Crime drama, social commentary, action flick, vampire movie—Night Patrol bites off a lot. But since director Ryan Prows and writers Tim Cairo, Jack Gibson and Shaye Ogbonna’s last teaming combined an organ harvesting crime caper with the life of a luchador, it shouldn’t come as a surprise.
Night Patrol opens on a young man (RJ Cyler) bleeding from a weapon still poking out of his ribs. He’s in police custody, sitting across from a nonplussed LAPD officer (Nick Gillie), who’d like him to explain himself.
Prows then flashes back a couple of days, introducing the young man, the girl he loves, and the LA cops known as Night Patrol. What follows is an allegory about white supremacy dressed up as some kind of higher calling but behaving as bloodthirsty beasts.
Apt, particularly after what we all witnessed in Minneapolis last Wednesday night.
Justin Long co-stars as a cop looking to get to the bottom of whatever it is Night Patrol is up to, and he’ll go to some regrettable means to meet those ends. But he hopes to be remembered as “one of the good ones”.
It’s unfair to compare Prows’s film with the similarly themed Sinners because it’s unfair to compare any film at all with Ryan Coogler’s masterpiece. Prows’s ire is focused on the here and now, and probably bears a closer resemblance to Bomani J. Story’s 2023 film The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster as well as Remington Smith’s 2025 festival favorite LandLord.
The theme is clear-eyed and relevant: Systemic racism in the U.S. is monstrous, its willing participants are monsters.
Prows solicits game performances from Cyler, Long, and especially Nicki Micheaux who dominates every scene she’s in, as only her character could.
Where Night Patrol falters is in its wild mix of tones and genres. For all its bloodsucking, this is no horror film. The violence is action violence, but even that is sometimes lost in the loonier, funnier moments. The rival gang is preoccupied with supernatural entities, including Lizard Men, giving the film a bizarre sense of humor that doesn’t fully fit.
The hodgepodge approach to genre hampers its castmates—Cyler, in particular—from finding a suitable performing style. Long is custom designed for this character, and Micheaux elevates the material, but with no discernable genre, Night Patrol leaves you a little dizzy.
The last decade has seen an explosion in Spanish language horror—so many incredible options that we went fuzzy math for this list and still had to leave off some incredible movies, including Amigo, Veronica, The Platform, Terrified, Luz: The Flower of Evil, La Llorona, Huesera: The Bone Woman, and The Untamed. So, make sure you check every one of those out, but first, you should peruse the films that did make our list.
Thanks as always to a great crowd at Gateway Film Center!
6. El Conde (2023, Chile)
On Netflix Pablo Larraín has a particular gift for poetic historical retellings grounded in a singular woman’s perspective: Spencer, Jackie. But his passion for the political history of his native Chile rings through most of his films, including Naruda and No. But did we see a vampire movie coming?
El Conde reimagines Augusto Pinochet as a vampire weary of his many years on earth and ready to leave his bickering family in squalor and finally die – until the church sends a vampire slayer after him. What follows is a near-slapstick political satire, sort of The Death of Stalin meets What We Do in the Shadows.
Every moment’s a delight, and a late-film reveal is a cynical and biting reward for a gloriously spent couple of hours.
5. Tigers Are Not Afraid (2019, Mexico)
On Shudder, Prime and AMC+
Lopez’s fable of children and war brandishes the same themes as Guillermo del Toro’s masterpiece Pan’s Labyrinth, but grounds the magic with a rugged street style.
Tigers follows Estrella, a child studying fairy tales—or, she was until her school is temporarily closed due to the stray bullets that make it unsafe for students. As Estrella and her classmates hide beneath desks to avoid gunfire, her teacher hands her three broken pieces of chalk and tells her these are her three wishes.
But wishes never turn out the way you want them to.
4. Piggy (2022, Spain)
On Hulu, HBO Max, Prime, AMC+
Mean girls are a fixture in cinema, from Mean Girls to Carrie, Heathers to Jawbreaker to Napoleon Dynamite and countless others. Why is that? It’s because we like to see mean girls taken down.
