I mention Twister because much of Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No!, rather confusingly, takes place on the Universal Studios lot. Maybe everyone fancied a holiday to Florida, or perhaps the filmmakers just wanted to tie in as much brand recognition as they possibly could, but suffice to say two key sequences take place on popular rides. And one of those involves Jedward.

That should give you some indication of what we’re dealing with here. The premise this time around sees hero Fin (a still admirably committed Ian Ziering) stuck in Washington, DC while his wife Tara Reid (does her character even have a name?) is in Florida with their daughter (Ryan Newman).

Before you can say “ridiculously terrible CGI” winds are swirling and sharks are dropping down on unsuspecting civilians, resulting in an untold amount of bloodshed. Can Fin make it to Florida to save his family before the storm inevitably moves down there because of something to do with weather systems that’s never quite explained?

Let’s face it; one doesn’t sit down to a Sharknado movie hoping for a decent script, a believable premise or even passable VFX. Your reasons for watching a Sharknado movie will depend on your predilection for so-bad-it’s-good-but-still-pretty-bad nonsense. And, if these films have never appealed to you before, it’s unlikely 3 is going to change your mind.

But, if you have a soft spot for the flying, bloodthirsty, never-convincing critters then this will be right up your shark-strewn alley. These movies don’t get better with each instalment; they just get bigger and bolder. The stakes aren’t higher this time around, no matter how many people yell or die. It’s the same old thing: Fin has to save the day because he’s the only one who can.

Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No! is presumably so-called because the thing is loaded with guest stars (Chris Jericho! Penn and Teller! Jerry Springer!), loaded with references (a reporter named Mr. Benchley, a terrific sight gag with the famous shark prop in Universal), loaded with product placement (from NASCAR to NASA) and, yes, loaded with sharks. There’s a weird, duelling (as opposed to dual) narrative vying for our attention, with Fin battling sharks en route to his family, while they simultaneously enjoy a Travelogue of sorts.

The ubiquitous toothy bastards look even faker this time around, if that’s actually possible, but they’re at least more varied than previous escapades. Cookie cutters make an appearance alongside the usual hammerheads and nurses (no basking sharks, though, sadly). And, if you’re wondering how they survive up there in the tornadoes, just wait until you see how well they do in space.

None of it makes a lick of sense, because it doesn’t need to. This is Sharknado, the dumber the better! And regardless of whether or not the sharks, or performances, convince, at least the bloody thing is funny – and, more to the point, it knows exactly what it is. The Hoff has an actual part, there is more than one slo-mo sequence and the best special effects are in the title sequence.

Much like the original Sharknado, 3 has one, great piece of practical effects work that must be seen to be believed. It almost makes me wish the team were brave, or smart, enough to include more nuts-and-bolts sharks in these movies. But, again it is what it is, no movie subtitled Oh Hell No! could be accused of giving too much though to anything.

There’s a manic energy to this third instalment that makes it kind of impossible to resist. The carnage kicks off approximately twenty five seconds in, and it doesn’t let up (aside from when people are selling themselves, or something/where to us). Sharknado 3 isn’t so much a movie as a series of increasingly insane images – a shark impaled on an American flag – and dialogue – a character immediately exhales “God bless America”.

You have to admire the gumption of series director Anthony C. Ferrante, and writer Thunder Levin. They know they’ve hit the jackpot, to a certain extent, and they’re going to milk this, er, shark for all its worth (can sharks be milked? Surely the creators of Sharknado must know the answer). Lately these kind of bad-on-purpose features have been quite cynical, so it’s comforting to know we can still count on Sharknado to bring the fun.

You probably know how you feel about Sharknado at this point. If not, the series is worth a look for the sheer magnitude and scope of the madness. Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No! is bigger, crazier and dumber than the second instalment, but not quite as imaginative as the first, which is still arguably the best one because the idea was new.

This is worth a look if you’re that way inclined. Otherwise, you best stay off SyFy lest you stumble across something even weirder, like Sharktopus Vs. Whalewolf.

Rating: 7 out of 10 stars

Horror fans know better than to write off found footage. Without it, we wouldn’t have some of the coolest and most innovative movies of the past fifteen years. Filmmakers wouldn’t be consistently pushing boundaries, or creating new ways of capturing movement (GoPros attached to helmets, in V/H/S 2, for example) that force us into the driver’s seat and make the experience of watching a horror movie more personal. In the case of The Gallows, they’ve gone back to the basics of found footage and the result is far creepier than anything with the word “paranormal” or “exorcism” in the title.

