Tag Archives: Horror

COMPANION horror movie review

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A wild, albeit predictable ride. New Line Cinema’s Companion, written and directed by Drew Hancock, is an entertaining cautionary tale on how ultimate control, ultimately corrupts. Moreover, the film provides a thoughtful critique on the (in this case) deadly consequences of attempting to exert that desire for ultimate control over an individual, thus rendering mute their unique individuality. The film also paints a provocative portrait of the relationship between humanity and artificial intelligence (and androids) by establishing a seemingly controlled environment that then devolves into one of chaos. This progression reflects the overarching theme of attempts at ultimate control by underscoring the illusion of the ability to exert ultimate control over the human spirit, even if that “humanity” is housed within an artificial intelligence. Hancock’s screenplay is lean and mean, and nicely balances the horror elements with both lighthearted and dark comedy. Even though many of the plot beats were predictable, the movie still succeeded in remaining engaging and fun–just goes to show that there is a beauty to genre movies.

A weekend getaway turns bloody and violent when a subservient android that’s built for human companionship goes haywire.

Hancock’s film effectively blends elements of horror and comedy to explore contemporary anxieties surrounding individualism, artificial intelligence, and the ethical implications of control for the purposes of subjugation. Audiences are challenged by the plot and characters to reflect on the moral responsibilities involved in the creation and control of artificial-sentient beings. By prompting the audience to consider the consequences, the film is positing questions concerning the very nature of humanity and the desire and limits of control. Furthermore, the film demonstrates that when given seemingly ultimate control, that primal desires for ultimate control surface, thus reminding us that we have to learn to be generous, kindly, and altruistic because we are naturally born rather selfish and self-centered. Ultimate control, ultimately corrupts. Without reasonable checks and balances, the results of absolute control can be negative and quite possibly even deadly to the human spirit.

As artificial intelligence increases in human-like problem solving and expression, we have to ask ourselves how far will be go to both create and control artificial intelligence as it slowly approaches android-like technology. Will androids be controlled like a typical robot or mindless automaton or will they be granted sentient status like Data on Star Trek: the Next Generation‘s critically acclaimed episode “The Measure of a Man”? Without derailing from my review of Companion too much, I am reminded of this outstanding Trek episode that actually does a much better job of addressing topics of autonomy and control than Hancock’s film. The episode critiques the idea that beings created for a (even at one time, pre-determined) purpose (especially artificial ones) can be controlled or owned. Data’s ability to choose his own destiny is at stake. Captain Picard argues, in the trial that is convened to determine Data’s humanity, that intelligence, self-awareness, and consciousness make someone a sentient individual, not merely their biological nature.

Where I feel that Hancock’s film falls short is in its social commentary is the limitations it places on itself in its expression of the themes with which it underscores the plotting and characters. For the greatest impact, it should have been more consistent in the exploration of ultimate control over a seemingly sentient individual. Instead of crafting a film that could be more broadly applied, Hancock’s story falls into the trap of being too focuses on a overly generalized stereotype of particular individuals versus crafting a narrative that was more broadly concerning itself with depicting robbing sentient beings of their individualistic humanity–their free will. The sharpest criticism is clearly aimed at one particular character (and the demographic they represent). But eventually the idea of control over an individual snares another group. And for a moment, there was hope that Hancock was extending his critique to be more inclusive, but it returns to being focused on the original demographic group. This extension would have been a reminder that anyone can find themselves drawn to how far one can push the limits of control over a lover, friend, or other platonic, professional, or romantic relationship. It’s a trait that runs through everyone, and we have to learn to control our innate selfish and self-centered behaviors with which we are born.

While I have some reservations in the consistency and accuracy of theming in the film, Companion remains a solid horror films that serves as a reminder of the consequences of exerting ultimate control over an individual. The pacing, plotting, character development, and technical elements work together very well to keep the audience entertained on this wild ride.

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

PRESENCE horror film review

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It’s, well, interesting. As soon as I saw that David Koepp was the screenwriter, I was instantly intrigued. While I’m hit or miss with Soderbergh, I’m generally hit with Koepp. But, I find this film’s apparatus to be more interesting than the story itself. While Presence is ostensibly a ghost story, it derives much of its intrigue–not from its narrative–but from its formal and technological apparatus. Soderbergh, known for his experimental approach to filmmaking, employs an innovative first-person perspective; however, this stylistic choice, coupled with Soderbergh’s meticulous control over framing, lighting, and movement and Koepp’s minimalist screenplay, resulted in elevating the film’s formal qualities above its forgettable plot and one-dimensional characters.

