BLACK PHONE 2 horror movie review

Don’t answer the call—best to let go to voicemail.

Atmospheric but empty. Black Phone 2 may ring with eerie potential, but what you’ll hear on the other end is mostly static. You just as soon use a telegraph service to form a connection between the big screen and audience than the calls this movie desperately makes. Derrickson demonstrates that he can certainly direct the heck out of a horror movie, but it might be time for someone else to write the next call–or at the very least, he should perhaps stop hiring his friend as a writing partner. While the film succeeds in delivering a chilling, oppressive atmosphere, reminding us that Derrickson remains one of horror’s more visually articulate directors, it also reinforces the unfortunate truth that he’s a far better director than writer. What we have here is another casualty of the writer-director syndrome; which is to suggest that one can be a stylistic filmmaker or even auteur without need to wear both hats. Some filmmakers are better directors, some better writers–and that’s okay! While Black Phone 2 begins with promise, it quickly devolves into a frustrating exercise in squandered ideas, tonal inconsistency, and narrative disarray.

Bad dreams haunt 15-year-old Gwen as she receives calls from the black phone and sees disturbing visions of three boys being stalked at a winter camp. Accompanied by her brother, Finn, they head to the camp to solve the mystery, only to confront the Grabber — a killer who’s grown even more powerful in death.

The film ambitiously sets out to expand upon the supernatural mythology introduced in the 2022 original. Derrickson clearly wants to explore the dream world as a deeper psychological battleground—echoing the meta-horror energy of A Nightmare on Elm Street III: Dream Warriors. But instead of capturing that sequel’s inspired creativity and emotional cohesion, Black Phone 2 feels more like a discount version of a superior brand. The screenplay introduces a fascinating set of “rules” for how this dream realm operates, only to immediately ignore or contradict them, leaving the audience confused rather than intrigued. Internal logic is sacrificed for jump scares and contrived character beats that go nowhere.

And speaking of characters—if you can call them that—most are little more than human wallpaper. Half the ensemble feels like a collection of movie people consisting of broadly sketched types that serve a single plot function before fading into irrelevance. Others border on offensive caricature, perpetuating inaccurate and disparaging stereotypes. For all intents and purposes, about three-and-a-half characters can be removed from the movie, and the story play out much the same. Why that half-character? Because, they do help develop the plot in a measurable way–albeit a modicum of development. When a film’s supporting cast functions more like furniture versus people, no amount of spooky atmosphere can save it. The best written and developed character was Demián Bichir’s Armando.

Still, there are moments, scenes, and even entire sequences that remind us of Derrickson’s undeniable craftsmanship. His camera captures dread beautifully; his sense of timing and space within the frame conjures genuine unease. There are glimpses of a haunting, emotionally resonant movie buried somewhere beneath the fractured structure and incoherent script. Unfortunately, those glimpses are fleeting. And that’s the great tragedy here—not just for Black Phone 2, but for a growing trend in contemporary filmmaking: the writer-director who insists on doing it all, in the name of authorship.

Once upon a time, filmmakers understood that collaboration was the lifeblood of cinema. Directors directed. Writers wrote. And when both crafts worked in harmony, we got films that not only looked great but meant something. Somewhere along the line, “auteur” became synonymous with “solo act,” and too many directors convinced themselves that to have a voice, they had to pen the script too. The result? Movies that look immaculate but feel hollow—visual symphonies built on shaky foundations.

Derrickson is a perfect example (another is Jordan Peele). As a director, his command of tone and atmosphere is nearly peerless; his work in horror often hums with intelligence and mood. But Black Phone 2 exposes the limits of his pen. The foundation for a compelling story is here—the bones of something rich and psychologically resonant—but the film never benefits from a writer who truly cares about character, motivation, or thematic depth. It’s as though Derrickson fell so in love with his own concept and craft that he forgot to ask whether the story itself deserved that devotion.

A gifted director needn’t be the writer to be an auteur. In fact, some of the greatest auteurs—Hitchcock, Spielberg, even Fincher–are those who know the value of letting a skilled screenwriter shape the clay before they bring it to life. Black Phone 2 might have been a haunting triumph had Derrickson trusted someone else, other than his friend, to write the words for the world he so clearly knows how to visualize. Instead, we’re left with a reminder that even the most talented filmmaker can’t build a cathedral on a cracked foundation.

By the time the credits roll, Black Phone 2 feels like a series of individually thoughtful scenes strung together by a story that never quite finds its pulse. It’s a patchwork of ideas that might have worked—had they been developed, connected, or earned. The result is a film that looks and sounds like a horror movie, but never feels like one worth the cost of time.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” 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

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON (2025) movie review

Timeless. Universal and DreamWorks’ live-action remake of the Academy Award-nominated How to Train Your Dragon (2010) proves that some stories continue to resonate through the ages. Of course, “ages” in this context is only fifteen years. Returning to helm this project, HTTYD veteran writer-director Dean DeBlois crafts a fantasy world that’s incredibly tangible–even the dragons. His combination of puppetry, practical effects, and CGI give the dragons and the land of Berk a naturalism that feels connected to the world on screen. While this live-action remake plays it very close to the original, in terms of scenes and sequences, the heartfelt story will still capture your imagination and serve as a fantastic film for Father’s Day this weekend.