Writer/director Carlota Pereda wants to challenge that base instinct. But first, she is going to make you hate Maca (Claudia Salas), Roci (Camille Aguilar) and Claudia (Irene Ferreiro). In one tiny Spanish town, the three girls make Sara’s (Laura Galán, remarkable) life utterly miserable. Like worse than Carrie White’s.
The filmmaker complicates every trope, all the one-dimensional victim/hero/villain ideas this genre and others feast on. Redemption doesn’t come easily to anyone. Pereda also seamlessly blends themes and ideas from across the genre, upending expectations but never skimping on brutal, visceral horror.
3. The Coffee Table (2022, Spain)
On Shudder, Prime, Tubi, AMC+
A remarkably well written script fleshed out by a stunning ensemble becomes utter torture as you want so badly for some other outcome. Co-writer/director Caye Casas ties threads, builds anxiety, plunges the depths of “what’s the worst that could happen?” and leaves you shaken.
David Pareja and Estefania de los Santos craft indelible, believable, beautifully flawed characters so convincing that their experience becomes painful for you. Casas salts the wounds with dark comedy, but the tenderness and tragedy collaborate toward something far more crushingly human.
2. The Wolf House (2018, Chile)
On Prime, Tubi, Plex, Fawesome
Another Chilean horror, so you’re safe in assuming it has something to do with Pinochet. This breathtaking, incredibly creepy stop motion animated wonder tells of a true cult, Colonia Dignidad. One of its inhabitants escapes into the woods, has a near-miss catastrophe with a wolf, and hides in an abandoned house.
Directors/animators Cristobal León and Joaquín Cociña pull you into Maria’s dreamlike world, as her thoughts and reality blend before your eyes. Sets are painted, built, melted, and destroyed on the screen as Maria’s thoughts and the dangers she faces come and go. It’s an eerily beautiful and unforgettable fairy tale rooted in reality.
1. When Evil Lurks (2023, Argentina)
On Shudder, Hulu, Max, AMC+, Prime
Just when you thought no one could do anything fresh with a possession movie, Terrified filmmaker Demián Rugna surprises you. When Evil Lurks does sometimes feel familiar, its road trip to hell detouring through The Crazies, among others. But Rugna’s take on all the familiar elements feels new, in that you cannot and would not want to predict where he’s headed.
This is a magnificently written piece of horror, and Rugna’s expansive direction gives it an otherworldly yet dirty, earthy presence.
The inexplicable ugliness – this particularly foul presence of evil – is handled with enough distance, enough elegance to make the film almost beautiful, regardless of the truly awful nature of the footage. And Rugna never lets up. Each passing minute is more difficult than the last, to the very last, which is an absolute knife to the heart.
What an incredible year for horror! Two unquestionable Oscar contenders, great international fare, great reboots and sequels, amazing original material, great independent horror, great studio horror—remarkably spooky stuff!
The year held so much great stuff that we were forced to leave incredible films off our final top 10 list. Our apologies to Companion and Animale, Hood Witch and Dead Mail, Final Destination: Bloodlines and 40 Acres and a lot of other really quality films. But that’s just how strong the competition was this year!
10. The Toxic Avenger
On Prime
Though the story’s changed, much remains the same in writer/director Macon Blair’s reboot in all its goopy, corrosive, violent, hilarious glory.
Peter Dinklage is one of the most talented actors working today, and as Winston he is effortlessly heartbreaking and tender. He’s also really funny, and this is not necessarily the kind of humor every serious actor can pull off.
Blair’s vision for this film couldn’t be more spot-on. Joyous, silly, juvenile, insanely violent, hateful of the bully, in love with the underdog—Blair’s Toxic Avenger retains the best of Troma, rejects the worst, and crafts something delirious and wonderful.
9. Chain Reactions
On Prime
Not everyone believes Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a masterpiece of American filmmaking. I find those people suspicious. Luckily, those are not the people filmmaker Alexandre O. Philippe (Memory: The Origins of Alien, 78/52) talks to for his latest documentary, Chain Reactions.
The film is a celebration of 50 years of TCM. The celebrants are five of the film’s biggest fans: Patton Oswalt, Takashi Miike, Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, Stephen King, and Karyn Kusama. It’s a good group. Each share intimate and individual reminiscences and theories about the film, its impact on them as artists, and its relevance as a piece of American cinema. What their ruminations have in common is just as fascinating as the ways in which their thoughts differ.