In short, the film is about a family that moves into a suburban house and becomes convinced they’re not alone.

The film unfolds through the perspective of an unseen spectral presence, effectively turning the camera into an active participant rather than a passive observer. This shift from traditional storytelling to experiential cinema foregrounds the act of seeing and being seen, inviting viewers to consider their own complicity in the voyeuristic aspects of horror. The film’s reliance on long takes and fluid camerawork creates an unsettling sense of omnipresence, emphasizing the medium’s ability to manipulate space and perception.

While Koepp’s screenplay is serviceable in its exploration of haunted house tropes, it often feels secondary to the film’s preoccupation with its own form. Koepp’s screenwriting is characterized by minimalistic dialogue and a structure devoid of conventional plotting. Rather than relying on his penchant for exposition-heavy scripts, Koepp wrote a screenplay that relied primarily on subtext and visual cues, thus inviting the audience to experience the story through mood versus visually-driven stimuli. The film’s thees such as literal and metaphoric isolation, family dysfunction, and the effects of trauma, feel much more like scaffolding for Soderbergh’s technical experimentation than an actual story. Koepp’s unconventional screenplay paired with Soderbergh’s experimental filmmaking results in a film wherein the mechanics of cinema take precedence over traditional storytelling.

Ultimately, Presence is most compelling when considered as an exercise in film form rather than a compelling story itself. The filmmaking apparatus generates a more profound engagement than its plot and characters, which hurts the potential this film had given its pedigree of talent. Soderbergh and Koepp crafted a film that is less about a haunted house and more about reimagining the voyeuristic capabilities of cinema itself. By leveraging cutting-edge camera systems and post-production techniques, Soderbergh set out to blur the line between observer and observed, in an attempt to create an uncanny sense of intimacy and detachment, but it failed to stick with this critic long after the credits rolled.

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

WOLF MAN (2025) horror movie review

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Underwhelming. Leigh Whannell’s second remake of a Universal Monster classic has about the same depth as a puddle of water and keeps your attention about as much. No mistaking it—there are some brilliant ideas all throughout this movie, but the connective tissue is simply non-existent. Clearly this movie is Whannell’s attempt at infusing a thoughtful family drama about generational trauma and broken relationships into the monster movie formula, but the screenwriting fails to support this attempt. Whannell has previously demonstrated that he can successfully remake a classic whilst retaining the soul of the original and adding a layer of modern sensibilities, because that is exactly what he did with the critically acclaimed and box office success of The Invisible Man in 2020. Also, would somebody please send Julia Garner a great screenplay? She is a phenomenal actress; but ever since she finished Ozark, she hasn’t been offered a cinematic vehicle in which she could best shine. She’s still the best choice for a Madonna biopic. But I digress. 2025’s Wolf Man certainly had the potential and pedigree to be an entertaining, thoughtful, and exhilarating horror movie, but the screenwriting simply isn’t there to support it. However, I’m sure it’ll make for a great Halloween Horror Nights house later this year.

Blake and his family are attacked by an unseen animal and, in a desperate escape, barricade themselves inside a farmhouse as the creature prowls the perimeter. As the night stretches on, however, Blake begins to behave strangely, transforming into something unrecognizable that soon jeopardizes his wife and daughter.

Despite Whannell’s ambitious reach, his Wolf Man remake fails to capture the innovation and depth of the original (1941) and the popcorn entertainment of the 2010 remake. While it boasts a rather strong performative dimension and effective moments of terror, the film struggles with strategic plotting, thematic clarity, and consistent execution of film craft. From beginning to end, there are setups without any payoff and many filler scenes that pad an anemic narrative. Moreover, the first and third acts feel truncated in exchange for a protracted second act that lacks any meaningful character or plot development. This is one of those horror movies that has all the bones of a great and entertaining story, but the moments wherein the pot and characters should steep are nearly non-existent. It has all the markings of a first draft screenplay. And with Whannell’s name all over the billing from writer, to director, to producer, this film suffers from what plagues so many film’s these days: lack of accountability. I’ve said it before, most directors are not writers and most writers are not directors. There are of course exceptions, but I’d like to see more writers and directors working together instead of feeling that one has to be both in order to be taken seriously as an auteur.