On the rugged isle of Berk, a Viking boy named Hiccup defies centuries of tradition by befriending a dragon named Toothless. However, when an ancient threat emerges that endangers both species, Hiccup’s friendship with Toothless becomes the key to forging a new future. Together, they must navigate the delicate path toward peace, soaring beyond the boundaries of their worlds and redefining what it means to be a hero and a leader.

While it would be easy to chalk 2025’s HTTYD up to an exercise in business theory, given that much of the movie is shot-for-shot of the original, it would be disservice to the audience experience for those that may be seeing this story on the big screen for the first time. Because anyone under the age of 18 (if not 21) either wasn’t yet born or doesn’t remember watching it in the cinema in 2010. And this is a BIG SCREEN movie. If fact, I’d argue that watching HTTYD in a premium format at your local cinema is the best way to return to Berk, particularly if you did see the original animated film in cinemas (as did I). I’ve read reviews that fill the spectrum from “lifeless and lazy” to “better than the original;” neither extreme reaction or interpretation is entirely accurate, in my opinion. Given that much of the story is the same, all the way down to shots, scenes, dialogue, and sequences, I’m choosing to review the film as if watching it for the first time, as many will be watching it for the first time on the big screen.

Since the story is largely unchanged from the original, I don’t want to spend a significant amount of time on it; however, there are themes that leapt off the screen this time even more than when I first saw the original. Perhaps its’ because a lot has happened in our country and around the world in the last fifteen years.

In true allegorical fashion, HTTYD crafts a parable of prejudice and reconciliation that resonates with our contemporary sociocultural landscape. Through its depiction of dragons as misunderstood creatures feared and vilified by Viking society, the film speaks directly to the way some cultures and communities are often dehumanized by dominant cultures. Initially framed as mindless beasts bent on destruction, dragons embody the constructed image of “the other”—not inherently evil, but made threatening through narratives rooted in ignorance and fear.

Through Hiccups’s hero journey, our own fears and prejudices are challenges. His character arc hinges on that pivotal moment with Toothless when he is about to kill him. Not only does Toothless challenge Hiccups’s prevailing ideology, but reframes his worldview of dragons and the people of Berk entirely. “I looked at him, and I saw myself,” he says, distilling the film’s core thesis: true empathy begins when we stop projecting monstrosity onto others and instead recognize shared sentience. In contrast, his father Chief Stoick represents the institutional stronghold of fear and tradition. His transformation from dragon-slayer to dragon-defender is a microcosm of generational reckoning—a character arc that underscores how systemic prejudice can begin to unravel when met with vulnerability and truth.

Thematically, the film’s narrative expands beyond simplistic binaries of good and evil to explore the broader existential anxieties that provoke violence and division. In doing so, HTTYD transcends fantasy and enters the realm of social commentary. It reminds us that the instinct to “other” those who are different is not innate but learned—and, crucially, unlearnable. At a time marked by cultural polarization and survivalist rhetoric, the film dares to imagine a world in which peace is possible—but only if we choose empathy over fear.

Writer-director DeBlois crafts a Berk that feels like a real place, perhaps a place from our own world history. Instead of layer upon layer and scene upon scene of blue and green screens, DeBlois opts to eschew the sterile sterility of digital backlots in exchange for a fantastical world grounded in the tactile weight of reality. Rather than relying on synthetic blue-screen environments, the production team committed to crafting full-scale Viking arenas, longhouses, and coastal villages—sets brimming with texture, history, and atmospheric weight. Filmed on location in Northern Ireland, the practical environments not only enhance the visual authenticity but immerse the audience in a world that feels as lived-in as it is mythic. These tangible structures blend seamlessly with the region’s craggy terrain, lending the film a geographic and cultural specificity that deepens the narrative.

Likewise, the film’s flight sequences are not mere visual spectacle—they are balletic displays of aerodynamic realism. Thanks to a synergy between practical rigging and digital enhancement, the VFX team captures the exhilarating sweep and dive of dragon flight with a physicality rarely achieved in CGI-heavy cinema. Specialized camera systems were deployed to trace every soar and swoop with kinetic precision, preserving the wonder and danger of airborne movement. The result is not just believable—it’s breathtaking. This nuanced and layered approach to the fusion of practical and CGI effects was also in part what made the dragons feel incredibly real. Dragon puppets were used to inform the CGI timing, lighting, and choreography. Later, CG animators seamlessly replaced the physical heads with digital models, preserving actors’ eye-lines and interactions. Mason Thames is rarely acting opposite a tennis ball on a boom pole; his Hiccup is interacting with a dragon set piece that is fully articulate.

Whether the original breathtaking animated film is one that you’ve seen a dozen times or you’ve never seen the original, the live-action remake of the critically acclaimed HTTYD is worth your time at the cinema. Furthermore, this film would make for an outstanding diversion for dads and their kids over this Father’s Day weekend, regardless of ages. Some stories, characters, and themes are timeless, and can still speak to us years later.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” 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