Finn Wolfhard and Billy Bryk are not the first to send up the summer camp slasher. They may not even be the first this year. But that fact doesn’t make Hell of a Summer any less delightful.
The co-directors and co-writers are also co-stars, playing two best friends returning to their beloved Camp Pinewood for the first time as counselors rather than campers. Bryk’s Bobby is a wannabe Romeo hoping to score. Wolfhard’s Chris is a little more enlightened.
“Single use plastics are the real killer.”
Among the charms the writers bring to the film is the ironically unironic Gen Z humor, which can’t help but set the film apart from similarly themed comedies. The pair also invest in character. Yes, the circle of counselors looks like every other set of doomed slasher victims: horny teens making bad decisions. And while no actor is asked to shade in a lot of various grays, each character has enough screen time that their jokes feel character driven and earned.
Abby Quinn shines as the grungier kid in the bunch, but it’s Fred Hechinger—who had one hell of a 2024, with roles in Thelma, The Nickel Boys, and Gladiator II—who steals this movie. The same sweet natured haplessness that fueled his turn as devoted grandson in Thelma lends power to the trope-skewering at the center of this film.
Hell of a Summer’s subversions are never heavy handed. They’re almost delicate, with quietly observed authenticity that echoes the film’s—and generation’s—underlying, if often comedic, empathy.
The plot itself could have used a few more solid surprises. Hell of a Summer does not set out to reinvent the wheel, and even commits to one of the genre’s most tiresome new stereotypes. (The social media influencer has replaced the rich, popular blonde as horror’s shorthand for victim most deserving a comeuppance.)
Still, it’s fun while it lasts. And Fred Hechinger is a treasure.
I wonder whether Ashland Falls is a far drive from Abaddon, New York. Looks like a pretty area.
Hell House LLC writer/director Stephen Cognetti launched a fun and mainly impressive horror franchise from the dusty soil of the mythical Abaddon, New York, reinvigorating the found footage genre and reminding those who’d forgotten that clowns are terrifying.
Cognetti’s latest, 825 Forest Road, is the filmmaker’s first feature outside that franchise. Though he leans on some of the style that made the Hell House films memorable, this movie is not found footage. In fact, it’s a pretty straightforward haunted house picture.
Chuck (Joe Falcone) and Maria (Elizabeth Vermilyea) buy a roomy old home in Ashland Falls, to be near the little college where Chuck’s younger sister Isabelle (Kathryn Miller) will attend. Couldn’t Isabelle just move into the dorms like every other college freshman?
Why do that when they could all uproot themselves and buy a haunted house?
The backstory—family tragedy, estranged siblings trying to rebuild something—is the first of the film’s many weaknesses. The fact that the incoming freshman looks like she’s older than her guardians doesn’t help set the mood, either.
But it’s not just Chuck’s new house that’s haunted. It’s the whole damn town. That can be a ripe premise, too. Just not today.
825Forest Road delivers a little bit of the style Cognetti’s become known for, and it’s refreshing to watch a modern horror film and know that if you don’t pay attention, you may miss an inspired bit of haunting. But in this case, that’s not enough to merit your time.
Though Vermilyea convinces, the balance of the cast feels more like they’re doing a read through than performing. Chemistry among the actors is nonexistent, which exacerbates the problem with the unfelt backstory.
Every reason to do something is a contrived excuse rather than natural choice, and every reason not to do something is even less earned. The movie plays like a rehearsal that could have turned into something fun with a couple more rounds of script revisions.
Exciting news! There’s a new scary movie starring Danielle Deadwyler—you know, who should have been Oscar nominated in 2024 for The Piano Lesson and in 2022 for Till? Well, the Academy may not appreciate her talent, but horror does. Deadwyler leads director Jaume Collet-Serra’s new Blumhouse PG-13 scarefest, The Woman in the Yard.
Deadwyler plays Ramona. Newly widowed and still badly battered from the wreck that took her husband, Ramona wakes up one morning to a power outage, sick dog, irritated children, and a creepy woman in her front yard. Give her strength.
Peyton Jackson impresses as the adolescent son, pushing boundaries partly because of his age, partly because of necessity. The authenticity of his interplay with Deadwyler rattles you, each act of rebellion ratcheting tension inside the farmhouse everyone is afraid to leave and not entirely sure why.