One easy example to cite (that isn’t a spoiler) is something that happens at the very beginning of the film that spotlights recurring setups with lack of payoffs. As 12 year old Blake is walking with his domineering father through the woods, his father makes a big deal out of some mushrooms in which Blake was interested, noting that many mushrooms are poisonous. The degree to which Blake’s father draws attention to the mushrooms sets up the Chekhov’s Gun storytelling device–or rather–appeared to have set the stage. Nope. Those mushrooms never come back into play for the duration of the movie. Whannell should have either found a way for those mushrooms to payoff in the showdown or should have not drawn acute attention to them at the beginning of the movie. Why am I spotlighting this? Because it’s indicative of the recurring weak screenwriting mechanics that plague this movie.

You may have heard that many critics and fans have negatively criticized the wolf man’s appearance. I may not be able to speak positively of the movie’s story and characters, but I do feel the need to come to the movie’s defense here, because the movie is called Wolf Man, not An American Werewolf in London. Looking back to Lon Chaney Jr.’s iconic Wolf Man (designed by the legendary Jack Pierce), he was designed to be a wolf-like man, not a werewolf in the traditional sense. Thematically, it represented then (and still represents in this latest iteration), the “monster” within each of us that has to be controlled. I respect Whannell’s decision to keep with a variation of Jack Pierce’s original concept of the Wolf Man, and I feel that it works very well for this movie.

An area where this movie shines brightly is in the exquisite sound design. From the immersive sounds of nature in the forest to the changes in Blake’s sense of auditory processing, the sound mixing and design are fantastic. Of all the moments demonstrating strategic and effective sound design, where Whannell’s direction demonstrates the greatest thoughtfulness, is in the moments wherein Blake’s human senses begin to transition to canine senses. Aside from this transition faltering to allowing for room to develop, the idea of dramatizing this for the audience was innovative and paid off dramatically.

Even though I am an advocate for experiencing cinema in the cinema, this is one of those movies for which you should wait to be added to Peacock–which will probably be very 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

NOSFERATU (2024) horror film review

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Gothic horror is truly timeless. Universal is going back to its roots in horror with its latest motion picture. More than a century after F.W. Murnau gifted us with the original Nosferatu (1922), director Robert Eggers delivers audiences his take on Murnau’s unauthorized Dracula adaptation; however, Eggers’ vision for his expression of Nosferatu is more closely aligned with Warner Herzog’s Nosfertatu the Vampyre (1979) than with Murnau’s original film. Ostensibly, Eggers’ adaptation sets out to bridge elements of both the 1922 and 1979 versions, whilst incorporating the postmodern ideologies that he has integrated in his past works. This expression of Nosferatu combines the atmosphere, mood, and settings from the 1922 version with the characters and erotic tone of Herzog’s version. Each iteration of Nosferatu reflects its director’s vision and the cinematic sensibilities of its time. For it was Oscar Wilde whom reminded us that all art is self-portraiture, “Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” As cinema is art, and the director is often considered the author thereof, then each of these versions expressed something to us about his beliefs, fears, anxieties, or worldview. Eggers took the expressive techniques and vampire lore of Murnau, the existentialism and romanticism of Herzog, and combined those with his applied postmodernist worldview to create 2024’s Nosferatu.

In the 1830s, estate agent Thomas Hutter travels to Transylvania for a fateful meeting with Count Orlok, a prospective client. In his absence, Hutter’s new bride, Ellen, is left under the care of their friends, Friedrich and Anna Harding. Plagued by horrific visions and an increasing sense of dread, Ellen soon encounters an evil force that’s far beyond her control.

Egger’s expression of Nosferatu demonstrates a desire to explore themes of mortality, isolation, corruption, and desire all while underscoring each theme with a sense existential dread. The primal fear of death is perhaps the most overt theme, because Orlok represents the lengths people will go in order to escape that which is inevitable. While monstrously depicted in the film, there is a parallel here between that and the obsession people can have in the real world over youth, vitality, and longevity. We can even draw further parallels between the desire vampires have for human blood with the desire humans have for medications and medical procedures that claim to prolong life and youthfulness. 