The setup is simple; twenty years after a student was accidentally hanged during a school production of the titular play, some dope thinks it’s a good idea to stage the bloody thing again, with a whole new cast of victims, and has roped in (excuse the pun) the jock to play the lead. This angers his obnoxious best mate (also a jock, obviously) who, armed with a handheld camera, sets out to stop the play from happening. After convincing his buddy a bit too easily, they break into the school after hours to destroy the set and, before too long, find themselves in grave danger.

The Gallows is less than 90 minutes long, a bravely snappy running time that demands it get things moving quickly. At first, it plods along, with obnoxious Ryan (Ryan Shoos – all actors use their real first names) narrating the story for what feels like forever. However, the flick is clever enough to spend about twenty minutes setting everything up before unleashing a full hour of white-knuckle terror. Once things start to get spooky, there’s no respite and regardless of whether you think the premise is contrived (it is) there’s no escaping the tension it elicits.

This is old-school horror for a modern audience. The setting is perfectly established in the opening moments, the high school feeling uncomfortably real, and when the lights go down those familiar hallways suddenly feel labyrinthine. First-time writer-directors Travis Cluff and Chris Lofing understand that, when it comes to horror – particularly found footage – less is more. What’s seldom shown is often more terrifying than what is fully seen; heavy footsteps overhead, inanimate objects moving by themselves and ghostly shadows, when done correctly, can provoke much more terror than loads of violence.

When it comes to the rough stuff, The Gallows is conservative. Nasty without being gory, its scariest moments are also the quietest – and thankfully, nobody feels the need to fill the silence by explaining what’s going on to us. One particular sequence, bathed in eerie red light, was actually used to market the film which, given it’s one of the most effective, seems like utter madness. Thankfully, there’s plenty more to enjoy here and, unlike the spoiler-heavy Sinister trailer, The Gallows doesn’t completely give away its ace card.

TV spots for the movie attempted to set up the villain, Charlie, as the next Jason or Freddy. Although he looks scary in his executioner’s costume and his noose is an inventive weapon, we don’t see enough of him to really grasp his franchise potential. However, it is through these glimpses of Charlie that the character is established. And, aside from an ill-judged screamer ending, which is similar in tone to the recent Unfriended, he’s much more frightening hiding in the shadows than right up in our faces.

This is becoming a trend with modern horror movies, and it’s really disheartening. Much like Unfriended, The Gallows is loaded with tension and frights but it ends on a bum note because, one assumes, the powers-that-be didn’t think it would please the multiplex crowd to leave any questions unanswered. As a result, the point is hammered home to a laughable extent that, sadly, means the overall experience isn’t quite as effective as it should be.

It’s a real shame because, otherwise, this is a solid, inventive and very memorable little chiller that spells good things for the duo behind it. Aside from the necessary plot contrivances, The Gallows utilises a great setting, stellar performances from a small cast of young, hungry actors, and a terrifically un-showy villain for maximum scare potential. Nodding to both Blair Witch and Paranormal Activity, it’s clear the filmmakers know they have something special on their hands, and their confidence in the material is key. See this with a late-night crowd and try not to watch it through your fingers.

Rating: 8 out of 10 stars

In the same vein as the decent Warm Bodies and last year’s Life After Beth, Burying The Ex concerns a regular guy named Max (Anton Yelchin, taking centre-stage following supporting roles in the likes of Only Lovers Left Alive) whose ex-girlfriend, Evelyn (The Twilight Saga’s Ashley Greene), returns from the dead. Unlike these similarly-themed movies, however, Max isn’t enamoured with zombies and is actually on the cusp of starting something new when his lady returns. Further to this, Evelyn is even more of a crazy harpy in the afterlife than when she was alive.

It’s been nearly ten years since Shaun Of The Dead created the zom-rom-com sub-subgenre and Edgar Wright’s near-perfect flick is still untouchable. Boasting a well-judged mixture of self-referential humour, gruesome gore and heart, with a top-notch cast headed by the terrific Simon Pegg, Wright struck gold with Shaun and nobody has come close to topping him yet. Not even, it would seem, Joe Dante.

Burying The Ex is a strange film, because, on paper, it should work really well. Dante obviously knows his shit, so when Max is watching House On Haunted Hill in work, or when he and his date go to see a classic zombie movie in a cemetery, we know it’s not for cool points. And, as horror nerd characters go, Max is well-drawn – especially when he freaks out over his imported posters being folded. Likewise, although it seems like strange casting, the pneumatic Alexandra Daddario (of Texas Chainsaw 3D), is a good fit as his new paramour. With minimal make-up and relaxed styling, the strikingly gorgeous actress is borderline attainable and her horror fanatic Olivia is adorable.

Greene’s Evelyn, on the other hand, is a shrill, one-note lunatic who throws tantrums to get her way and whose only saving grace is that she’s (seemingly) really good in bed. Unlike Olivia, who’s spunky and chatty and fun, Evelyn epitomises everything men supposedly hate about women. She’s a hardcore vegan, she redecorates Max’s apartment without asking, she hates his best friend and, most unforgivably, she despises horror movies. But Max keeps her around because she sucks his dick. Although Evelyn may be a victim of bad (male) writing, Greene does nothing to elevate her character, over-acting to the point that a sequence which sees her barf embalming fluid all over Max actually feels underplayed.

Burying The Ex has the potential to be a lot of fun. Most of the sillier jokes land (Bloody Mary’s Boo-Tique! The Satan Genie!), and there are some great sight gags, such as when Evelyn first appears at Max’s door after digging herself out of her grave. The thing is loaded with sly references, while the central relationship – the rom element – between Max and Olivia is sweet and well-played by the likeable Yelchin and Daddario. There are also some decent make-up and practical effects on show, as Evelyn gradually rots, and it zips along at a nice enough pace.

What’s crucially lacking is either the dry, deadpan wit of Life After Beth, or the sweet, good-natured humour of Shaun Of The Dead. Much of the jokes in Burying The Ex come from Evelyn’s insatiable sex drive, particularly when she’s a zombie and Max finally manages to resist her. But, is it because she’s a yucky corpse or because he really likes Olivia?

Max’s motivations are never quite clear and, as a protagonist, he doesn’t have the get-up-and-go that Shaun had (he’s immediately established as a total pushover) or the pathetic longing of Beth’s boyfriend (he planned to dump Evelyn right before she died). Max just sort of lumbers along and, considering Evelyn is literally an insufferable wench from the outset; it’s inconceivable that he’d stay with her in the first place. As a result, it’s kind of impossible to empathise with him.

This is Dante’s first movie since The Hole, so it’s difficult not to be kinder to it than one would if it was a random film from some nobody, or a first attempt (the script does have “first attempt” written all over it, however). It’s not an absolute travesty, by any means, and there’s a little glimmer of Dante magic present.

Unfortunately, the random parts that work don’t gel with those that don’t. The script is all over the place, the score is so whimsical it belongs in a different film and, by the time we reach our inevitable conclusion, everything has become way too goofy for us to actually care about what’s happening.

Rating: 6 out of 10 stars

Likeable character actors Sam Rockwell and Rosemarie De Witt are the Bowens, down on their luck parents to three sprightly kids; adorable Madison (Kennedi Clements), bed-wetter Griffin (Kyle Katlett) and grumpy teen Kendra (Saxon Sharbino). After Pa loses his job, they’re forced to relocate to a ghost estate that was built, they are informed much too late to cancel their cheque, on the grounds of an old cemetery. No sooner can you utter the words “paranormal activity” than iPhone screens are going fuzzy, doors are opening and closing by themselves and young Madison is sucked into the TV set.

As remakes go, Poltergeist is among the least offensive. It’s presented with such an innate, cautious respect for the source material that it’s barely even its own film. To be fair, Kenan utilises enough modern technology that, unlike the recent The Town That Dreaded Sundown remake, which muddied the waters somewhat, it’s never unclear what year we’re in. And, as with the best modern horror movies, technology turns out to be a hindrance against otherworldly powers. Adding to this, when it comes time to deal with the titular ghostie, the kids call upon spirit chaser Carrigan Burke (Jared Harris), a psychic investigator who fronts his own Ghost Hunters-style internet show. Devouring the scenery with gusto, Harris adopts an Irish brogue not heard onscreen since the glory days of Darby O’Gill, but it’s impossible not to warm to him – particularly with Rockwell pulling faces every time he opens his mouth.

Rockwell’s easy chemistry with De Witt, along with their believably strained family unit, elevates Poltergeist from its contemporaries. The Bowens are a messily realistic family with well-established interpersonal issues. The kids’ performances are all strong, particularly Clements as wide-eyed Madison. But it’s Griffin who has the most to deal with as, relegated to the attic room, he finds his irrational fears more grounded in reality than he thought, especially when a tree bursts through the sky-light.

Speaking of which, most of the set-pieces are resurrected here and, although Kenan assured journalists, prior to the film’s release, that not everything was as it seemed, they hit pretty much the same beats as in the original. Aside from the tree, the evil clown doll is present, accounted for and multiplied, the ground opens up in nicely gooey fashion and characters are thrown about the place with enjoyable goofiness.

There’s liveliness to this new Poltergeist that ensures, even with the fuzzy 3D and almost by-the-numbers replication of past events, it clips along at a nice enough pace. The CGI effects are often ropey, but there’s a strong final-act sequence in the netherworld, which is populated by Death Eater-like ghouls, that is impressive and well-realised. It even hints that Kenan might have a few more tricks up his sleeve.

The director works off an agreeable screenplay by David Lindsay-Abaire, whose background is mostly with kids’ stuff. As such, the dialogue isn’t as clunky or self-referential as we’ve come to expect. There are no “Who is Fred Krueger?” moments, nor does Poltergeist expect to be accepted with the same respect as its predecessor. It’s often laugh-out-loud funny, intentionally so, and Rockwell, in particular, seems bemused by the whole thing.

Although it has many so-called horror fans up in arms, hating Poltergeist just because it doesn’t capture the magic of the original film – or because it has the audacity to be a remake in the first place – is misguided and counter-productive. It was never going to compare to the Hooper/Spielberg original. That film has had twenty-odd years in which to build up a sense of nostalgia among genre fans. It also has a weird history attached to it, and is an endless talking point.

In a strong year that’s already boasted; the terrifically original It Follows, the deviously nasty Unfriended, and clever remake/reboot/sequel hybrid The Town That Dreaded Sundown, among others, it’s easy to discount Poltergeist. As a horror movie, it isn’t particularly scary or tense and, although the family are often in peril, their survival is pretty much guaranteed. However, viewed in the same manner as kids’ horror/adventure movies such as Joe Dante‘s wonderfully troubling The Hole, it’s quite effective.

It’s not breaking any new ground, and the action is mostly PG-rated, but as remakes go Poltergeist isn’t nearly as offensively terrible as the fanboys would have you believe. Compare it to the likes of Friday The 13th or A Nightmare On Elm Street and it’s downright enjoyable. A perfectly serviceable chiller, with a great cast, some decent visuals and a strong foothold in a tough modern world, it’ll do just nicely for a lazy Saturday night on the sofa. Or with a particularly easily-frightened date.

Rating: 7 out of 10 stars

Smith’s follow-up, Tusk, is a different beast entirely – it’d have to be, the premise deals with a man being turned into a walrus. A horror comedy of sorts, it’s part Clerks, part The Human Centipede, rammed with throwaway Canada jokes (the Quik Stop is Eh To Zed, and they sell massive drinks called Chug Eh Lugs), alongside some truly shocking visuals that could be judged by laughs or scares, depending on personal preference.

Justin Long plays against type as smarmy, moustachioed podcast presenter Wallace who, alongside his best buddy (Haley Joel Osment), fronts a comedy troupe called the Not See Party (geddit?), who make fun of internet fools for sport, and, it transpires, huge chunks of cash. Whereas Osment’s Teddy is a kind-hearted, soft sort, fame has changed Wallace for the worse and, in a lengthy speech to his long-suffering girlfriend (the stupidly pretty Genesis Rodriguez) he reveals that he prefers it that way.