Okwui Okpokwasili cuts an impressive figure as the Woman—elegant, hypnotic, and terrifying. The film’s entire cast consists of five people, but you never tire of them and each pulls their weight.
The cast’s commitment, chemistry, and the anxiety they build help the film feel more robust than it really is. An obvious metaphor finely cloaked in veils, shadows, and leg braces, The Woman in the Yard sometimes feels a little slight.
Sam Stefanak’s script skirts awfully close to being an American remake of an Australian classic. So close that I won’t mention the title to avoid spoilers. But Collet-Serra has fun with shadows, and his off-kilter camera work draws attention to how tightly the story comes together.
And, of course, Deadwyler’s excellent. She mines the character for the depths necessary to pull off the horror. You feel for Ramona, but you may not like her, and you probably don’t trust her. It’s a fascinating performance and fearless in many ways.
The film around her is no masterpiece, but it is a solid piece of genre filmmaking enlivened by bright performances and dark, nasty shadows.
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Director Fleur Fortune’s feature debut delivers an effective gut punch of a sleight of hand. What feels for quite a while like a near-spoof on our collective unpreparedness for parenting morphs slowly into something entirely else. Something more sinister, more human, and alarmingly likely.
In a post-dystopian future where scientists have created an ageless but sterile dome world, it’s necessary to apply and be assessed for parenthood. Because, since no one dies anymore, and it was the strain on resources that caused the dystopia in the first place, children are not grown outside the uterus for just anybody.
But Mia (Elizabeth Olsen) and Aaryan (Himesh Patel) are ready, they’re sure of it. They just have to convince their assessor, Virginia (Alicia Vikander).
Fortune’s career up to now has involved a lot of music videos and perfume advertisements, work that’s sharpened her instincts for image. The shot making in The Assessment is often stunning, but it also informs the story. There are no voiceovers or news flashes to catch you up on the dystopia, who caused what, why we are where we are. But you don’t lose track of it because of how organically Fortune fits this story in this environment with these characters.
Everything serves a purpose—each costume, dinner guest, glance and line of dialog—but none of it feels forced or false. The delicate balance created in the early going, a balance the assessor destroys with manipulated childlike chaos, is thanks to meticulous direction and performances.
The three leads shine, none of them blameless and yet all forgivable. Because the chaos wrought in the film becomes more and more dire as the honest-to-god strain of this kind of world slowly, authentically reveals itself.
The Assessment’s resolution unfortunately feels less sincere, landing far more obviously than the preceding scenes. There’s a predetermined tidiness that flies in the face of the disarming chaos that came before.
It’s a small criticism of an insightful, frightening look at where our future may take us.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. It’s a popular sentence in the Old Testament, one used to excuse a lot of needless suffering, mainly women’s. It’s not the only spot in the Bible that condemns sorcery, divination and what not. Jesus never mentioned it, though. (He never said anything about women being submissive to their husbands, either.)
Islam is no more forgiving, and Nour (Golshifteh Farahani, Paterson) is about to run afoul of keepers of both faiths and keepers of none in Hood Witch.
Co-writer/director Saïd Belktibia examines the muddy difference between a religion’s acceptable magic and harmful witchcraft. However similar the practice, the differentiator seems to be based primarily on whether a woman benefits.
Nour makes a living smuggling exotic animals into Paris, mainly to be used in rituals of healing. Newly divorced and struggling financially to raise her son Amine (Amine Zariouhi), Nour is in the development stages of a new app that will link users to a variety of different healers.
Nour knows it’s all smoke and mirrors. Her impressionable son is not so sure. Her abusive ex (Jérémy Ferrari, sinister) is willing to believe, as long as it’s a man of religion wielding the mirror and blowing the smoke, and as long as it’s his ex-wife who suffers.
Though Hood Witch is far more a drama/thriller than an outright horror film, it does follow a longstanding genre tradition of using witchcraft to point out religions’ hypocrisy and misogyny. But the filmmaker goes further, complicating characters by implicating capitalism as being equally dangerous—particularly to the desperate and easily manipulated—as religion.
Farahani delivers a fierce, passionate performance full of rage, compassion and vulnerability. Nour is sharp and not without a conscience, but when tragedy strikes it’s because of her meddling. The consequences, though, are deeply unsettling.
Belktibia’s pacing and framing match Nour’s panic, and it’s impossible not to panic along with her. Hood Witch is a tough watch, as misogyny and apathy play out in the film the same way they play out every miserable day, infecting each generation like a poison. The rage that fuels Nour and the film is what feels most relatable.
“People think I’m possessed by the devil. I think I’m just angry.”
There are unexplored ideas and mixed messages that keep Hood Witch from becoming a great film, but it’s an angry, observant thriller and solid reflection of the time.
What Barry Levinson, working from a script by Goodfellas and Casino writer Nicholas Pileggi, has done is made a historical recap of a true American gangster tale enlivened by the gimmick of two De Niros. Because, obviously, one sure way to draw attention to your gangster picture is to cast Robert De Niro. Casting him twice? Ba da bing!
De Niro plays the aging version of two childhood buddies, Vito Genovese and Frank Costello. Vito’s a loose canon psychopath. Frank’s a smooth operator, a diplomat. And though it was really Vito who was in charge of the five boroughs, it was Frank who brought things together in peace and prosperity while his friend was in exile waiting out a double murder rap.
But now Vito’s back and he wants all he believes he has coming to him, and he lacks the patience to wait on Frank’s charity.
De Niro’s Frank also narrates the story from a place of retired peace, which keeps him on the screen even more (not a bad choice) but leeches any real tension from the adventure. But a shoot-em-up thriller is not what Levinson’s after. His goal is to showcase the machinations and counter moves of two very different criminal minds.
De Niro’s Frank Costello performance is understated, almost affable and he shares a lived-in chemistry with onscreen partner Debra Messing as wife, Bobbie. His Vito is a fun riff on Joe Pesci—less explosive, but stewing with the same idiosyncrasies, insecurities and wise cracks.
The surrounding ensemble (including two actors doing Columbus, Ohio proud—Todd Covert and Brian Spangler) impresses, carving out memorable characters, often with limited and highly populated screen time.
It’s a capably made, solid movie but there’s not much to distinguish it from a lot of other gangster pictures except that you get two times the star power from the actor who continues to prove he’s America’s greatest onscreen gangster.
New to Shudder this week is Matthew John Lawrence’s (Peckerhead) charming dismantling of the slasher genre and insightful look at the impact of adolescence on the generations.
Bloody Axe Wound stars a spunky Sari Arambulo as Abbie Bladecut. Her family video store lives and dies on the movies they package and rent, slashers starring her dad, the infamous serial killer Roger Bladecut (Billy Burke under heavy prosthetics), slashing his way through their hometown’s high school students and campers alike.
But ol’ Roger’s getting old. Well, technically he died as a boy at that campground, but for decades he’s been a grown man haunting Lover’s Lane and other tropey spots, coming back from the dead whenever the adventure takes that turn. But lately, well, he doesn’t seem to be healing as quickly. He’s lost a step or two.
Perfect! Because Abbie’s ready to step in. Dad reluctantly, tentatively agrees, sending her to the town high school to make minced meat of the chosen clique. But Abbie soon realizes that these kids are not so bad.
The film delivers some honest moments, however comedically staged, about watching your child outgrow you, lose their need for you, see what used to be honored tradition as old fashioned nonsense in need of change. Bloody Axe Wound is sharpest when Lawrence and his game ensemble use the coming-of-age storyline to make points about horror movies, and slashers in particular.
Burke and Arambulo share a delightfully begrudging chemistry, and their scenes at home and at the video store are populated with genre-loving easter eggs that suit the meta undertaking.
Likewise, the cast of high school misfits—Molly Brown, Margot Anderson-Song, Taylor Watson Seupel and Eddie Leavy—create a warm friend group you can see wanting to hang out with.
The kills (and near kills) are often clever and the characterizations are funny. The film’s mythology gets mushy and the story comes to a close with more of a nod to horror tropes than an acknowledgment of the internal conflicts and genuine emotion the story built, but it’s still fun.
How many great horror films are set in Appalachia? So many that we had to leave these off the top 5 list: Wrong Turn, Evil Dead, Jugface, The Mothman Prophesies, The Descent, even Silence of the Lambs!
Because what were we looking for? Something that really dug into the landscape, the people of the area. Films that couldn’t have been set anywhere else. It was a tough cull, but we think we landed on the best.
