Sufficiently fun. Dangerous Animals is the kind of horror movie that is sufficiently fun and entertaining once, but not a movie that commands a rewatch. The premise is fantastic: a serial killer that kidnaps young tourists (usually young women) and feeds them to sharks as he uses a old VHS camcorder to capture the victim’s demise. Dangerous Animals takes inspiration from other movies such as Shark Night (2011), Cabin by the Lake. and even The Silence of the Lambs. Between truncated first and third acts, is a protracted second act that foils any suspense, tension, or proper pacing setup in the first act. Performatively, the film is quite good; had it not been for the compelling and entertaining performances, the movie would’ve fallen quite flat for me. Like with many indie films, the cinematography and editing outclass the screenwriting. The evidence of thoughtful directing is there, but its potential is hampered by the poorly paced and structured screenplay. This feels like a short film idea that was augmented to fit a feature length runtime. Without giving it away, there is a particular scene about a third of the way through the movie that is straight-up an homage to an iconic scene from Silence of the Lambs, which I really appreciated. Releasing on the 6th of June, if you enjoy shark and/or horror movies, then its worth checking out. But like I said, for me, as sufficiently entertaining as it was, it isn’t one that I am going to rewatch anytime soon.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk about all things cinema. Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
Deliciously terrifying! Final Destination: Bloodlines is a sleek, thrilling experience that delivers heart-pounding, nightmare inducing fuel that feels familiar yet fresh. And underscoring the outside/action plot is an emotionally-driven family drama. You’ll root for their survival! After a decade-long hiatus, the Final Destination franchise roars back to life with Bloodlines—an edge-of-your-seat, high-octane installment that doesn’t just rest on its laurels on its signature Rube Goldberg-esque kills; rather, it dares to deepen the mythology and inject real emotional stakes. This isn’t just a parade of spectacularly elaborate kills; Bloodlines brings humanity and emotional vulnerability to the forefront, making every death feel earned—and every survival all the more desperate.
Plagued by a violent and recurring nightmare, a college student heads home to track down the one person who might be able to break the cycle of death and save her family from the grisly demise that inevitably awaits them all.
Bloodlines doesn’t reinvent the “Final Destination” wheel, but it certainly retooled the 26yo engine. It’s faster, more furious, and surprisingly emotionally compelling—a rare horror film that makes you care who dies and how. (Except for perhaps Julia–pretty sure everyone applauded when she met her demise). By blending the franchise’s signature fatalism with real human drama, it proves that even after all these years, Death still has some fresh tricks up its sleeve. And it’s that “heart” that makes this installment different from the rest. After the original and traumatizing second movie (never drive behind a logging truck ever again), this is the first installment to inject an emotionally resonant core into the narrative. Despite the family drama, it’s clear that everyone cares about each other, even though some distance has grown between some of them. And the fact they care about one another compels us to root for their survival.
But what about the kills? The deaths, of course, are still inventively gory and meticulously choreographed—this is a Final Destination movie, after all—but they’re no longer the sole draw nor does the camera linger too long. Instead of being a schlocky bloodbath from beginning to end, this Final Destination movie is more punctuated with the death scenes, and never feel like the scenes themselves–the kills are more like buttons on a dramatic sequence that delivers sufficient setup, development, and resolution. Each death in Bloodlines serves a narrative purpose, reflecting character choices and emotional arcs. When someone dies, it’s not just shocking—it hurts. The deaths are all the more painful because our characters matter. Each character is given a moment to breathe, before the inevitable occurs. Character decisions matter; their respective relationship with each other and the world around them matter. When they die, it doesn’t feel like a spectacle; it feels like a loss (except for you, Julia, I think that was a gain).
Directed by Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein, Bloodlines brings a more mature tone to the franchise without losing its pulse-pounding suspense. This isn’t just death coming for the next in line—death is unearthing long-buried histories, and the characters are forced to confront more than just their mortality–they are forced to confront family secrets. The screenplay benefits greatly from being measurably more character-driven than plot-driven, which bestows upon this movie a narrative quality seldom experienced in the Final Destination franchise (or nearly any horror franchise this far into its franchise). The film also expands the franchise’s mythology in subtle, intriguing ways, threading in ideas about fate as something both predetermined or inherited. Without diving too far into exposition, Bloodlines cleverly explores what it means to be marked—not just by death, but by family history.
And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the final appearance of the late horror great Tony Todd. Like Vincent Price, Todd’s mere presence in a horror film added a qualitative dimension that could not be replicated by any other actor. Todd’s contributions to horror and science-fiction TV (namely Star Trek) are many and each delivered with class. RIP.
Final Destination: Bloodlines isn’t just a refreshing return to form—it’s a redefinition. It proves that slasher-adjacent (which this is; we just don’t see the slasher) movies can be character-first without losing the terrifying or nightmare-inducing edge. Bloodlines also subverts our feelings about being a survivor in a horror movie–sometimes the scariest thing isn’t dying–it’s questioning why you’re still alive.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk about all things cinema. Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
Loads of fun! Death of a Unicorn is Atypical for A24 in all the best ways possible. It’s entertaining, well-written, and smartly balances horror and comedy. While it delivers the social critiques and commentary that are par for the A24 course, the outside/action plotting is strong!
When a man and his daughter accidentally hit and kill a unicorn with their car, his boss tries to exploit the creature’s miraculous curative properties — with horrific results.
While the first act drags a bit, the rest of the movie is a wildly engaging roller coaster ride as folklore and the contemporary world collide in a unicorn gorefest that simultaneously explores the flawed nature of a self-centered moral compass and acts of greed disguised as altruism. Knowing very little of actual unicorn mythology and lore, this movie piqued my curiosity to learn more about these magical creatures because the literary and cultural history is rather fascinating.
Looking to the unicorns themselves, this movie employs a combination of both practical and digital effects to bring the illusive creatures to life. By combining puppetry and computer generated imagery, the unicorns feel lifelike and the reactions from the cast appear to be borne out of genuine fear and desperation for survival. Speaking of the cast, I feel that Rudd and Ortega were miscast in the movie. I don’t buy either one of them in their respective roles, and feel that a better casting may have helped the delivery of the first act.
Clearly, writer-director Alex Scharfman has a fondness for old school creature features, and I can appreciate much of how he adapted the classic creature feature to fit a contemporary sensibility. Death of a Unicorn could become a modern creature feature that is revisited throughout the years–only time will tell.
What I appreciate most is that you can read the whole critique on big Pharma and abuse of natural resources and exploitation of wildlife, BUT you could just as easily enjoy it for the Jurassic Park-inspired survival story. Honestly, it did JP better than JP3 onward.
While I may not be high on the first act or the casting of the two leads, this is still one of my favorite A24 films. In fact, it probably ranks as the most entertaining A24 release for me.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk about all things cinema. Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
Immersive setting and thoughtful premise meets with poor plotting. The Woman in the Yard is a haunting reflection of trauma, grief, and loss that accomplishes little beyond delivering unsettling imagery. The rich southern gothic atmosphere draws viewers into the story, but the experience ultimately falls flat due to poor writing. That said, I appreciate what the film tries to do with its intriguing premise, but the insufficient plotting and meandering diegetic direction hamper what could’ve been a rather fantastic psychological horror film.
Ramona (Danielle Deadwyler) becomes crippled by grief after her husband dies in a car accident, leaving her to care for her two children alone in her rural farmhouse. Her sadness soon turns to fear when a spectral woman in black (Okwui Okpokwasili) appears on her front lawn, warning her “today’s the day.” As the mysterious figure creeps closer and closer to the house, Ramona realizes she must protect her children from the evil woman who simply won’t leave them alone.
In the vein of The Others, this film takes place in an isolated house in the countryside featuring a mother and her kids. Except instead of leaning into a New England gothic aesthetic, The Woman in the Yard exudes a rich, dimensional Southern gothic atmosphere. From the house to the yard to the ominous, mysterious woman in black, this film draws us into the story. Unfortunately, the story into which we are drawn, leaves much to be desired.
If I were to simply focus on the atmosphere of and settings within the film, The Woman in the Yard would rank highly for me, but it’s disappointing that such a rich world is wasted on such a vague plot and meandering narrative. Even the performative dimension is compelling. All four performances of the main (and pretty much only) cast members were solid. I only wish they had been given more to do in order to drive home the themes of the film.
I opened with comments concerning the various themes in this film concerning grief, loss, and trauma, and I enjoyed how these internal feelings were externalized for the audience. The use of mirrors, shadows, and (digital) double exposure gave this film a tangible, experiential depth. But, regrettably, the imagery and performative dimension is pretty much all that we get in this film, for the plotting is weak and lacks discernible direction.
Without getting into spoilers, our central character of Ramona must battle the various affects of the trauma incurred from the car accident that left her injured and her husband dead, which have manifested themselves in the woman in black and related paranormal and supernatural occurrences in the isolated Georgia farmhouse. She is challenged to resolve that which she is battling in order to provide for her children after the tragic passing of her devoted husband and father to their kids. Just like those that experience a life-changing traumatic event (often in the aftermath of a tragic accident) begin to reflect upon their life and examining their impact on and relationships with others, Ramona is reflecting upon her life. The psychological process of reflecting on life is dramatized in and expressed through the use of mirrors, mirrored imagery, and (what in analog terms would be) double exposure. This part of the film works incredibly well! But the plotting isn’t there to sufficiently support it for storytelling cinematic storytelling purposes.
The woman in black is a paranormal manifestation of something in the film that I cannot reveal as to avoid spoilers, but I loved this character! She is creepy, intriguing, mysterious, ominous, and more of what makes a great monster in a horror movie. Between the Southern gothic atmosphere and the woman in black, I very much expect to see this movie adapted into a Halloween Horror Nights house. The character of the woman in black is rather terrifying, yet you won’t encounter much in the way of traditional scares. Her character (and her chair) are so thoughtfully crafted that her mere presence is enough to send adrenaline through your body. In terms of “rules” for a monster, they are established early on, and everything to follow functions within those rules. I would not be surprised if the woman in black is borne out of real folklore, because so much of what happens feels connected to campfire ghost stories and superstitions.
