to zip up to a flyer to take one out, before landing on the ground as Ekku to do a big sweeping slash to try to stun as many of the smaller enemies as I can, before turning my focus to a heavy. Being able to get into a rhythm is a good thing for a fast-action game like this, but it felt like I was getting into the same rhythm every time, which meant I never really had an encounter or run that stood out to me.

After each encounter, you’re given the option to pick from a series of upgrades, called routines. These can either be universal routines that apply to all characters or routines that apply only to specific ones. With how much swapping you do, I found the universal routines to be the ones that I leaned towards the most, especially since these give you options to do a lot of passive damage through things like applying leak (this game’s version of bleed) and deploying drones. While I definitely felt myself getting more powerful during a run, I never really ran across options that changed how I played; instead, they just enhanced how I already played.

Occasionally, you’ll run into optional trial rooms that will give you very specific tests that will provide greater rewards. These can be anything from “survive for a certain amount of time” to “swap characters every five seconds.” While the rewards for these were better, it wasn’t something I was really psyched to actually do. The swapping one, which felt like the most common, felt like a task rather than a fun challenge, even though theoretically it should be highlighting the unique mechanic of the game. Hopefully, these are reconceptualized a little bit as time goes on, because the risk-reward calculation of doing an optional fight like this is a great choice to have to make.

Secrets, Traversal, and Exploration Mechanics

The traversal between arenas helps it not feel like an endless string of repetitive fights, but it’s not the most substantial part of the game. It’s very clear that there’s a limited set of these connecting pieces, and you will quickly see all of them within a few runs. You are rewarded for trying to push the edges of the maps, using your movement mechanics to reach parts of the level to find more upgrades, but once you know which world piece you’re on, it’s pretty easy to remember where to find the barely hidden secrets.

When you are in the Void between runs, you can buy various unlocks with the Void Matter currency you pick up during runs. These can come in the form of upgrades to your basic stats, like max HP and attack power, or additional options that will present themselves throughout your runs. This gives you something to chase while you’re getting better at the game, but I never really got one that made me go “oh hell yeah” while thinking about the possibilities it provided.

Even though you see the same map sections over and over, it’s still really nice to look at. Given the robotic nature of your characters, which all convey so much character in their silhouettes, I was surprised at how the biomes looked. The Void is an abstract cyberspace, but the actual biomes are more man-made temple-like structures in cliffsides and forests. Perhaps it will make a bit more sense once the narrative is fleshed out more in future updates, but for now, it gave me a little bit of tonal whiplash, even if it’s generally pretty. Occasionally, there’s a bit of pop-in that mars the visual splendor, but overall, I didn’t have too many visual bugs, even playing on the Steam Deck.

Both of the biomes have their own boss to fight, and these are good challenges that make up the most difficult portions of the game. Most of the time, deaths in Morbid Metal came after several encounters where I took small amounts of damage that just finally caught up to me, but bosses are enough of a test that you can go in with a full health bar and still get demolished. One of the difficult things with the roguelike structure, as opposed to something like a soulslike, is that if you die to a boss, you’ll have a pretty long run to get back to it to try again, making it take longer to get used to the patterns, but for the most part, they were pretty readable from the jump. The boss fights are a highlight of the game for me, combat-wise, so I hope they take the time to add in as many as they can, allowing for alternates in each biome to keep things interesting.

Morbid Metal Early Access Verdict

Aside from the occasional visual pop-in, I did have a few bugs that popped up here and there. The worst offender put me in a state where my dash would do the animation, but not actually move me through the level at all, removing a key piece of my defensive arsenal. There have also been several times when the camera acted erratically, both with lock-on and without, which is frustrating for a fast-paced game like this one.

I know I’ve had a lot of nitpicks about Morbid Metal, but everything I saw in my time with the Early Access build is a great foundation for something that could turn out to be pretty special. Given how great the core combat feels, I hope they take the time to find ways to add meaningful complexity to both the encounters and the build options, as those are the real secret sauce of any roguelike.

This is exactly what Early Access is for, so I’m looking forward to seeing what Morbid Metal looks like when it hits 1.0 somewhere down the road.

Early Access code provided by publisher. Morbid Metal is currently available on Steam.

The post ‘Morbid Metal’ Has the Means to Succeed as a Hack-and-Slash Roguelike [Early Access Impression] appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

I mention this audience, specifically, because watching this new restoration, I couldn’t help but marvel at how surprisingly relevant this film is 46 years after its release.