A recurring there of vampiric imagery is obsession, not only with youth and life, but obsession in connection with desire—specifically primal desires for that which appears or feels forbidden. Long since has the vampire been used as a personification of forbidden desires. While this was particularly true in the Victorian era—what with its many romantic and sexual mores—it can also be seen today by some as the informal boundaries that Western culture places upon depictions of romance and sexuality. In the postmodern era, many feel that the Eastern ways of life are more liberating, and that is represented in the fact that Orlok hails from Eastern Europe (presumably in the area of Transylvania).

Our central character of Ellen (which is a switch from the typical male central character in variations of the Dracula story), represents the idea that some women feel confined by the boundaries placed upon them by a patriarchal society. By Eggers’ endowing the character of Ellen with a greater sense of agency, he is able to convey more focus on the confines of the Western and/or patriarchal world upon the primal desires of Ellen, and how she must overcome the ties that bind her to both written and unwritten societal expectations. In turn, Orlok can be read as the means to free oneself from all societal inhibitions, but that liberation comes at a great cost. Ellen’s desire for Orlok is both attractive and repulsive—she wants what he represents but doesn’t want the monster himself. In the end, the only way to save her town of Wisborg (and world) is by giving into her primal desires as a means of sacrifice. 

One of the biggest differences in both previous versions and Eggers’ is the imagery of Count Orlok himself. In both previous iterations, there was something sympathetic, darkly whimsical, and even suave about the Count; but in this version, Count Orlok is exponentially more monstrous looking, which offers a stark contrast to that of the alluring appeal of the vampire. Interestingly, Eggers’ interpretation of a vampire is much more closely aligned with traditional eastern European folklore than the words and descriptions of Bram Stoker. Reaching beyond the Dracula novel and both previous versions of Nosferatu, Eggers set out to create an interpretation that demonstrated concern for historical detail and traditional folklore to give his version a sense of realism. Unfortunately, this realism is somewhat hampered from beginning to end, given the film takes place in Germany but none of the characters speak with a German accent, much less in Deutsch. But I digress.

Another difference between this Nosferatu and past versions of both Nosferatu and Dracula is the absence of consistent religious iconography or ritual. Even our esteemed Dr. Albin Eberhart (played by Willem DaFoe) incorporates Western medicine, Eastern medicine, and religions from around the world in his cocktail of methods for healing Ellen and vanquishing Count Orlok. This can be read as Egger’s commentary on how all religions are variations of the same thing, and that the best parts of each can be used in dealing with the obstacles of life. In many ways, this is a reflection of the views many have of religion and tradition in a postmodern world—the strength of a religious practice is in the belief itself and not in the person or object at the center of it. Interestingly, however, in contrast to the views many have of evil in a postmodern world, the movie posits the idea that there is evil in the world, and it isn’t a matter of perception or opinion—that there is evil out to devour all good and innocent in the world. What I appreciate about the character of Dr. Eberhart is his views that science and religion are not mutually exclusive; his character demonstrates that both science and religion are two sides of the same coin, and we need both in our lives.

Like with Eggers’ past work, this one too suffers from the same lack of thoughtful plotting that plagues his other films. Whether we are talking The Witch, The Lighthouse, or The Northman, Eggers demonstrably places far more emphasis on atmosphere, production design, and cinematography than he does plotting or character development. In fact, the original Nosferatu demonstrates stronger plotting despite the lack of spoken dialogue and title cards. This remake is yet another example of the shortcomings of prestige horror—focusing on how everything looks versus how it is written and plotted. Moreover, this continues to be a problem I have with many (if not most) writer-directors—the lack of strategic checks and balances. When the writer is also the director, then there isn’t usually someone that is part of the preproduction of a film that is in a position to state that something works on paper that doesn’t work on screen, or something that looks great an screen doesn’t make sense for reasons of storytelling mechanics. While I have many reservations for the demonstrable trends in postmodern horror, I will say that prestige horror works more effectively as the equivalent of the type of art that hangs in a museum beckoning for guests to sit in front of it for hours, contemplating that which is being conveyed by the collection of images.

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

SPEAK NO EVIL horror movie review

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An entertaining and terrifying thrill ride. Blumhouse and Universal’s Speak No Evil, starring James McAvoy, excels in plotting and atmosphere but falters in character building and development. Based on the Danish film by the same name, director James Watkins’ version is a methodical and spellbinding descent from dream to nightmare. The highlight of the film is McAvoy’s completely manic performance that is simultaneously comedic and unsettling. Whilst Watkins attempts to bestow upon the high concept narrative thoughtful social commentary on image, isolation, and identity, the commentary is inconsistent and lacks the gravitas to truly be compelling or provocative.