While The Woman in the Yard may lack in the plotting department, it delivers many elements that can be sufficiently enjoyed. It may not be one that I will revisit any time soon, but I still enjoyed the movie well enough.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk about all things cinema. Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
An enigmatic puzzle with missing pieces. What starts as a fascinating psychological mystery quickly devolves into a series of disjointed, cryptic sequences that offer more questions than answers. Opus is certainly a haunting experience that delivers striking visuals, but the stylistic storytelling lacks substance, resulting in a film that is ultimately hollow. Like with so many A24 and Neon films, Opus is rich in atmosphere, but lacks strategic plotting, proper pacing, and demonstrable working knowledge of screenwriting mechanics. Moreover, it falls into an all too familiar trap of prioritizing aesthetic over storytelling. Opus is yet another example of modern arthouse cinema mistaking ambiguity for depth. The film posits many otherwise thoughtful questions, but leaves you wondering why you should even care about what you just watched.
Journalist Ariel (Ayo Edebiri) works for an acclaimed music magazine but has grown tired of her arrogant boss Stan (Murray Bartlett) assigning her good pitches to more senior writers. But following the reclusive, visionary pop star Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich) emerging from hiding after more than thirty years, Ariel’s boss is invited to his secluded, remote compound where he will be releasing a new album. Ariel and her boss are invited to attend as press. But not long after arriving, Ariel deduces that the compound’s collection of ardent admirers of Alfred are actually a cult with deadly plans for the guests.
Most of the film’s problems can be traced back to its screenplay. Like with many (if not most, in my opinion) writer-directors, this story likely made much more sense in Mark Anthony Green’s head, than it did on paper. I find that writer-directors often have excellent movie ideas and eyes for shot composition, but lack a working knowledge of screenwriting mechanics. Had Green collaborated with a more established screenwriter, then the film may not have had the plotting issues that plagued it the whole time.
Adding to the film’s plotting issues is its reliance on repetition rather than escalation. Scenes blend into one another with minimal variation, creating a sense of stagnation rather than rising tension. Ariel’s, our central character’s, journey is more about cycling through eerie encounters and vague hallucinations than actually uncovering deeper truths. Without a clearly defined external goal for Ariel, Opus feels like a film more concerned with its own mystique than engaging its audience. The goal could’ve been something as simple as getting the article published, but the film never quite has a throughline on which to land the diegetic plane.
While strong, the performative dimension of the film is underscored with style over substance. Ayo Edebiri’s performance is layered and emotionally compelling. Unfortunately, the film gives her little to work with beyond surface-level tension. John Malkovich, always a commanding presence, delivers an eerie gravitas, but his role feels more like a cryptic device than a fully developed character.
One of the biggest shortcomings in character development is the lack of meaningful relationships. While Opus teases conflicts between Ariel and her boss Stan, these tensions never evolve into anything substantial. All around, the film’s characters never form real, emotional connections, leaving their interactions feeling hollow. Without compelling relationships, the film struggles make us care about any of the characters, much less the central character of Ariel.
Opus seems content to let its themes remain vague, as though interpretation itself is the art. This approach works in moderation but ultimately leaves the film feeling like an unfinished composition—beautiful in pieces but lacking a resonant core.
A24 has perfected the art of marketing “prestige horror” films that emphasize mood over traditional storytelling. While this approach has resulted in some modern masterpieces such as “The Blackcoat’s Daughter,” “Hereditary,” and “Midsommar,” it has also encouraged a wave of films that mistake ambiguity for intelligence. Opus is a prime example of this trend, prioritizing its hypnotic cinematography and eerie sound design over a screenplay that provides emotional or intellectual engagement.
This raises the question: Has arthouse cinema become so obsessed with being enigmatic that it has lost sight of storytelling? Moreover, has the proliferation of “arthouse” films become the very thing they opposed: the mainstream? Films like Opus appear to be forcing audiences to assign meaning where there may be none, and delivering a film that looks great but is ultimately forgettable. The present trajectory of many arthouse film is trending is becoming the new cinematic fast food: tasty but forgettable and lacking in nutrition. In striving for profundity, these films, risk alienating viewers who crave narrative satisfaction alongside visual artistry.
There’s no denying Opus is visually arresting and technically impressive. Mark Anthony Green’s direction is meticulous, and Ayo Edebiri delivers a gripping performance. But beneath its meticulously crafted atmosphere lies a film that lacks emotional weight or thematic clarity. For fans of slow-burn psychological horror and puzzle-box storytelling, Opus may still be a rewarding experience. For others, it’s yet another reminder that style, no matter how dazzling, can never replace substance or sheer entertainment value.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk about all things cinema. Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
R.L. Terry ReelView 