You can sum up this film, part of the Canadian exploitation cinema boom that also included films like Black Christmas and Terror Train, with grindhouse brevity: A group of survivors from a wrecked cruise ship stumble upon a ghost freighter in the open ocean, only to find that it’s sentient, and it wants to kill all of them. There’s no dancing around the facts of this plot, no waiting until the last minute to reveal that the ship’s haunted and not just home to very devious, very sneaky sailors. From the jump, you are on a supernatural horror ride with very few stops. 

Directed by Alvin Rakoff, a veteran in the chair who wasn’t really known for horror (though he did some disaster movie experience, which is key for this film), Death Ship plays like a film that’s haunted from the very beginning, and to make that clear the first thing we see other than open water is the title ship, looming in silhouette against a delicately painted evening sky. The opening sequence alone forces Rakoff to reckon with many lighting challenges, from shooting the lit portholes of a cruise ship at night from afar to imbuing the Death Ship itself with a sense of personality even before we get inside the hull. 

The 4K restoration preserves all of that, and highlights how surprisingly beautiful this film is, particularly when Rakoff gets the luxury of gliding his camera across the water and shooting an empty ship with a grit that makes me wonder if he’d seen Ridley Scott’s Alien before production began. The print is occasionally jumpy with a missing frame or two, and the original compositions aren’t always the most elegant (there’s a lot of handheld stuff in this movie, not all of it great), but it’s a lovely restoration overall, and really enhances the things about this movie that were always worth preserving for present and future genre fans. 

This is also a disc set that benefits deeply from its commentaries, which help to not just lay out the backstory of making the film, but shine a light on exactly why it feels so vital after all these years. Spoilers ahead if you haven’t seen the film yet, but Death Ship is not just about a haunted ship. It’s about a haunted Nazi ship, and because its protagonists are cruise ship survivors, it becomes metaphorically about how fascism is still out there in the open water, like a predator, waiting to find unwitting, distracted new prey.

That might not be the most obvious element of the film at first glance, but it’s undeniably a key piece of its lingering appeal, and the commentary by film historians Alexandra Heller-Nicholas and Josh Nelson will highlight this thematic oomph in beautiful ways that’ll forever shift the way you see the film. If you want to see the film from the perspective of the Canadian film industry and beyond at the time, the commentary by Paul Corupe and Jason Pichonsky, both experts on the subject, adds that context. Together, these two tracks tell the story of a film that has grown from exploitation horror fodder to a cult classic with unexpected dimensions still surfacing like wreckage in an ocean.

If you’re a collector and you don’t want to miss this disk, I don’t blame you, but if you’re a newcomer to the world of physical media and exploitation horror of the 1970s and 1980s, I think you especially might want to give this film a try.

Death Ship is available from Kino Lorber on April 14.

The post ‘Death Ship’ 4K UHD Review: A Canucksploitation Classic Gets a Glow-Up appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

An extended opening sequence in first-person perspective introduces a timid, asthmatic man (Kazunari Ninomiya) traveling on the subway. He keeps to himself, even as he witnesses a mother being berated by a man over her baby’s crying. As he leaves the train, he receives a call from his ex-girlfriend; she’s pregnant and unsure whether to keep it. Initially paralyzed by indecision, fear, and an asthma attack, the man agrees to meet her at the hospital. But when he attempts to exit the station, he instead finds himself trapped in a sterile backroom purgatory.

Like the game, the rules for the Lost Man are simple: scour the endlessly looping hallway for anomalies. If spotted, turn back immediately. If no anomalies, proceed. If the Lost Man can make eight successful loops, escape awaits.

Director Genki Kawamura gets inventive through simplicity. The brightly lit, pristine white tiled corridor is sparse in detail, ensuring both the Lost Man and the audience can keep track when it comes to spotting anomalies. It’s here where Exit 8 comes closest to capturing the essence of gaming, as much of the film’s fun comes from scouring for clues, picking up on subtle shifts in décor before the characters. In some instances, audiences can note the difference that onscreen characters miss entirely, instilling dread for the inevitable consequence of failure. And failure gets increasingly bizarre and cosmic.

It’s also here where Genki Kawamura adds complexity by toying with the narrative structure, weaving in nonlinear perspectives of the eerie grinning “walking man” (Yamato Kochi) and “the boy” (Kotone Hanase), touching on the prominent theme of guilt. It all ensures that Exit 8 is as unpredictable as it is meticulously crafted.

But the more the Lost Man attempts to find his way out of this twisted Möbius strip, the more the threadbare plotting begins to drag down the dizzying mind trap of horrors. The Lost Man’s arc is entirely driven by his indecision over whether to have the baby or abort, and once the boy fully enters the equation, it loses all nuance to the point of feeling more didactic in its pro-life messaging. That we never get a sense of who the Lost Man is beyond his panicked indecision and paralyzing fears means that the emotional stakes feel too low, to the point where the climax loses a lot of momentum.