Upon being stranded in the Great White North (“I don’t wanna die in Canada!”), Wallace happens upon a handwritten notice, from local Howard Howell (played by Smith’s personal favourite, Michael Parks), an ex-seafarer who has a tale to tell. Foolishly, Wallace jumps at the chance to visit this stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere and, after some chitchat, finds himself drugged, captured and amputated. It’s then up to his poor friends to locate and rescue him before he is turned into an animal, as Howell attempts to answer the oft-wondered question “Is man indeed a walrus at heart?”

It goes without saying, Tusk is not for everyone. Plagued by distribution issues and savaged at the box office, it has thus far received mixed reviews. Of course, Smith is laughing all the way to the bank as the flick has already financed the much-anticipated Clerks 3. Many scoff at the notion that the premise was dreamed up during a particularly weed-influenced Smodcast session (Smith’s hugely successful, and long-running, podcast with friend and producer Scott Mosier).

However, as surreal and bizarre as it is, the end product belies such humble beginnings.

Tusk is the best-looking Kevin Smith film to date, with sweeping, expansive shots taking in the vast wilderness, juxtaposed against tight, claustrophobic close-ups of Long’s tortured face as he struggles to comprehend what’s happening to him. In one particularly clever segue, the shot bleeds from Wallace getting head from his girlfriend to waking up drugged and strapped to a chair.

His initial conversations with Howell are given room to breathe, also, the two captured mostly static, against the backdrop of a roaring fire as Parks rattles off Smith’s snappy dialogue as only he can. He isn’t quite as suited to Howell as he was the villainous Pastor Cooper, in Red State, but he takes to the role with aplomb, equal parts evil genius and hammy looper.

Long is the best he’s ever been, in a challenging role for which he must be an empathetic asshole. Flashbacks reveal his true character, but it’s difficult to hate him when he’s being amputated and sewn into a realistic walrus skin-suit. Speaking of which, although many detractors have drooled over how rubbish it apparently looks, regardless of how convincing it is, the thing is a latex dream (or, rather, nightmare) and the idea of being stuck in it is stomach-churning.

Long drools constantly while inside, horrible, guttural screams emitting from his choked throat (his tongue has been cut out, of course) as his still-recognisable eyes search for understanding from the insane Howell, who frolics in the water with him as though he’s a pet. Tusk’s most disturbing moments occur when Howell is alone with his creation, forcing him to eat raw fish and swim around for his amusement. Although this is when the film goes kind-of Centipede, it’s unsettling in its own, special kind of way.

As for THAT cameo, it’ll either make you smile knowingly or retch. The actor in question does seem to be having fun with it, and he has some great lines, but whether it’s an on-the-nose representation of a French-Canadian homicide detective, or simply an attempt to shock the audience into submission, is debatable. It fits within the narrative, for the most part, and, funnily enough, it also leads to a denouement that is both rational and oddly poignant, given what’s come before.

The first instalment in Smith’s “True North” trilogy – completed by Yoga Hosers, starring his kid and Johnny Depp’s (both of whom feature as bored clerks in Tusk) and Moose Jaws, which he describes as “Jaws with a moose” – is a disjointed beginning. Less shocking and involving than Red State, but smarter and more inventive than most of Smith’s back catalogue, it’s either going to rile you up or leave you totally flummoxed. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing remains to be seen.

Rating: 7 out of 10 stars

The Babadook is the debut feature from writer-director Jennifer Kent. Based on her 2005 short Monster, the premise surrounds a single mother (the excellent Essie Davis) and her bratty child (Noah Wiseman), who are haunted by the titular creature, after mysteriously discovering his book on the shelf one night before bed. Partly funded by Kickstarter, the film is set in Australia but exists in the dark, grey world of nightmares, with a dull palette and a constant threat of rain.

Suffice to say, The Babadook is a different kind of mainstream horror movie. It’s harsh, slow-moving and the scares are few and far between. However, that alone does not make it quite the masterpiece others have claimed it to be. There are certain elements that work, including the book itself, the design of which is great. A creepy, nursery rhyme jingle is well-utilised and the imagery is strong throughout. The murder of a family pet is startling, and there are some genuinely tense, creepy moments as the creature starts to take hold of the house.

However, the film suffers from a predictable trajectory that is obvious from the outset. There’s also a significant cop-out towards the end that turns it into a different kind of story entirely, and one which we’ve seen too often before. While the trailer, which is arguably creepier than the film itself, hints at a great money shot of the Babadook, what we get is an absolutely rubbish display of CGI that undoes everything about the mythos of the character. This is a shame, as the design of the creature is cool, at least in his book.

Much of The Babadook plays out like an insufferable family drama, as the mother gives in to her child’s increasingly bizarre demands until the two are isolated in their home. Although he’s grown up without a father, it’s difficult to understand why she gives in to him all the time, especially when he’s acting up so much. At one point, the mother actually takes her son out of school entirely so the authorities can’t discipline him, which is ludicrous. And whenever he gets in trouble or pisses her off, she softens immediately upon being told how much she’s loved. It’s a fucked up dynamic, and their day-to-day life, once they’re stuck in the house, is repetitive, even with the haunting.

Although it’s just over ninety minutes, The Babadook feels longer. This is thanks mostly to a bleakness that seeps out of it, threatening to cling to your clothes and suffocate you after you’ve left the theatre. It’s not a pleasant watch, nor is it the kind of film one goes to see with friends – like Oculus, or even Annabelle – and it’s not exactly something one would choose to check out alone, either. It’s tough because it’s slow-burning and quiet, which should ratchet up the tension, but it ultimately all leads to nothing. There are scares, but they become predictable and there isn’t enough of a payoff to really invest in the Babadook as a villain.

Further to this, the ending is ridiculous and will have even the most casual horror fan rolling their eyes. Not only does it take its inspiration from elsewhere, but it makes no sense, almost to the point of being comical. However, the biggest issue is how utterly unlikeable the two protagonists are. Both Davis and young Wiseman are fine actors, fully committed to their roles, but she is a dreadful mother who spoils her child, refuses to discipline him and gives in to him no matter what, and he is the most smack-worthy kid ever committed to celluloid. If you’ve seen the trailer, you will have an idea of how annoying he is, but try not to wish he dies painfully – it’s impossible.

Although ultimately a disappointment, The Babadook will slay at the multiplexes by word of mouth alone – whether it will make as much money as easier sells such as Insidious remains to be seen – and it deserves some success, for at least trying to step outside the box a little. But, given how creepy the trailer is, how interesting the premise is, and how much buzz has surrounded it, it’s annoying just how little of it actually works.

Probably best left as a short, The Babadook is bleak, dull and derivative with a villain who loses his oomph the second he’s spotted and a mother-son dynamic that makes the Bates look normal. Ultimately forgettable, it won’t be haunting nightmares any time soon. Anyone for Ouija?

Rating: 6 out of 10 stars

Annabelle Wallis and Ward Horton are Mia (no, really) and John, a young couple living a quiet suburban when their neighbours are butchered by members of a Satanic cult, who then turn their attention to them, stabbing Mia in the process. As she’s pregnant, Mia is put on bed rest – in the house they choose to remain in following this horrific event – and lots of spooky things happen. Eventually, she convinces John to leave and set up shop in a fancy apartment downtown. They then discover that Annabelle, who John swore he threw out back at the old place, seems to have followed them there. Mia sets her up alongside all of the other creepy dollies on the shelf and, pretty quickly, everything starts to go a bit weird again.

Director James Wan, who is responsible for the first, and best, installment in the Saw franchise, along with Insidious 1 and 2, struck gold with The Conjuring. A slow-burning, old school chiller, it saved its best scares for when the audience least expected them, forgoing the cheap tactics for which these kinds of paranormal-themed flicks have become famous. With Annabelle, Wan takes only a production credit, giving John R. Leonetti, his DOP on Insidious and The Conjuring, the opportunity to flex his directing muscles.

Unfortunately, the change is immediately obvious as, following a nicely gory opening sequence, Annabelle quickly devolves into a tired retread of the same clichés and gimmicks to which we’ve become accustomed. Aside from the “classic” seventies soundtrack, there are creepy toys, weird drawings, a lullaby and a demon who looks remarkably like Darth Maul from Insidious – although he does pack quite a punch, once the doll takes a back seat.

Much of the film is spent wondering whether Annabelle is going to move of her own accord – Leonetti did the cinematography on Child’s Play 3 so he has previous experience – as the camera inches ever closer to her cracked, porcelain face. The best scare actually comes courtesy of a misdirect when she does exactly that, but considering five of the biggest frights, out of about ten, are in the trailer, this isn’t much of a positive.

Annabelle wears its influences on its (her?) sleeve, with references to everything from Rosemary’s Baby, to The Omen, to Wan’s previous offerings. The music cues tell us exactly when to cover our eyes, and there’s an over-reliance on jump scares that would make the Paranormal Activity guys roll their eyes. Annabelle, or rather the demon in control of her, seems remarkably powerful, able to control all electrical appliances at will and make Mia’s poor infant disappear, which is in direct contradiction with the fact her mother is assured the demon cannot take a soul unless it is offered.

There are elements to Annabelle that work, for instance a throwaway line when Mia reveals she’s being haunted, that hints at a sense of humour sadly left on the cutting room floor, a sequence in the building’s laundry room involving a malfunctioning lift and the ritualistic killings that kick the whole thing off. And the cult’s symbol, at the very least, is more ominous than the Euro sign of last year’s similarly-themed, utterly rubbish Devil’s Due. John and Mia are likeable, rational protagonnists and Wallis, in particular, is great as the confused, desperate mother, while Alfre Woodward and Tony Amendola do the best they can with their thinly-written supporting characters, a mystic and a priest respectively.

However, Annabelle never manages to live up to its opening moments. It isn’t so much its own film, as a collection of decent bits stolen from other films. It trundles towards its inevitable conclusion, with scrawled messages on the walls of the baby’s room telling us what’s coming, the resolution feeling forced and hokey. An attempt at a twist, possibly to set up a sequel, is misjudged too, although a factoid regarding the real doll is welcome, even if it serves as a reminder to us that the Warrens did not feature as they did in The Conjuring.

Simply speaking, if you have seen the trailer for Annabelle, then you have seen Annabelle. James Wan should be commended for giving his DOP a chance to shine. However, unlike when Adam Green did the same with Hatchet 3, in this case the change only serves to highlight the lack of material here. It’s evident the film was rushed through to capitalise on the popularity of The Conjuring. Unfortunately, it’s not nearly as scary, or involving enough, to justify its existence as anything other than a well-timed spin-off.

Rating: 4 out of 10 stars

Into this pantheon steps Life After Beth, a diverting little indie take that works, for the most part, thanks to some winning performances from its star-studded cast – including the ultimate anti-manic pixie dream girl, Aubrey Plaza. Plaza is the titular Beth, who passes away following a deadly snakebite. Boyfriend Zach (Dane De Haan) goes full Morrissey after her death – sulking, refusing to eat, and clad only in black save for a scarf of hers that he wears in spite of the weather. When Beth returns from the grave, her parents insist on keeping her death a secret from her, but Zach believes they can pick up where they left off and that she’ll accept her new zombie status and just get on with it.

It’s worth noting that Life After Beth is more rom and com than zom. Although it played at Frightfest, and was mostly well-received, questions were raised as to its suitability – much like last year’s RIPD – and it’s easy to see why. Beth’s zombification comes late in the narrative, and Plaza remains remarkably pretty throughout her transformation. De Haan actually looks more like the un-dead than she does, with his waxy complexion and sunken eyes. The two make a cute couple, though – one wonders if thirty-year-old Plaza will still be a believable teenager in her forties – and writer/director Jeff Baena has a lot to say about the reality of young relationships.

As it turns out, the problems Zach and Beth were having prior to her death aren’t easily forgotten after her resurrection, and a new love interest, played by the always-adorable Anna Kendrick, complicates matters further as Zach realises maybe he’d prefer a girlfriend with whom he can walk around in the daylight. Baena seems to envision Life After Beth as a showcase of Plaza’s talents, and rightly so. She is a fine actress, and the role gives her room to show off what she can do – although she’ll probably never find one more suitable than Julie in Scott Pilgrim Vs The World – but this is De Haan’s film, and he takes to the sullen, downcast and very confused Zach expertly.

Much of the first act involves him sulking and snapping at his family, but he somehow makes Zach adorably pathetic instead of selfish and annoying. There are a number of well-executed sight gags as he mopes, all in black, by the pool in the sunshine or sits silently at the dinner table with Beth’s multi-coloured scarf around his neck – “I have the same scarf!” she quips later, in one of many clever, throwaway lines in Baena’s accomplished script.