Each of these artists came to the film from a different perspective—some having seen it early enough in their youth to have been left scarred, others having taken it in as adults and still being left scarred. But each one sees layers and importance—poetry, even—in Hooper’s slice of savage cinema.
8. Invader
On Shudder & Prime
Lean, mean and affecting, Mickey Keating’s take on the home invasion film wastes no time. In a wordless—though not soundless—opening, the filmmaker introduces an unhinged presence.
Immediately Keating sets our eyes and ears against us. His soundtrack frequently blares death metal, a tactic that emphasizes a chaotic, menacing mood the film never shakes. Using primarily handheld cameras from the unnerving opening throughout the entire film, the filmmaker maintains an anarchic energy, a sense of the characters’ frenzy and the endless possibility of violence.
Joe Swanberg, with limited screentime and even more limited dialog, crafts a terrifying image of havoc. His presence is perversely menacing, an explosion of rage and horror. Invader delivers a spare, nasty, memorable piece of horror in just over an hour. It will stick with you a while longer.
7. Bring Her Back
On Prime, HBO, Hulu, and Disney+
Filmmakers Danny and Michael Philippou drew attention in 2022 for their wildly popular feature debut, Talk to Me. Before releasing the sequel, due out this August, the pair changes the game up with a different, but at least equally disturbing, look at grief.
It’s a slow burn, a movie that communicates dread brilliantly with its cinematography and pacing. But when Bring Her Back hits the gas, dude! Nastiness not for the squeamish! Especially if you have a thing about teeth, be warned. But the body horror always serves the narrative, deepening your sympathies even as it has you hiding your eyes.
Australia has a great habit of sending unsettling horror our way. The latest package from Down Under doesn’t disappoint.
6. The Monkey
On Prime, HBO, Hulu, and Disney+
Why is it that so many kids’ toys are creepy? Not that you should call The Monkey a toy. You should not, ever. Because this windup organ grinder monkey, with its red eyes and horrifyingly realistic teeth, is more of a furry, murder happy nightmare.
The film itself is a match made in horror heaven. Osgood Perkins (Longlegs, Gretel & Hansel, The Blackcoat’s Daughter) adapts and directs the short story by Stephen King about sibling rivalry and the unpredictability of death.
Perkins surrounds deliberately low energy leads with bizarre, colorful characters—even more colorful when they catch fire, explode, are disemboweled, etcetera. The film is laced with wonderful bursts of Final Destination-like bloodletting, as the Monkey’s executions are carried out via Rube Goldberg chain reactions that quickly become fun to anticipate.
Yes, fun. And funny.
5. Dust Bunny
In theaters
Imagine Guillermo del Toro meets Wes Anderson. Equal parts fanciful and gruesome, the film tells the tale of a precocious youth named Aurora (Sophie Sloan), who hires the neighbor in 5B (Mads Mikkelsen) to kill the monster that lives under her bed.
Sloan delivers Roald Dahl’s Matilda by way of Wednesday Addams, braids and all. Mikkelsen’s adorably gruff, and the great Sigourney Weaver is having a blast playing gleefully against type and shoplifting every second of screentime.
Writer/director Bryan Fuller wastes not a frame of his feature film debut. The saturated colors and intricate patterns and textures of the set design, the ballet of horror that is his shadow imagery, the boldly whimsical costuming—all of it conjuring an amplified fairy tale. It’s tough to believe this remarkably confident feature is his first foray behind the camera.
4. Weapons
On Prime, HBO, Hulu, and Disney+
Weapons delivers an elaborate mystery slowly revealing itself, ratcheting tension, and leading to a bloody satisfying climax. Unspooling as an epilogue followed by character-specific chapters, the film builds around a single event, developing dread as it delivers character studies of a town of hapless, fractured, flawed individuals in over their heads.
This is smartly crafted, beautifully acted horror. Those who worry Cregger’s left nasty genre work behind for something more elevated need not fear. Weapons is here to work your nerves, make you gasp, and shed some blood. It does it pretty well.