5. Tucker and Dale v Evil (2010) (West Virginia)
Horror cinema’s most common and terrifying villain may not be the vampire or even the zombie, but the hillbilly. The generous, giddy Tucker and Dale vs. Evil lampoons that dread with good natured humor and a couple of rubes you can root for.
In the tradition of Shaun of the Dead, T&DVE lovingly sends up a familiar subgenre with insightful, self-referential humor, upending expectations by taking the point of view of the presumably villainous hicks. And it happens to be hilarious.
Two backwoods buddies (an endearing Tyler Labine and Alan Tudyk) head to their mountain cabin for a weekend of fishing. En route they meet some college kids on their own camping adventure. A comedy of errors, misunderstandings and subsequent, escalating violence follows as the kids misinterpret every move Tucker and Dale make.
T&DVE offers enough spirit and charm to overcome any weakness. Inspired performances and sharp writing make it certainly the most fun participant in the You Got a Purty Mouth class of film.
2. The Blair Witch Project (1999) (Maryland)
A master class in minimalism, Blair Witch scared the hell out of a lot of people back in the day. This is the kind of forest adventure that I assume happens all the time: you go in, but no matter how you try to get out – follow a stream, use a map, follow the stars – you just keep crossing the same goddamn log.
One of several truly genius ideas behind Blair Witch is that filmmakers Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez made the audience believe that the film they were watching was nothing more than the unearthed footage left behind by three disappeared young people. Between that and the wise use of online marketing (then in its infancy) buoyed this minimalistic, naturalistic home movie about three bickering buddies who venture into the Maryland woods to document the urban legend of The Blair Witch. Twig dolls, late night noises, jumpy cameras, unknown actors and not much else blended into an honestly frightening flick that played upon primal fears.
3. Devil to Pay (2019) (Georgia)
The tale is anchored with a quietly ferocious turn by Danielle Deadwyler (who also produces) as Lemon, a hardscrabble farmer trying to keep things up and wondering where her husband has been these past days.
One of the most tightly written thrillers in recent memory, The Devil to Pay peoples those hills with true characters, not a forgettable villain or cliched rube among them. The sense of danger is palpable and Deadwyler’s commitment to communicating Lemon’s low-key tenacity is a thing of beauty.
Hell, the whole film is beautiful, Sherman Johnson’s camera catching not just the forbidding nature of Appalachia, but also its lush glory.
2. The Night fo the Hunter (1955)(West Virginia)
Robert F. Mitchum. This may be the coolest guy there ever was, with an air of nonchalance about him that made him magnetic onscreen. His world-wizened baritone and moseying way gave him the appearance of a man who knew everything, could do anything, but couldn’t care less. And perhaps his greatest role in definitely his best film is as serial killer/preacher Harry Powell in the classic Night of the Hunter.
The iconic film noir sees Mitchum as a con man who cashed in on lonely widows’ fortunes before knocking them off. He’s set his sights on Willa Harper (Shelley Winters), whose bank robber husband had been a cell mate before his execution.
What unravels is a gorgeously filmed, tremendously tense story of Depression-era Appalachian terror as Powell seduces the widow and her entire town, but not her stubborn son. Many of the performances have that stilted, pre-Method tinge to them, but both Winters and Mitchum bring something more authentic and unseemly to their roles. The conflict in styles actually enhances an off-kilter feel director Charles Laughton emphasizes with over-the-top shadows and staging. It gives the whole film a nightmarish quality that, along with Mitchum’s unforgettable performance, makes Night of the Hunter among the best films of its era.
1. Deliverance (1972) (Georgia)
Nine notes on a banjo have never sounded so creepy.
Deliverance follows four buddies staving off mid-life crises with a canoeing adventure in southern Georgia, where a man’s not afraid to admire another man’s mouth.
They stop off, as travelers must, at a service station. No one warns them, no one delivers ominous news, but come on, no one had to. One look at the locals spending their days at that gas station should have been enough to convince them to turn back.
James Dickey streamlined his own novel to its atmospheric best, and director John Boorman plays on urbanite fears like few have done since. Dickey and Boorman mean to tell you that progress has created a soft bellied breed of man unable to survive without the comforts of a modern age.