Still, what Exit 8 lacks in storytelling, it makes up for in endless creativity. Kazunari Ninomiya capably navigates the physicality of his character’s cowardice and fear, without ever veering into unlikable territory. But the true magic of Exit 8 lies with its impressive ability to recreate the feeling of playing a game, as you find yourself scouring the walls, floors, and ceilings of a cosmic backroom hallway to assist the Lost Man in his search for anomalies. Even when the Lost Man’s story is easy to surmise in advance, there’s no predicting the aural and psychological terrors that await those trapped in Exit 8’s bizarre limbo.

Exit 8 screened at TIFF and releases in theaters on April 10, 2026.

Editor’s Note: This TIFF review was originally published on September 8, 2025.

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Thrash wastes not a second of its runtime, diving in immediately as the cozy town of Annieville, South Carolina, races to evacuate and brace for the incoming Category 5 hurricane mere hours from landfall. At the forefront of the scurrying residents are the agoraphobic 18-year-old Dakota Lewis (Whitney Peak), still reeling from the loss of her mother, and Lisa Fields (Phoebe Dynevor), an expectant mother held up by her job.

There are also orphaned Olson siblings Ron (Stacy Clausen, Leviticus), Dee (Alyla Browne, Sting), and Will (Dante Ubaldi), who are attempting to cope with their mistreatment by foster dad Billy (Matt Nable) as the flood waters rapidly rise. All quickly discover that the hurricane also swept in a shiver of aggressive bull sharks, along with a great white being tracked by marine biologist Dr. Dale Edwards (Djimon Hounsou).

Thrash. (L-R) Alyla Browne as Dee, Dante Ubaldi as Will and Stacy Clausen as Ron in Thrash. Cr. Netflix © 2026.

After succinct introductions, Wirkola gets right to the goods, plunging Annieville into debris-filled waters and chumming up shark-infested waters with a tanker truck filled with meat paste. From there, Thrash tracks its characters to a hellish night of survival as they’re all trapped in their respective corners of town by the elements and vicious predators. But characters are a distant secondary to spectacle in Thrash. 

The protagonists contending with personal dilemmas and nature’s threats are never fleshed out beyond their initial defining features and archetypes. They’re also prone to bad dialogue and cheeky one-liners, with Hounsou relegated to exposition deliverer. Still, Peak and Dynevor bring enough affable charm and steely nerve to instill rooting interest and keep us engaged, while Clausen and Browne manage to ground their wacky subplot with genuine underdog pathos, and with a more authentic southern drawl than most would endeavor.

Of course, the characters aren’t the selling point here, but the shark feeding frenzy amidst a Category 5 storm so powerful it earns wisecracks about the need for a Category 6 distinction. It’s here where Thrash truly impresses. Production designer David Ingram (“Raised by Wolves”, Crazy Rich Asians) crafts an impressive array of practical set pieces, particularly a knockout town square that serves as center stage for aquatic action and rising water levels. Wirkola stages the water-soaked action with an appropriate level of scale and blends VFX with practical and effective ways. The sharks not only look great, but Wirkola smartly avoids employing them as anything but opportunistic predators on the constant prowl.

Thrash. Phoebe Dynevor as Lisa in Thrash. Cr. Netflix © 2026.

It’s Wirkola’s amused sense of adventure and the stunning craftsmanship that elevate Thrash beyond its straightforward disaster movie meets shark thriller plotting. There are no real surprises here at all. It’s easy to predict who’s marked for shark bait and who will survive, though at least there’s no shortage of fodder. It’s also a bit restrained for a Wirkola film; the impulses to embrace the preposterousness of the shark carnage are often damped down by the serious environmental messaging. The tonal clashes prevent Thrash from reaching its full zany potential.

Still, there’s just enough of Wirkola’s trademark wacky weirdness to entertain and get Thrash to its over-the-top finish line. Netflix’s newest shark thriller may not stand out in an ever-crowded sea of shark horror movies, but it gets the job done.

Thrash is now streaming on Netflix.

The post ‘Thrash’ Review – Tommy Wirkola’s Fun Shark Horror At Odds With Serious Eco-Thriller appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

That’s why films like Rec opt for a different kind of horror experience altogether despite the familiar setup, and more recent projects like Butterfly Kisses choose to confront the stick-figure-shaped elephant in the room directly by acknowledging their cinematic inspirations in the narrative itself.

Markian Tarasiuk’s Hunting Matthew Nichols is a great example of this latter strategy, with the Canadian mockumentary (which was a big hit at this year’s edition of San Francisco’s Unnamed Footage Festival) actively questioning what it means to be a modern-day successor to The Blair Witch Project while also managing to incorporate these decidedly meta anxieties into a story about loss and grief.

In this authentic-looking feature, we follow a documentary crew led by Tarasiuk himself as they investigate the 2001 disappearance of amateur filmmaker Matthew Nichols in an attempt to bring closure to Mathew’s sister Tara (Miranda MacDougall). Unfortunately, this true crime investigation leads to Tara discovering more than she bargained for when the team realizes that this cold case may very well be connected to a terrible force lurking deep within the eerie woods of Vancouver Island.

Presentation-wise, Tarasiuk really knocked it out of the park with the film’s Netflix-like visuals and structure, as well as a series of surprisingly convincing interviews with an assortment of memorable locals. From creepy time-lapse footage to the occasional use of animation in lieu of boring exposition, Hunting Matthew Nichols feels like a genuine attempt at a high-profile documentary throughout most of its runtime – especially when interviewees are allowed to be a little idiosyncratic.

Things get a little less authentic once we get to the more traditional found footage portions of the flick, however, as some of the trope-heavy scripted moments (which are mostly relegated to conversations within the crew) are far less believable than the familiar deluge of talking heads conveying pieces of a larger narrative puzzle. Thankfully, these more over-the-top moments are easy to forgive when you realize that they exist in service of the film’s metatextual layer as a story about the very nature of found footage.

Not only does a big part of the plot involve Tara coming across a lost tape shot by her brother, but the film also establishes that Matthew himself was a huge fan of The Blair Witch Project. The young man’s love of the film and his creative desire to produce something equally spooky is what ultimately led him and his native friend Jordan to venture off into the woods, never to be seen again.

While Hunting Matthew Nichols doesn’t quite explore this idea of unfiction having real-life consequences as deeply as I would have liked, especially now that we know how even the silliest of creepypastas can lead to real-world tragedies, I appreciate how the filmmakers made a point of explaining that the movie takes place in our reality where most people are aware of the concept of a found footage production.

On that note, you could even consider the flick to be something of an unofficial sequel to Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez’s lo-fi opus, though it’s a shame that the main characters here aren’t quite as iconic as Heather and company from the 1999 film. That being said, Miranda MacDougall does a great job of selling her character’s long-gestating grief and obsession.

There are plenty of original scares to be found here as well, and I’m always in favor of Canadian storytellers incorporating more native folklore into scary movies. While I’m fairly certain that the local legend of a cannibal pioneer was made up for the film in much the same way that Kedward was invented for The Blair Witch Project, the bizarre VHS footage and the climactic “encounter” in the woods still feel terrifyingly real.

I won’t get into details in order to avoid spoiling the experience, but suffice to say that Tarasiuk makes great use of light and shadow during the flick’s final moments, and I love how he shies away from showing too much of Mathew’s tapes and focuses instead on our main character’s horrified reactions.

Hunting Matthew Nichols likely won’t enjoy the same staying power as its retro inspirations, but it doesn’t really have to. Despite some iffy performances and a general sense of deja vu, the film works well enough as a meta commentary on why we still insist on searching for answers in the woods even after so many other scary movies have explained to us why that’s a bad idea. That’s why I’d recommend this indie gem to fans of slow-burning supernatural terror everywhere – as well as true crime enthusiasts who wish that missing persons cases could come with a side of paranormal frights.

Hunting Matthew Nichols releases in theaters on April 10.

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Director/Co-writer Daniel Goldhaber and co-writer/producer Isa Mazzei forgo the traditional remake route in their contemporary update of Faces of Death and instead build a narrative feature around the original’s notoriety and controversial imagery to explore digital voyeurism and the terminally online desensitization to violence. Morbid curiosity fuels their polished cat-and-mouse horror thriller, one that poses unsettling questions through its provocative but underdeveloped approach. 

That starts with Barbie Farreira‘s Margot Romero, a content moderator for a YouTube-like platform, Kino. She’s a senior employee fully numbed to the graphic videos that cross her desk, demonstrated by the way she dismisses an informative Narcan video but quickly gives a pass to graphic violence. Never mind that her own brush with internet infamy further eroded her morality on digital content. That changes when she comes across an apparent execution clip that Margot realizes, with the help of her horror-obsessed roommate Ryan (Aaron Holliday), recreates a snuff scene from the original Faces of Death. Only this time, it’s real.

Goldhaber and Mazzei frontload Faces of Death with a chilling depiction of a cynical world where violence has been commodified for bite-sized entertainment, and its insidious ripple effects on society at large. That’s reflected not just in its flawed, complicated protagonist, but in everyone around her, from her apathetic boss Josh (Jermaine Fowler) to her jaded co-worker (Charli XCX), who vocally delights at gore videos while puffing on her vape over breaks. The first half also sets up a collision path for Margot and the Faces of Death-inspired killer Arthur Spevak (Dacre Montgomery), challenging Margot’s world-weary, hardened nature as she’s further entangled in the serial killer’s crosshairs.

From there, Faces of Death 2026 descends into a standard cat-and-mouse chase between the killer and his amateur adversary, though one terminally online enough to be savvy to his pursuits. Goldhaber evokes the grimy feel of the original with grainy, gorgeous 35mm photography, but leans even harder into vibrant Giallo influences. Which is to say that this is easily the most handsomely shot, well-crafted film of the entire franchise. But it’s also a bit empty in terms of shock or suspense.

While Arthur revels in his work and his affinity for staging mannequins in his grisly recreations is striking, the new Faces of Death never comes close to invoking the discomforting, forbidden danger of the original movie. As intense as Dacre Montgomery’s committed performance is, the action-heavy back half fails to generate scares as it abandons introspective themes altogether for an underwhelming climax.

FACES OF DEATH, an Independent Film Company and Shudder release. Photo courtesy of Independent Film Company and Shudder.

Not helping is that, for all that Margot endures, some by her own poor decision-making, Faces of Death doesn’t draw any conclusive answers from its themes. Instead, Goldhaber and Mazzei are more fascinated by the way the digital age and social media have shaped society and our morbid fascination with violence. It’s just abandoned halfway through to deliver a by-the-numbers serial killer thriller, one that’s never as transgressive or gory enough to draw the ire of censors.

Smart commentary and a clever approach get Faces of Death off to a strong start, but it lacks the conviction to see its bolder ideas through to its forgettable and far too conventional end. Whereas watching the 1978 film felt like a rite of passage, this update superficially wades into ideas already covered more chillingly in films like Red Rooms.

Faces of Death releases in theaters on April 10, 2026.

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When she goes searching for more answers, she only attracts the attention of a certain black-gloved, pink-masked killer who doesn’t appreciate her prying.

Like Open Water and Inland Empire, City Wide Fever was shot using a Sony DSR-PD150. It’s a quirky choice, but the grungy, SOV-esque route also leads to a more apt and effective atmosphere for the increasingly delirious story. Other filmmakers today would use the 4:3 ratio and then call it a day, yet Heaps went that extra mile with the retro technical aspects. His efforts elevate an otherwise well-trodden concept.

It’s only a matter of time before you, too, are falling down the rabbit hole with the main character. That journey is ultimately one fraught with severity and frenzy, but in the meantime, Heaps keeps things somewhat light and even a bit fun. Keep in mind, a sense of foreboding is glued to just about everything and everyone on screen, regardless of any levity involved. Onur Tukel’s naturally humorous presence alone, or a couple of well-placed jokes, can’t erase the sinister quality of this story.

Carolyn Farina and Diletta Guglielmi in City Wide Fever.

Where City Wide Fever doesn’t quite excel is, surprisingly, its horror parts. Heaps has a good grasp on stage-setting and tension-building, but whenever it comes time for the killer to act on his or her impulses, the following sequences are brief and underwhelming. With this being a movie about the giallo genre, you would be right to want more of the red stuff to go with that pink-purple aesthetic. Alas, that’s not the case here, as the movie’s real strength is, apart from its overall presentation, a heady and intriguing story. Gore buffs will have to look to the classics for more over-the-top and sanguinary set-pieces.

Knowing full well how giallo movies don’t always possess the most sound logic, or they are simply weird, City Wide Fever throws in these certain elements that may lead to confusion. Such as, why are two different actors playing the same character? Nancy Kimball suddenly portraying Sam in a few scenes is quite odd, but perhaps Heaps is really referencing a specific Luis Buñuel movie with that decision.

Then there are moments where the story almost convinces you that Barresi was indeed real, thanks to some well-done reality-bending. On top of the home movie-like approach, actors portray themselves, albeit fictitiously. Seeing the likes of Larry Fessenden and Rutanya Alda here, feeding into the myth of Barresi, might have you wondering if Heaps really did dig up a bona fide yet long-lost filmmaker and then fabricated a mystery about him.

To Heaps’ credit, this isn’t just a case of throwback filmmaking that’s been achieved with contemporary technology; the director used era-authentic equipment to help create this striking and nostalgic piece of modern horror. The end result is a movie that, despite all appearances, doesn’t entirely escape convention, but it’s also teeming with enough verve and style to make it feel fresh.