3. The Ugly Stepsister
On Prime, HBO, Hulu, Disney+, and Shudder
Writer/director Emilie Blichfeldt infuses her feature debut with an impossible-to-ignore blast of sharp wit, subdued rage, and grotesque bodily horrors.
The Ugly Stepsister(Den stygge stesøsteren) is the latest new angle to a classic tale, but don’t expect it follow the trend of humanizing misunderstood villains. Blichfeldt makes sure there are plenty of bad guys and girls throughout this Norwegian Cinderella story, punctuated by grisly violence surprisingly close to what’s in the 17th Century French version of the fairy tale penned by Charles Perrault.
It is fierce, funny, gross and subversively defiant. But is one feature film enough to immediately put Blichfeldt on the watch list of cinema’s feminist hell raisers?
Yes. The shoe fits.
2. Frankenstein
On Netflix
Lush and gorgeous, even when it is running with blood, the world del Toro creates for his gods and monsters is breathtaking. The choices are fresh and odd, allowing for a rich image of creator and creation, the natural versus the magnificent.
Oscar Isaac is a marvel of angry arrogance made humble. As his creature, the long and limby Jacob Elordi offers a monster who’s more sensitive son than wounded manchild.
Mia Goth delivers the same uncanny grace that sets so many of her characters apart, and del Toro’s script allows Elizabeth an arc unlike any previous adaptation. You don’t wander into a Guillermo del Toro film expecting less anything than glorious excess—another reason why Frankenstein and he were meant for one another.
1. Sinners
On Prime, HBO, Hulu, and Disney+
Ryan Coogler reteams with longtime creative partner Michael B. Jordan to sing a song of a 1932 Mississippi juke joint. The Smoke Stack twins (Jordan) are back from Chicago, a truckload of ill-gotten liquor and a satchel full of cash along with them. They intend to open a club “for us, by us” and can hardly believe their eyes when three hillbillies come calling.
Jack O’Connell (an amazing actor in everything he’s done since Eden Lake) has a brogue and a banjo. He and his two friends would love to come on in, sing, dance, and spend some money, if only Smoke would invite them.
It’s scary. It’s sexy. The action slaps. It’s funny when it needs to be, sad just as often. It looks and sounds incredible. And there’s a cameo from Buddy F. Guy, in case you needed a little authenticity. When Ryan Coogler writes and directs a vampire movie, he gives you reason to believe there is yet new life for the old monster.
Our Christmas gift to you, an extra Fright Club episode! We talk with filmmaker Kurtis David Harder, whose newest feature, Influencers, hits Shudder this weekend. He chats with us about the new film, his Nightmares Film Festival award winning Influencer, making movies, inspirations, and Christmas films. Check it out!
If you saw Influencer three years ago, no doubt you noticed that little smile from CW (Cassandra Naud) in the final shot. If, like me, you were hoping that meant she’d find a way to stir up more social media mischief, it’s a merry Christmas for both of us.
CW has quieted down a bit since we left her on that island, settling down enough with girlfriend Diane (Lisa Delamar) to let her guard down and actually pose for photos. But an encounter with a travel influencer (Georgina Campbell) lures CW back to her old ways, and it isn’t long before she has more bloody tracks to cover.
Again, writer/director Kurtis David Harder has good instincts for knowing what questions we’re asking as this world wide web gets more tangled, and for keeping the beats relevant to the changing landscape of social media.
The introduction of toxic bro blogger Jacob (Jonathan Whitesell) feels right on time, as does the re-introduction of Madison (Emily Tennant), who now has even more scores to settle with old frenemy CW.
Naud gives another terrific performance, as CW remains a smart, slippery and ever intriguing mystery girl. Dancing in and around more gorgeously framed locales, CW makes it fun to try and guess what she’ll do next. What’s even more fun? The fact that we’re not prepared for just how batshit things get in act three.
Harder’s observational nature about social media never feels like finger-wagging, and the continually rising stakes of mystery, mayhem and fun land Influencers as another lethal blast of engagement.
Osgood Perkins is the gift that keeps on giving. In just 16 months he’s turned out three wildly different gems and a fourth is filming now. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves because we’d run the risk of under appreciating his latest, Keeper.
