Dooba Dooba feels like something special — like a movie from the 70s or 80s that you borrowed on bootleg VHS from a new kid in your town.
The movie opens as Amna (Amna Vegha) shows up for a night of babysitting and learns that her ward —a sheltered sixteen year old girl named Monroe (Betsy Sligh) — is being watched at all times by in-home security cameras.
Vegha makes it all work. She brings together the absurdity of Monroe’s parents with the reality of this cringy babysitting job.
There are only four characters in the film and each one makes me feel some type of way. The parents generate equal levels of unease, and their interactions with Amna make me want to run out of the room. Monroe is wildly odd, at one point critiquing Amna’s musical endeavors, making me want to climb out the window because I’m so embarrassed for her.
Dooba Dooba’s vintage vibes make it deeply creepy. You feel like you’re watching something secretly, and you want to warn Amna that something doesn’t feel right. If you are a fan of The House of The Devil or The Loved Ones, this will pull you right in. I loved the creative cinematography.
Director Ehrland Hollingsworth is new to horror, but I think he has a new home in the horror community, and I cannot wait to see how audiences respond to this movie. I feel like part of a secret club after being able to see Dooba Dooba and I’m ready to talk about it with the world.
Each Halloween season, horror fans go looking for new seasonal movies. This year, director Justin Harding (Making Monsters)brings his fun, spooky splatter-fest, Carved to Nightmares Film Festival and Hulu’s Huluween.
A group of survivors — including comedy favorites DJ Qualls and Chris Elliott — find themselves trapped in a historical reenactment village on Halloween. There they must unite to battle an evil and vengeful pumpkin.
This is not your typical killer food movie. Carved delivers inspired kills that almost made me root for the pumpkin. The special fx are a blast and the cinematography is gorgeous. They make this one a do not miss addition to your yearly 31 Day of Halloween watchlist.
The standout in the cast is newcomer Peyton Elizabeth Lee. I loved the rocky relationship between Lee and Corey Fogelmanis. Lee brings the Halloween final girl baddie to the forefront again, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
Some of my favorite scenes featured Stranger Things alum Matty Cardarople as a corn truck employee. And Carved rounds out the fun ensemble with a comedy heavy hitter from the 2000s. DJ Qualls plays the perfect uptight jerk, and has some of the most memorable one liners. He brings the polish and snark to the screen and I couldn’t help but love his character.
If you love killer food movies, autumn ambiance, creative kills, and a delightfully talented cast, then add Carved to your Spooky Season watchlist.
At what point does an artist lose themselves in technology? Sure, tech is now an important part of art. It can help achieve quicker completion of a project. It can also add layers of depth and resonance to it that would not have been possible a decade earlier. But at what point can one’s art actually be undermined by technological advancements? It’s a conversation at the forefront of all forms of art these days, especially in the wake of A.I. It is also one of the questions that lie at the core of Decibel.
The film centers on a young, talented musician named Scout (Aleyse Shannon) who plies her trade in local bars. The crowds that she performs for might be small, but her musical freedom in those spaces is immense. There’s not much money to be had in small gigs, however, so she’s on the verge of becoming a starving artist. Perhaps even a homeless one too. Enter tech mogul turned music producer Donna (Stefanie Estes). A rising, powerful name in the industry, Donna offers Scout a chance to record her music at a state-of-the-art studio in the desert, away from all of the distractions of life.
Scout – apprehensive about losing some control over her art, but also needing some money and a big break – accepts the offer. After all, who can pass up such a chance of a lifetime? Being a thriller, you can see where this is going. And you would be correct. It’s a tale as old as time: if any offer sounds too good to be true, it usually is.
With his third feature, director Zac Locke ups the ante. From a technical perspective, this is his most accomplished work to date. From a narrative perspective, while he did not write this particular film, you can still see thematic continuations of his previous works.
Locke has managed to combine the notion of “fame comes with a cost” (#Float) and “don’t ignore your instincts when things feel wrong” (Santa Isn’t Real) into an intriguing cautionary tale on the dangers of allowing your art to be overtaken by others and weaponized against you. Add in two great lead performances and some striking visuals and you have what is his best film to date. Decibel is worth tuning into and Locke remains a filmmaker to keep an eye on.
I had this review written and ready to post, but it seems the AI program picked up trigger words that seemed like a shady sales pitch, and wouldn’t allow it.
So take two.
Ahem…THIS IS A MOVIE about a woman not backing down from the evil spirits that are blocking the path to her dream house.
In the enchanting mockumentary titled For Sale By Exorcist, resourceful realtor Susan Price is likely to tell those ghosts “Out of the way, Jose!,” with a big smile and maybe even a “Bless your heart!”
Susan (Emily Classen) also happens to be a certified exorcist. After a decade of flipping haunted houses coast to coast, she realizes the irony of not having a home a call her own. But just when Susan is looking to put down some roots, the displaced spirits she’s sent packing through the years come back to torment her.
“I don’t want some boo-hag lookin’ at me when I’m down here doing my yoga!”
First-time feature director Melissa LaMartina digs into the silly charm of the premise with a confident and strategic touch. She employs plenty of quick cuts, reaction shots and non sequiturs to keep the pace lively and craft a “The Office” or “Parks and Recreation” – styled expose.
Classen is an engaging and energetic presence, while screenwriters Chris LaMartina and Rob Walker keep the goofs and gags coming, including a well-dropped aside about searching for a good BLT sandwich that eventually gets its other shoe.
Both the horror and the comedy here are on the lighter side, but THE MOVIE CALLED For Sale By Exorcist is heavy on love for each genre, and built with some seriously fun bones. It’s a delight.
Saturday Night Live has been on the air for 50 years. That is insane. Most people alive today in the U.S. cannot remember a time before SNL. But Jason Reitman wants you to recall that it wasn’t supposed to work, that it had no business working, and that whatever it is today, it once was an absolute cultural explosion.
Reitman, who directs and co-writes with his Ghostbusters collaborator Gil Kenan, delivers such chaotic energy that you almost forget there is a script. The choreography of longtime collaborator Eric Steelberg’s camera emphasizes the film’s livewire atmosphere, but the fact that Saturday Night pulls off this kind of frenetic lawlessness bears witness to Reitman’s mastery of his craft.
At the center of the whirlwind is Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle, The Fabelmans and Snack Shack). NBC doesn’t really expect this “not ready for prime time” experiment to work. At all. And based on the anarchy leading up to showtime, you wonder yourself, even though we already know the outcome.
LaBelle—an undeniable talent at this point—easily anchors the film with a vulnerability, kindness and optimism that makes Michaels hard to root against but almost as hard to believe in. That conflict is necessary for the film to build any real tension or make any meaningful connection, and LaBelle humanizes the madness.
He’s surrounded by a massive ensemble that impresses with every turn. Reitman chooses to highlight certain personalities you may not expect—Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith), sure, but also a show-stealing Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris, exceptional). Dylan O’Brien (as Dan Aykroyd), Rachel Sennott (as head writer Rosie Shuster), Cooper Hoffman (as producer Dick Ebersol) and Tommy Dewey (as caustic comedy genius Michael O’Donoghue) are particular stand outs. But the J.K. Simmons cameo as Mr. Television Milton Berle is priceless.
At its heart, Saturday Night fits into that tried-and-true “let’s put on a show” picture, but it’s the remarkable way Reitman captures the cultural shift this program marked that leaves a lasting impression.
Saturday Night also bursts with laugh-out-loud moments, little triumphs, fascinating callbacks and infectious energy. It can be hard to see today’s SNL in this riotous recollection, but there’s real history in these 90 minutes—and so much cocaine. History rarely looked like this much fun.
Co-directors Gabriel Bienczycki and Richard Karpala balance the banal with the uncanny in their desert folk horror, Falling Stars.
Three brothers sit around a fire pit by the garage in some middle of the San Bernadino County desert. Their dad is eager for them to put the damn fire out and get inside. They know why he’s agitated—it’s the first night of harvest, and the falling stars will appear at any moment.
And around these parts, everybody knows those ain’t stars.
That’s what Falling Stars delivers—the creeping, growing sense that people do know. The inhabitants hereabouts may not have much, but the film never makes them out to be ignorant or caricatured. This story is not from a patronizing point of view—look at what these rubes believe. There’s a levelheaded authenticity, a lived-in superstitious normality that pervades the film and gets under the skin.
The film, written by Karpala and expertly lensed by Bienczycki, creates a sense of place with lonesome landscapes, all stars and sky and desert roads leading to nowhere. So, the brothers—Mike, the eldest (Shaun Duke Jr.); Adam, the youngster (Rene Leech); and Sal in the middle (Andrew Gabriel)—know better than to get into the pickup and head out.
But the sun won’t be down for more than an hour, and Mike knows something his brothers don’t. Their buddy Rob (Greg Poppa) not only saw a witch, but he shot one and buried her in a tarp out in the desert. Who wants to see her?