City Wide Fever screens in Alamo Drafthouse venues on April 15th. It’s also now available from Vinegar Syndrome.

Poster for City Wide Fever.

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But despite the struggles that went into making and releasing it, Mimic is also still an entertaining movie, as well as a fascinating peek into the filmmaker Del Toro would become in the years that followed. Looking at it now, you can see thematic and visual clues leading the way to Blade II, Hellboy, and yes, even 2025’s Frankenstein. Compromised or not, it’s a film that showcases a young director with a genuine vision, and that’s never been clearer than in the new 4K UHD restoration released this spring by Kino Lorber Studio Classics.

The new 4K edition, approved by Del Toro himself and offering both theatrical and director’s cuts in a single package, preserves so much of what the original film got right, chiefly the visual flair of the young filmmaker and the unsettling, insectile soundscape. Mimic is one of those movies I, and a lot of other horror fans, first saw on VHS or early DVD, in the days before it was remastered or even recut with a few extra minutes of footage. Like Alien before it, it’s a film that benefitted from those non-HD days, because the shadows engineered by Del Toro and cinematographer Dan Laustsen are so deep, so foreboding, and so important to obscuring key details until it’s time to reveal them.

Happily, the new 4K preserves that experience, handling Del Toro’s painterly chiaroscuro with grace. There are two shots in particular that really stuck out to me as proof that the Kino Lorber team overseeing this release got it right. The first comes early in the film, when a long corridor turned into a makeshift hospital illuminates dozens of draped beds like paper lanterns in a long night. It’s arguably the most beautiful shot in the entire film, and it loses none of its ability to inspire awe at Del Toro’s early directorial prowess. It’s just gorgeous, but that doesn’t just apply to the big shots.

In the middle of the film, when Dr. Susan Tyler (Mira Sorvino) and Dr. Peter Mann (Jeremy Northam) are having an intense discussion in their apartment, Del Toro’s reliance on the warm glow of table lamps still layers light and shadow in gorgeous ways. Beyond that, as the characters move into the sewers and abandoned subway tunnels to seek out the horrifying threat below, the film’s deep, inky blacks and low-light grain also make it through intact, creating an experience that’s not all that far removed from seeing a pristine 35mm print. Del Toro’s snow-capped, empty see-saws and rain-splattered alleys remain, and because they’re so well-preserved, you can see the filmmaker he’d become.

As for the special features for this release, there are many, but most of them are holdovers from past releases, including the original director’s cut drop. Del Toro’s director’s cut commentary is here, as are various featurettes and even the original gag reel. The lone newcomer for this package is a commentary by two film scholars, Arne Venema and Stefan Hammond, who approach the theatrical cut of Mimic with enthusiasm and a conversational tone that makes you feel like you’re watching the film with friends. They dig into the making of the movie, why Del Toro’s relationship with it has been so rocky over the years, and of course, how the film shaped his next career moves, from The Devil’s Backbone to his later comic book efforts.

While I would have liked to see a little more extra analysis and retrospective insight thrown into this package, overall, this Mimic set is still a must for Del Toro completists and newcomers to the film who want to see why it retains such a hold on a subset of the genre fandom. It’s a fascinating piece of what made Guillermo del Toro the filmmaker he is today, and thanks to a restoration, it’s never looked better.

Mimic 4K UHD is now available from Kino Lorber Studio Classics.

The post ‘Mimic’ 4K UHD Review: Guillermo del Toro’s First English-Language Film Has Never Looked Better appeared first on Bloody Disgusting!.

The best part about thinking of cinema in these relative terms is that it then becomes possible to enjoy no-budget features in all of their lo-fi glory while still pointing out the narrative elements that don’t work regardless of production value or technical prowess. However, things aren’t always so simple, and I was reminded of this while watching Jake C. Young’s indie oddity Souls Chapel. While the film’s shockingly low budget and rushed production harken back to shot-on-VHS passion projects from the 90s (as well as internet videos shot by LARPers wanting to immortalize their imaginary exploits), I can actually understand why some audiences might be put off by these limitations.

That being said, though I can’t blame anyone for being unable to look past dollar-store Halloween decorations being passed off as props and bizarre acting choices that would be considered questionable even for fans of community theater, I genuinely think that there’s some interesting filmmaking going on in the cursed bowels of Souls Chapel.

Inspired by local legends about Kentucky’s real-life Soules Chapel (an aging church that was abandoned after the Civil War and is now said to be one of the most haunted locations in the United States), Young’s film is a period piece following a familiar-looking drifter (played by Young himself) as he becomes entangled in a supernatural mystery involving an assortment of creepy locals interested in the church’s history. Of course, as the movie goes on, we soon realize that the “period setting” being emulated here is actually an alternate reality inspired by Steampunk, Spaghetti Westerns, and classic horror.