Tatiana Maslany (She-Hulk) is Liz, a New York City artist anxiously headed to her first ever cabin in the woods style excursion. She’s not really a country person, and she thinks maybe the fact that her soft-spoken doctor boyfriend Malcolm (Rossif Sutherland) gifted her a beige cardigan for their first big trip together might be a red flag. She’s afraid he’s married and she’s a side piece.
There’s something melancholy and broken and beautiful in the way these two actors play characters playing roles. Malcolm hangs Liz’s painting in his home and cooks and behaves romantically while looking as if he’s crushed under some sorrowful weight. Meanwhile Liz’s words and expressions never match, one cheerful while the other is tearful or vice versa. It’s an exquisite performance of two people pretending to be a happy couple when, indeed, perhaps their romance is a fraud.
This doleful charade nurtures an atmosphere of paranoia gorgeously amplified by Perkins’s hypnotically creepy aesthetic. The architecture of dark magic recalls his underseen Gretel & Hansel and show-don’t-tell exposition occasionally conjures I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House.
Perkins did not write Keeper, and there are times when his unsettling direction can’t quite overcome screenwriter Nick Lepard’s haphazard mythology. There’s a disquieting relationship analogy at work that does work, much thanks to Maslany’s gripping turn. Her commitment to this character’s experience elevates scenes that could otherwise have nearly felt unintentionally funny. But you never doubt Liz.
Keeper turns monster movie perhaps too abruptly and not as convincingly as it might have. For that and a couple of other reasons, the third act feels a bit cheap after such a trippy lead up. But it’s a gorgeous exercise in isolated horror and reason enough to remain excited for Perkins’s next movie.
Even at its most fun, 1992’s The Hand That Rocks the Cradle was a bit of a guilty pleasure. Hulu’s new update strips away the overdone pulp for a more focused, and more primally scary tale.
Caitlin (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) is an L.A. lawyer who diligently screens her children’s food for sugars and aims to get a new stop sign for her neighborhood. Working at a tenants rights group, Caitlin helps Polly (Maika Monroe) with a landlord problem, and when the two cross paths again at a local market, fate seems to have dealt a good hand.
Polly has experience as a nanny, and she comes with a glowing recommendation from her last employer. She looks like the perfect choice to help Caitlin and her husband Miguel (Raúl Castillo) with young Emma (Mileiah Vega) and baby Josie (Nora and Lola Contreras).
Caitlin chooses poorly.
Screenwriter Micah Bloomberg (Sanctuary) updates the original story with some important twists, and director Michelle Garza Cervera sets a pace that lets the gaslighting, secrets and lies simmer nicely before boiling over.
Cervera crafted an impressive maternal nightmare three years ago with her feature debut, Husera: The Bone Woman. Here, she trades the religious imagery for symbols of upwardly mobile success, while still toying with anyone eager to check boxes of good mother/bad mother.
Winstead and Monroe are both terrific, bringing their characters into a dance of identity with menacing dread. There is more to Caitlin than her liberal guilt, and as Polly twists the knife with increasing sociopathy, Cervera’s instincts for a modern horror thriller are again solid.
Is any remake truly “necessary?” Debatable. But even back in ’92, the original film seemed like one that wouldn’t age particularly well. The questionable decisions remain, and one or two story beats are foreshadowed too heavily, but by the time all secrets are revealed, this Cradle rocks with some newly relevant bloodletting.
David Moreau makes enough really fascinating horror movies that there’s always reason for optimism when a new one releases. The filmmaker often plays with the language of film to refocus attention and generate dread. Last year’s MadS used point of view filmmaking and the concept of a single, unbroken shot to remarkably tense results.
Other, Moreau’s latest feature, is another opportunity for narrative experimentation. Olga Kurylenko plays Alice, a veterinarian called back to Minnesota to deal with her estranged mother’s remains. Alice hasn’t been home in many, many years and the house, isolated in the middle of the woods and surrounded by surveillance cameras and barb wire fencing, is no more inviting than it was when she left.
Kurylenko has a lovely face, which is good because it’s the only one we see clearly in the entire film. There are other characters, but their faces are obscured, either by broken screens or odd point of view, or masks, which many of the characters wear. Moreau is making points about a surveillance state, the objectification of women, and identity with this move. It’s an interesting idea, or set of ideas, but he never manages to pull them together into a cohesive or rewarding theme.