It’s the same kind of innocent yet macabre curiosity that fueled Stand By Me, except Falling Stars replaces nostalgia and melancholy with witchcraft and curses.
The filmmakers keep the tensions heightened, much thanks to the endearingly vulnerable and human performances of their ensemble. Little acts of friendliness balance with little acts of cowardice, logic gives way to magical thinking, but the fear is real.
A b-story involving an am radio host goes nowhere, but a single scene with the boys’ mama (Diane Worman) turns the supernatural thriller into a psychological horror in seconds.
Falling Stars delivers a fresh take on an age-old tale, but it feels like it’s lived out there in the desert waiting forever.
You see the title Daddy’s Head and you might expect a bit of grind house fun, full of schlock and awe and signifying little. But this Shudder original has higher aspirations, as writer/director Benjamin Barfoot pulls off a nifty creature feature steeped in the psychology of grief.
Young Isaac (Rupert Turnbull) lives with his father James (Charles Aitken) and stepmother Laura (Julia Brown) in the English countryside. Life has already dealt the boy a terrible blow with the death of his mother, so James’s fatal car accident weighs heavy with cruel trauma.
Isaac is left with no next of kin, and officials from social services favor Laura taking over as legal guardian, if she is agreeable.
But while Laura is sorting through the legalities, days and nights begin to get bumpy.
Isaac insists that his father has returned. Something breaks through a picture window and attacks the family dog.** A kitchen knife turns up missing. And James’s divorced friend Robert (Nathaniel Martello-White) is always finding reasons to drop by.
As Isaac becomes convinced that is father is calling to him from the nearby woods, Barfoot punctures the questionable realities with some well-crafted jump scares and satisfying practical effects. The frights that come in the third act succeed because of the character dynamics that Barfoot and his talented cast build in the first two. The child-centered mystery and sleek, imposing aesthetics will likely call Goodnight Mommy to mind early on, before giving way to a Babadook-styled struggle with a monster.
But Daddy’sHead tripping is committed to upping the ante, and the escalation ultimately delivers enough to satisfy fans of both blood and metaphors.
Horror cinema has a long, conflicted relationship with Christmas movies, especially those boasting a maniacal Santa Claus. In 1984, Silent Night, Deadly Night found itself yanked from theaters only days after its release. The Netherlands removed every poster of Dick Maas’s 2010 Saint from public display because its depiction of St. Nick was deemed too disturbing for children.
If Christmas horror tends to be the most divisive and the likeliest to offend, then it seems like an obvious choice for the next installment in Damien Leone’s Terrifier series.
Yes, Art the Clown (David Howard Thornton) has left Halloween behind in favor of a jollier holiday. But wait, you say. Wasn’t Art decapitated at the end of Terrifier 2?
Please see Halloween H2O and its follow up, Halloween: Resurrection.
Actually, don’t. Resurrection is easily among the worst in the franchise. Suffice it to say, decapitation does not mean the end of a true horror franchise villain, especially when his films are raking in the cash. And there is no doubt that Art has gone the way of Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers—silent, deadly, and able to really bounce back from injury. Death, even.
So, it’s Christmas Eve in Miles County and Sienna (Lauren LaVera, decapitator from T2), recently released from a psychiatric hospital, is spending the holidays with her aunt, uncle and little cousin Gabbie (Antonella Rose).
Art’s been waiting (in a nice callback to Black Christmas, among the finest and first holiday horrors). He’s not alone, and that’s too bad because he’s more fun on his own. His guest is part of a convoluted explanation for his re-capitation (I did make that up, thank you). But do we need to understand it?
Weak spots include most references to the magic and mental illness of the tediously long (2 ½ hours, whew!) Terrifier 2. Strengths involve a barroom scene with cameos aplenty, plus a nod to The Texas Chain Saw Massacre—once considered the most nihilistic and violent of all horror films. Once.
What has set Art the Clown apart from other unstoppable genre monsters is his sadism. Michael was mainly efficient with his kills. Jason could be inventive. Art delights in the pain and terror, and his holiday killing spree offers loads of opportunities to exercise his depraved imagination.
Thornton is again a charismatic villain, and he gets his own Christmas song this time, which is undeniably fun. The third installment is not nearly as lean and mean as the original, nor is it as bloated and ludicrous as the second. As crazy as it sounds when you’re talking about watching limbs being torn off a screaming human’s body, the carnage does get tiresome after a while.
If you dug the previous Art the Clown films, you will find endless entertainment in the newest. You’ll also find mediocre acting and dumb plotting but really excellent practical effects. And blood by the bucketful.