Right off the bat, the biggest influence here appears to come from Sergio Leone’s work, with Young’s poncho-wearing protagonist obviously serving as a stand-in for Clint Eastwood’s iconic “Man with No Name.” This makes a lot of sense, as Jake is actually related to Eastwood and aims to keep the family legacy alive through his own genre-bending projects. That being said, the film quickly shifts from the epic western aesthetic into a more intimate setting as Jake’s character seeks shelter from the snow and becomes trapped in the titular chapel.

Unfortunately, this is where budgetary issues begin to affect the viewing experience, with hastily improvised props and laughable weapon effects not only distracting audiences from the actual story being told while also failing to immerse viewers in an otherworldly timeline. The lack of proper sets even hinders the film’s internal logic, as this humble building doesn’t seem large enough for our main character to hide from his would-be captors. Don’t even get me started on the basement sequence where the filmmakers pretend that this (decidedly modern and well-lit) space is actually a dark labyrinth.

While I’d argue that most of Souls Chapel’s blunders are endearing in much the same way as visible strings on UFO models can be entertaining in a Roger Corman production, it’s hard to justify some of these creative decisions when the story could easily have been reworked into something much less difficult to shoot. It’s often said that, when working with microbudget filmmaking, the script should adjust itself to the limitations of the production instead of the other way around, and that’s why I find it odd that Jake didn’t make things easier for himself here.

I can sympathize with wanting to stay true to a creative vision, but there’s no concrete reason why this story couldn’t have been told as a neo-western set in the modern day. Think about it: a descendant of the Man with No Name (still wearing an antique poncho) happens upon a haunted chapel and becomes trapped inside with its ghostly denizens. This would have eliminated the need to cover up anachronistic details while also giving the narrative more creative leeway.

That’s not to say that there isn’t plenty of creativity on display here. From a couple of effective scares to an overarching structure that reminds me of the best parts of the most recent Hellboy adaptation, there’s plenty to like about this indie experiment if you can get past the cheap presentation. Hell, I’d even argue that the uneven production helps to add some much-needed humor into the mix.

That’s why I’d still recommend Souls Chapel to cinephiles who don’t mind having to wade through poorly crafted production design and campy acting in order to reach an interesting story. The actual telling of this tale may not be as smooth as it could have been (and I wish the film had either leaned further into its oddball Steampunk inspirations or omitted this detail entirely), but Jake’s heart is definitely in the right place.

In the meantime, I can’t wait to see what kind of genre mashup this team can come up with next – especially if there’s a bigger budget involved.

Souls Chapel is available now on Digital and DVD.

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Sarafina, the new historical horror novel from genre mainstay Philip Fracassi, is an example of this latter joy. It begins somewhere familiar, even predictable, and nestles the reader happily into a sense of cozy familiarity. Then, just when you think you’ve arrived at the place you always expected, the story takes flight, and you’re left breathlessly turning pages to see where it goes next. 

Set in 1862 in the midst of heavy fighting during the American Civil War, the book follows three brothers – Ethan, Mason, and Archie – as they desert the Confederate Army right in the middle of the Battle of Shiloh. Determined to survive rather than die fighting someone else’s war, the men flee through the wilderness, starving, wounded, and filthy, until they miraculously happen upon a house on the other side of an idyllic creek. There, a kind woman named Sarafina offers to care for them, even shield them from the Confederate Home Guard, which hopes to arrest them. But this house, with its massive guard dogs and stream that seems to run in all directions at once, is more than a simple refuge, and Sarafina’s hiding secrets threaten the brothers’ hopes of ever seeing their family again. 

There are a lot of narrative risks cleverly nestled in this propulsive narrative. Much of the early pages are devoted to the trio of brothers simply fighting to survive through confrontations, starvation, and the elements, putting us as readers in the position of empathizing with men on the losing side of a treasonous war. Fracassi deals with this by, quite smartly, placing us in Ethan’s head, framing the narrative as an extended letter home to his twin sister, Ellie. Ellie also makes appearances along the way, writing letters of her own to her lost brother, waiting for word of survival or death. Their struggle becomes universal, particularly as Ethan reckons with the possibility that he and his brothers may not actually be good people, and may in fact be on the path to something worse.

When Sarafina enters the picture, you get the sense that Fracassi is playing in some kind of demented, historical fiction Hansel & Gretel territory, and he is, but not in the way you think. The formula is there, but through careful plotting and evocative first-person prose, Sarafina evades easy classification the deeper you get into the narrative. Yes, this is the story of a group of lost people taking refuge in a mysterious, almost otherworldly house in the middle of the woods, but it’s not going to go the way you think.

The longer the brothers stay, the more Ethan sees his siblings changing, and the more Sarafina and her mysterious surrogate son Titus start to trust him with their own secrets. Soon, it’s no longer a simple matter of survival horror. It’s about more than just remaining intact. It’s about what happens when the world you know starts to change, and the makeup of your own soul changes along with it. It would be easy for the Civil War narrative, particularly the Confederate perspective, to serve as mere window dressing, a layer of intrigue to get readers in the door, but Fracassi refuses to stop there. What begins as an act of desertion from a lost cause soon evolves into a meditation on good, evil, and our place in a world that’s packed with secrets we cannot fully understand without risking our own sanity. 

With Sarafina, Philip Fracassi has joined the ranks of fellow authors like Daniel Kraus, Isabel Canas, and Silvia Moreno-Garcia as a first-rate practitioner of historical horror, blending in dark fairy tales and even religious mythology along the way. This is a transportive, vivid book that’s very hard to put down, and reaffirms Fracassi’s place as one of horror’s essential modern storytellers.

Sarafina is available now from CLASH Books.

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That’s the question that opens Mermaid, the new film from writer/director Tyler Cornack, and while it’s a straightforward way to open a movie, this is also a story brave enough to keep you guessing beyond the confines of its hook. Dark, funny, and deeply strange, this is one of those movies that defies easy classification at every turn, and despite its often brutal conclusions, finds a way to infuse its entire runtime with surprising, irresistible warmth. 

Doug (Johnny Pemberton) can’t get it together. When we meet him, he’s been fired from a thankless gig maintaining the giant aquariums at a Florida strip club, he’s got a pill habit he can’t seem to shake, and he’s a constant disappointment to his daughter (Devyn McDowell), her mother (Julia Valentine Larson), and her stepdad, Keith (Kevin Nealon). It’s gotten so bad that Keith is willing to loan Doug money just to make sure his daughter gets a birthday gift from her real father, but just as Doug seems to grasp the precariousness of that particular situation, another falls in his lap. 

A chance discovery during a moment of peak depression means that Doug is suddenly playing host to an injured mermaid – the kind with gills and jagged teeth and fishy skin, not the kind from Disney movies – in his bathtub. Fascinated and instantly drawn to the creature, he decides to name her Destiny, and devotes himself to caring for her even as those around him are convinced it’s all just part of his never-ending downward spiral. But the deeper Doug gets into his new life, the more he risks exposing Destiny to dark forces, like a seedy local kingpin (Robert Patrick) ready to sell his find to the highest bidder. 

Cornack’s film opens with a declaration that it’s “a love letter” to the state of Florida, with all the strangeness and transgression and scenic beauty that implies. Anyone who’s ever spent time in the Sunshine State can see that it’s a sincere mission. Cornack and cinematographer Joel Lavold capture the state’s ability to embroil you in relentless, bright blue skies punctuated by periods of intense heat, contrasting almost immediately with cool ocean breezes and sudden rain showers. It’s an environment of often staggering beauty and meteorological chaos, and that carries over into the entire tone of the film, a hybrid of comedy, crime, and creature feature horror that swerves and pivots like a runaway speedboat. 

And yet, even as the plot careens in various directions that’ll drop your jaw, Mermaid also develops into a strange hangout movie, thanks in no small part to Pemberton’s performance. In the horror world, we’re used to seeing characters gain new vigor when a supernatural incursion on their lives forces them to rethink everything, but Pemberton’s Doug does not change overnight. Through dialogue, subtle expressiveness, and the kind of dazed fascination that punctuates so many slacker comedies, Pemberton makes Doug into a sympathetic character and an infuriating one at the same time. It’s a tough tonal dance, but he makes it work, and he’s backed up by a cavalcade of born scene stealers, chief among them Patrick and Nealon, who are clearly having a blast as supporting players in this dirtbag Creature From the Black Lagoon. 

Mermaid won me over through the sheer ambition of its shifting tones and madcap plotting, as well as wonderful creature makeup and practical gore effects. It’s a bit sloppy around the edges, particularly when it attempts to steer between moments of earnest emotion and unhinged comedic chaos, but most of the time it’s just so beautifully singular that you barely notice it might be slightly overlong or a bit too reliant on its melancholic foundations. By the end, Cornack and company have, warts and all, achieved something that feels like The Shape of Water by way of Sean Baker, and that’s the kind of thing you have to see to believe.

Mermaid opens in select theaters April 8.

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