Because you see no faces clearly, Moreau isn’t obligated to use dialogue from any of the actors, aside from Kurylenko. And he doesn’t. The result is the kind of dreamily absurd voiceover work Lucio Fulci was known for: adult women doing voicework of young boys and European actors badly attempting American accents. In the context of the delightfully nonsensical logic of a Fulci film, this can be acceptable, even entertaining. But Moreau is taking his film and its mystery seriously, so the painfully unrealistic Minnesota accents feel comical.
Not that American actors would have had much better luck with this script. There’s too little for Kurylenko to work with for two thirds of the film, leaving her to her own devices to compel interest, and she’s just not strong enough an actor to pull that off. When the film falls off its rails in Act 3, Kurylenko’s shortcomings and the silly voiceovers just seem par for the course.
Not every experiment works, and Moreau deserves credit for once again stretching. But I’d recommend watching or rewatching his 2006 masterwork Them instead of Other.
Take the frenetic desperation of The Blair Witch Project‘s final minutes, move it to a more urban battleground and layer it with plenty of first-person shooter sequences, and you’re in the ballpark of Bodycam, director Brandon Christensen’s shaky cam shakedown of two cops and one very bad choice.
Officer Bryce (Sean Rogerson) and officer Jackson (Jamie M. Callica) respond to a domestic dispute, and we follow along thanks to their bodycams. The house is dark and plenty creepy, and things escalate to the point of a fatal shooting. The possible fallout spurs Bryce to panic.
He has too much to lose for this situation to go public and convinces Jackson to help him cover up what happened. But when a techie colleague tries to scrub the cam footage, she notices some strange graffiti on the wall, and realizes it’s already too late to keep the killing a secret.
At least from certain, very scary people.
Uh oh. Bryce and Jackson are in for a bad time.
Christensen (Night of the Reaper, Z, Superhost, The Puppetman), co-writing again with his brother Ryan, doesn’t waste any time getting down to nasty business. And once the 75-minute film hits the midway point, the bloody fun is amped up a notch or three as the two cops come to grips with the promise of retribution for their actions.
“Why couldn’t you have done the right thing?”
In today’s climate, that question from one cop to another carries some serious weight. And though the implications are clear, Christensen is more committed to the repercussions.
Bodycam dishes them out in frenzied, crowd-pleasing glory.
Dallas Richard Hallam’s mesmerizing, beautifully shot, and quietly audacious feature Interaction lulls you, then hypnotizes you. But you have no idea what you’re in for.
House cleaner Rebecca (Suziey Block) hides little recording devices in all the homes she cleans. Never without her headphones, and right under the noses of clients with the means to pay for housekeeping, she listens to their most banal and most intimate moments.
But she listens all the time—in the car, in bed at night. The keepers are even labeled, for when she needs to relax, when she needs to laugh, when she needs a good cry. And for quite a while, this unapologetic invasion of privacy plays like a poetic reflection of modern social isolation.
The quietly beautiful image of loneliness and disconnect is a sleight of hand, though, and the film slowly – with zero exposition – turns more and more sinister.
Nearly the only dialog in the entire film comes from these recordings. When someone does speak, it feels like an invasion. This, too, suggests a director in absolute command of his medium. Though we may believe we have nothing in common with Rebecca, we come to connect with her. We worry when she seems too at home in someone else’s living space, fear that she should remove the headphones before she commits to certain acts, in case someone is around the corner, or returns home unexpectedly.
Hallam tightens tensions minute by minute, so quietly and efficiently you may not even recognize your own anxiety. He’s helped immeasurably by a masterpiece of understatement from Block, whose performance is unnervingly authentic and, for that reason, shocking when it needs to be.
Filmmaker Claire Denis has built an immaculate career making movies about the moments in the story other directors ignore or leave out. The same story is told, she just uses different beats within the same tale to tell it. Hallam, who co-wrote the script with A.P. Boland, approaches the film in much the same way.
At no point does his choice feel like a gimmick, which is success in itself. But when the film begins to veer toward true thriller, when it turns genuinely mean, it’s unsettling in the way a Denis or even a Michael Haneke film might be. Interaction is hard to forget.