A dream holiday turns into a living nightmare when an American couple and their daughter spend the weekend at a British family’s idyllic country estate.

That which is most personal is most relatable, and can be the most terrifying. And what can be more personal and relatable than the need for a relaxing vacation in the peaceful countryside? That is precisely where this decent into a nightmare begins. Speak No Evil may take its time (albeit justified) in setting up the conflict, but once that second act kicks into gear, it is a nonstop thrill ride into isolation and violation. Keep the cast small, the film is able to spend sufficient time in developing the plot and keeping with proper pacing for the tight storytelling. From the very beginning, the piping is laid for everything that audiences will encounter in the second and third acts, with every shot, scene, and sequence pointing towards the shocking conclusion.

Violence on screen is minimal; however, when it hits, it HITS. But that hit isn’t always visual; many times it is psychological in nature, which in many ways, is even more terrifying. Throughout this film, the terror on screen is transferred into the minds of the audience. Part of that is because of the degree of relatability in this story. Many of us have been on vacation in a new place or even moved to a new place unfamiliar to us–perhaps in or to another country–and we are often desperate for friendship or companionship of any kind in order to begin to feel more at home. Therefore, the setup of this film is one to which many of us can relate–and that’s what makes it particularly terrifying. The thought that we could unwittingly befriend a monster.

While the social commentary on isolation, identity, and image is inconsistent and weak, I appreciate what Watkins was trying to do; although, there is one aspect of the film that was screaming for a redemption arc that was so obviously squandered (and actually hurt the quality of the film). Speak No Evil depicts many expressions of isolation. Isolation from friends and family, isolation from the urban core, isolation within one’s family. And it’s this isolation that greatly heightens the level of suspense and terror.

Additionally, the film depicts the identities (or facades) that we project to the world when we are hiding something or feel insecure because we wield it like a sort of armor. Moreover, this identity can also harbor inconsistencies that lead to a lack of authenticity and meaningful motivation. Perhaps this identity is merely a facade that is intended to make others feel uncomfortable or to project an image that sets one apart simply out of fear of being found out as little more than keeping up with what’s trending on social media. Furthermore, the attempted commentary on image is depicted in a variety of ways throughout the film.

The weakness in the film is found in the character building and development. Not with all the characters, but enough that it mitigates the potential of the film to deliver a compelling story. Without getting into spoilers, I want to discuss where the film had an opportunity an an effective character redemption arc, but pandered to what’s presently trending in movies instead of providing a constructive character arc that would’ve benefitted the film by adding a since of compelling meaning. Strong characters are not strong because those around them are weak; to craft a strong character through that methodology makes for a weakened (and less compelling) character because ostensibly standards have been lowered.

Strong characters are at their strongest when other characters are strong, complete with dimension as well. There is a character in the movie that lost their job, and have been personally struggling with feelings of anger, inadequacy, and failure–that is completely relatable as it is very much a human response to losing ones income and livelihood. Where the film fails is setting this character up to overcome the feeling of failing their family and at life, but never doing anything with it, and merely reinforce weakness. I imagine this was done to make their counterpart appear stronger. But it amounts to lazy storytelling that reinforces negative imagery.

The character that is the most entertaining is James McAvoy’s Paddy. I cannot think of any other actor working today that could’ve brought this character to life nearly as well as McAvoy. In an otherwise par for the course performative dimension in the film, he brings a kinetic energy that draws audiences into the macabre, twisted tale. From the very beginning, we can tell that there is something a little off about his character, but never enough to know precisely where he stands. When he goes full-on manic mode, we are in for the ride because he makes us laugh and gasp in horror all at the same time.

Everything about this movie would make for a fantastic house at next year’s Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Orlando and Hollywood. The farmhouse at the center of the movie is a labyrinth and hints at a variation of the hillbilly horror aesthetic. I can see how this film’s characters and setting could adapt well to an HHN house, so I would not be surprised if we see this intellectual property featured at next year’s HHN.

Speak No Evil may lack dimension that could’ve made it a more compelling narrative than what we received; however, it’s still an entertaining thrill ride that will have you laughing and screaming. A solid popcorn horror movie that has some degree of rewatchability.

Ryan teaches Film Studies and Screenwriting at the University of Tampa and 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! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter. If you’re ever in Tampa or Orlando, feel free to catch a movie with him.

Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry