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SINNERS is something truly special, an instant classic and one of the most impressive and epic vampire films ever made. This is true prestige horror that offers a full meal so do yourself a favor and see it in the theater where its glorious cinematography can shine and its outstanding score can be heard in its purest form. I feel like I really lucked out by somehow never witnessing a commercial or trailer for Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan’s latest collaboration and so every moment that unfolded seemed to offer a fresh revelation. I read zero reviews but was aware that word was positive though even with that knowledge I was not prepared for how moving, transportive and provocative the film would be. The greatest surprise perhaps is what a great testament it is to the power of music and I’ll just say there’s a scene that connects the past, present and future so beautifully that I’m still getting chills right now thinking about it. Having said that, the less you know the better so I won’t say much more but if you love movies this is a must see. I was blown away by multiple performances, the assured direction and just how deeply it cuts. I’ve seen some compare it to FROM DUSK TILL DAWN (’96) and that’s true in some surface and structural ways but I think its stronger, more frightening elements reminded me more of INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (’78) and THE THING (’82) in that much of the horror and tension comes from the frightening realization that one can never trust others completely; not even those closest to us. That’s just one take away from literal infinite layers and insights this stunning work offers but it’s one I felt was particularly relatable in our current world.

HELL OF A SUMMER is a fun and frothy ode to camp(y) slasher flicks with a winning cast that may be a bit too cautious for its own good. It’s been-there, done-that magpie Frankenstein approach is both its selling point and its curse as some of its greatest attributes are borrowed and it sometimes fails to make a deep enough cut of its own. The plot is mostly color by numbers with a group of young folks preparing a camp for opening day getting picked off one by one by a masked serial killer. THREE’S COMPANY level misunderstandings provid laughs and road bumps along the way. It’s an agreeable enough good time that would probably benefit from multiple views but I can’t help wishing it leaned into FRIDAY THE 13th (’80) / THE BURNING (’81) gore as much as it does the HAPPY CAMPERS, WET HOT AMERICAN SUMMER (both 2001) humor (that’s me though- I’m always wishing for more bloodshed and HOAS’ HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME inspired poster may have gotten my hopes up too high). Above all, its greatest asset is jolly lead Fred Hechinger (He of Netflix’s FEAR STREET and the phenomenal THELMA (2024) ) who makes the whole excursion worthwhile with his buoyantly bonkers and constantly entertaining performance. He pretty much carries the whole canoe on his back uphill and in my handbook, deserves all the merit badges.

WEREWOLVES is insane and preposterous and god help me, a delightful good time. Folks say you should never use the term “guilty pleasure” because you shouldn’t feel guilty for liking something but phrases exist for a reason and yes, I do feel guilty for enjoying this nonsensical, wacked-out werewolf rampage movie and that guilt is part of the fun and should not be policed! This movie is almost the exact opposite in intention as Leigh Whannell’s recent maudlin joykiller WOLF MAN and its all the better for it. Plus, guess what it delivers in up-the-wazoo spades? Werewolves. Giant, hairy, sharp toothed dog-faced, black nosed, pointy eared werewolves (who sometimes even wear adorable outfits). Color me smitten and doing a silent prayer thank you bow as we speak. Listen to this: the world we’re presented here is still recovering from a super moon that took place a year ago which turned roughly half the population into werewolves. Obviously this occurrence was not ideal so preparations are made to curb the lycanthropic enthusiasm during the up and coming super moon. Mistakes are made, blunders abound and poor soldier/scientist Wesley Marshall (Frank Grillo giving J. Statham and even K. Russell a run for their money) must save the world (and his widowed sister in law and niece) from roving bands of giant howling beasts that seemed to have been raised on radioactive Alpo and PURGE sequels. It’s so goofy but it’s also exactly what would make me scream into my Snoopy sleeping bag as a monster loving kid. Again, not proud, but there in lies the all the fuzzy fun.

UNTIL DAWN operates more like a video game than the actual video game it’s based on. Directed by David F. Sandberg (LIGHTS OUT (2016), ANNABELLE: CREATION (2017), UNTIL DAWN operates a bit like 2014’s EDGE OF TOMORROW (aka LIVE, DIE, REPEAT) with characters trapped in a loop experiencing their own demises multiple times until they can hopefully suss out an escape. An excessively attractive group of young folks hit the road in search of a missing sibling (cue standard aerial shot of car winding through the woods) only to find themselves trapped facing a litany of supernatural horror staples. It’s a bit CABIN IN THE WOODS (2011) meets TOURIST TRAP (’79)/ HOUSE OF WAX (2005) and although it won’t win any awards for originality it does steadily provide the comfort horror gruel we all deserve. Much like the late nineties/early aughts output of Dark Castle Entertainment (HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL (’99), THIRTEEN GHOSTS (2001), et al.) it’s a little too slick and glossy for its own good but admirably maintains a mean streak when it comes to bloodshed and creature design. Sandberg knows his way around constructing false diversion scares so what could have been as limp as something like last years’ pedestrian TAROT actually provides a few genuine jolts. Sadly, it’s not always possible to overcome the lack of high stakes baked into the script but the cast is likable enough (I mean c’mon Peter Stormare as the creepy antagonist is worth the price of admission alone) and the flick is generous enough with the creative kills that its hard not to have a good time. Poor UNTIL DAWN probably would have benefited by being released much later in the dog days of summer (and further away from the shadow of mammoth SINNERS) but I’m betting it’ll find the appreciative comfort horror audience it deserves in due time. It’s perfect slumber party fare.

There’s an area in our home referred to as “The Black Hole” as things tend to disappear there never to be seen again. The notion that something uncanny exists in the space is backed up by the fact that our cats often stare into it as if seeing something we don’t. The corner consistently aggravates due to it being adjacent to the stereo which means CD’s and their covers are often separated. About seven years ago I put an ALICE IN WONDERLAND Cheshire Cat weeble-wobble figurine on top of a speaker and it too went missing. I searched for hours and actually began to think a houseguest had stolen it. One day years later it seemed to reappear but it turned out that my husband had simply purchased a new one off of eBay (in hopes surely that he would never have to hear about the missing object again). Appeased, I moved on. Then, this past holiday season I went to fetch the Christmas music mix CD we’ve played every year for the last decade only to find that it too had vanished. As I searched the area once again saying aloud “It’s gone forever, nothing ever comes back from this space” and while thinking of the Cheshire cat specifically, I looked exactly where I had looked many times before only to see him! He was facing straight forward, plain as day, smiling directly at me! So now there were TWO identical Cheshire cat toys, great! I placed them next to each other and we went to an Xmas party, told the tale to a couple friends and came home later to find that… one had disappeared again! Maybe a cat knocked it over? There’s several logical explanations but it was gone again for sure. I’ve again searched everywhere. All this to say, I know exactly what it’s like to give an inanimate object the side eye and worry that it may not be exactly what it seems. Something tells me I will come across that grimacing orange face again.

Anyhoo, Osgood Perkins’ THE MONKEY is mostly your basic cursed object tale based oh so very loosely on a short story by Stephen King. It starts out fairly faithful but Perkins, apparently high off the lingering lunatic fumes of LONGLEGS, drives the whole kit and caboodle (I just learned the phrase is not “kitten” Caboodle”) into wacky town. Inherited generational trauma is at it again as Petey Shelburn Sr. (Adam Scott giving Richard Benjamin) finds he’s in possession of a murderous monkey toy who causes death and destruction whenever he plays his drum (much like the mannequin in ODDITY, its hard to believe anyone could look at it and not immediately presume it was evil incarnate). The damned toy ends up in the paws of his neglected twin boys (both played impressively by Christian Convovery), Hal (a nerd) and Bill (a bully) who try to dispose of the thing only to find it has returned years later to wreak havoc on them as adults (Theo James takes over the part in later years playing the duo with much winking zest). Childhood resentments between the two resurface as the monkey keeps drumming and the world turns into chaos around them. This is a very broad, throw everything at the wall black comedy that has no interest in the slithery unease that Perkins has built his reputation on. It probably forgoes some of its potential fright factor in favor of gross out gags but that will probably work in its favor in the future for those looking for a casual cult-ready horror party movie to watch.

For the most part, so much fun is clearly being had that you can’t help chuckling along with the gruesome gallows humor but some of it is so punch drunk giddy that it had me wishing it would settle down, sit up straight and take things more seriously. I love the whole time crash aesthetic of the film (it looks like it takes place in every decade besides the ones it actually does take place in), I dig its commitment to the sparkle motion of slapstick gore and elaborate FINAL DESTINATION-style calamity demises (the cherry on top fate of a busload of cheerleaders is chef’s kiss) and the performances are fun, eighties-style broad stroke joys to behold (Theo James’ take on adult Bill is almost channeling Billy Zane in DEMON KNIGHT ('95), Elijah Woods is a hoot, Sarah Levy and Tatiana Mislay have a campy blast and Perkins provides one of the most hilarious director cameos ever committed to film). But again, it does get to be a bit silly at times. A scene involving a hornets nest and now seemingly chronic movie disruptor Rohan Campbell (HALLOWEEN ENDS’ notorious Corey Cunningham) is so over the top it would be more fitting for a Roadrunner cartoon. It’s all still highly entertaining for sure, but I was sort of reminded of the “Angel in the Morning” moment in IT: CHAPTER 2 when ya kinda wish the goofiness was taken down a notch. That said, as much as I wish THE MONKEY stung the psyche as enthusiastically as the funny bone and maintained a bit more of the dread of the original story, there’s no denying the infectiousness of Perkins’ twisted enthusiasm. His genuine love of the genre is clear throughout and it’s a gift to witness him take his moody gloves off and play pander-free with this sometimes wildly macabre, sometimes utterly ridiculous wind-up toy.

I’d like to be able to tell you that TERRIFIER 3 is not quite my cup of tea but then I went and slurped that putrid cup of tea down and thoroughly enjoyed it so I can’t. I respected the first two gore-happy TERRIFIER flicks that featured Art the clown (portrayed by David Howard Thornton whose hell-mime performance is beyond reproach) as decent enough edgy diversions (so too writer/director Damien Leone’s anthology debut ALL HOLLOWS EVE (2013) in which Art is portrayed by Mike Giannelli) but this new, more potent outing gave me something that I won’t forget too soon. Part of the reason it clobbered me so is because it’s mostly set on Christmas (I’m an Xmas horror fanatic) but the main weight of its body slam on me was due to the fact that I saw it in a packed theater and the audience’s excited, nearly giddy trepidation was palpable. Well, it turned out Leone’s sicko manifesto made me feel unsafe and challenged for its entire runtime which brought me fondly back to my earliest days of watching forbidden horror on VHS and sneaking into theaters as a kid to behold repulsions I wasn’t sure I could endure. BTW, I was kinda mortified (though not too surprised) that a couple brought their children with them to this unrated yuletide bloodbath. The oldest child couldn’t have been more than ten! I thought I was surely privy to a ground zero kindertrauma event and that the kids would drop like flies fleeing to the nearest exit (I at that age surely would have, I barely made it through JAWS) but when this cinematic onslaught of entrails completed, the entire family (and their last name wasn’t ADAMS) stood up and clapped while laughing maniacally. It was both a relief and more than a little bit disturbing.

If TERRIFIER 3 had only physical violence to offer I probably wouldn’t have been that effected (this was illustrated to me by the fact that I was more distraught about a rat being injured than any human (you know how I roll)). Beyond the wince inducing physical mayhem, Leone conjures an astonishing thick brew of truly malevolent deranged delirium (and it’s all deliciously dunked in clashing grainy and sparkling hues reminiscent of CHRISTMAS EVIL (’80) and SILENT NIGHT DEADLY NIGHT (’84)). I was honestly more taken aback and unnerved on a bad mojo level by Art’s corpse-y female cohort’s lipless grimace and the absolutely gruesome dilapidated home the rotting duo hibernate in than almost anything else. A tone is set early on (strangely enough by Art’s squirming about on its on accord, decapitated head) that exactly zero rules apply and the game board could be mercilessly knocked off the table and stomped on (like a poor rat) at any time. It really feels like a no holds barred, punk as hell, assault on normalcy in general that is bizarrely equally as liberating as it is psychologically assaulting (it’s probably for the best that poor misguided (but well-meaning) Siskel and Ebert did not live to see this day but it’s fun to imagine their jaws dropping through the cloud floor of heaven anyway). Will I ever watch this demented chaos grenade again? At first I thought definitely not, but then I remembered those seedy, unflinching mad dog dives into depravity from my youth (looking mostly at you MANIAC (’80), NIGHTMARE (’81) (which this film especially mirrors in its mad eeriness) and PIECES (’82)) that over the years morphed into adorable naughty puppies in my mind and then I wasn't so sure (who am I kidding? I’ll probably watch it every Christmas but sadly alone because there’s no way Aunt John could ever withstand it; dude tapped out of TURISTAS ('06)). I’m not saying this is the finest of film-making (Even at two hours, it still cheats a shortcut to its climax) but its pure audacity, refreshing transgressive nature and clear love of its intended audience shine brightly. One thing is for sure, like it or not, Art the clown is here to stay. Hey, every generation deserves its own horror icons and if earlier generations find them appalling, amoral or in just plain bad taste, well, that’s all the better!