John C. Reilly and Molly Shannon are terrific as Beth’s desperate parents, him trying to keep her hidden away, her trying to be helpful to the grieving Zach while refusing to give up hope their daughter will be all right. At one point, Shannon actually feeds Beth a few of her fingers, because she has to eat something. Elsewhere, Matthew Gray Gubler is wonderful as Zach’s try-hard, goody-goody brother, who takes his job as a security guard in Beth’s neighbourhood a bit too seriously, while a cameo from the always welcome Adam Pally, as an annoyed waiter, is pitch perfect. The message of the flick is the importance of family, and this is particularly evident in the strangely sweet ending that wisely straddles the line between soppy and heart-warming.

Refreshingly, Life After Beth’s characters use the word “zombie” with ease, but no explanation is given for the sudden outbreak – the un-dead simply dig themselves out of their graves and return home, often to hilarious effect, such as when the old owners of Zach’s family’s house show up to kick them out. It’s a clever move on Baena’s part, as over-explanation can kill zombie movies before they’ve even really begun shuffling. In fact, Warm Bodies suffered from too many on-the-nose references and an overabundance of info on what was really going down. Life After Beth, much like its central character, is content to just exist.

While it’s not exactly reinventing the (sub-sub)genre, and some will find its indie leanings a bit irritating – the soundtrack is annoyingly hip, for example – Life After Beth is a refreshing take on the rom-zom-com that places a realistic young couple in an unrealistic spot and somehow makes their plight seem totally normal. The cast are game, the humour is pitch black, and Dane De Haan steals the show even more so than when he was opposite Andrew Garfield’s comatose Spiderman.

The definition of a date movie for horror nerds, in the weirdest possible way.

Rating: 8 out of 10 stars

Lorenza Izzo, of Aftershock semi-fame, is our goody-goody Final Girl who, while bored at college, takes a shine to Ariel Levy’s charismatic campaigner, without realising that her father’s high ranking within the UN makes her a target for his publicity-hungry group. Although a well-planned stunt in the jungle goes well, the do-gooders/agenda pushers subsequently find themselves at the mercy of a bloodthirsty, cannibalistic tribe, when they are stranded, and before you can shout “Cannibal Holocaust!” eyes are being gouged out and arms sawn off in ruthlessly gory detail.

To be fair, The Green Inferno has more in common with Cannibal Ferox than Holocaust, which is still arguably the most famous – or, rather, infamous – cannibal movie ever made, and newbies won’t notice anything too familiar about it. The film is a rough watch, but it’s well-paced, competently-acted and as far from mindless torture porn as one could hope. Although horrifying and effective, the gore doesn’t overstay its welcome as it did in the Hostel films, and the instances of severe carnage are well-placed. A streak of misjudged toilet humour prevents the central predicament from being quite as tense as it could have been, which is a shame, but this is still Roth’s most restrained film to date and, ultimately, also his scariest.

The desperate situation the characters find themselves in is truly terrifying, and the time they spend trapped in a cage – which makes up most of the second and third acts – is, at times, nail-bitingly tense, even with the aforementioned dick and fart jokes. The idea of subtlety is something with which Roth has always struggled and, in The Green Inferno, something is highlighted so blatantly early on that he might as well have inserted a cue card proclaiming “THIS IS GOING TO COME UP LATER”. Unfortunately, instances such as this further rob the narrative of tension, because the whole film is then spent wondering when this horrible thing is going to happen.

The script, penned by Roth and Guillermo Amoedo – who was also responsible for Aftershock – is littered with sly asides and on-the-nose references to the current state of so-called Twitter activism, where much is said but little is actually done. iPhones are brandished throughout and smugly described as “guns”, but when things go horribly wrong, one member dryly notes that he can “smell” his friend being cooked, almost as though he has become so disillusioned that the gravity of the situation is wasted on him.

Roth clearly has a lot to say about the current generation, hiding behind their computer screens and pretending to change the world, but it’s unclear on which side he falls. The beautiful climes of Peru/Chile are lovingly shot, showcased like a postcard holiday, and the locals are depicted as openly disapproving of the wealthy, white, obnoxious out-of-towners. It could be argued that most of the group suffer the fate they deserve, and that they’re asking for it by meddling in things they do not understand. However, the annoyingly neat, saccharine ending goes against this idea, hinting that Roth isn’t quite as brave, or maybe as sure, as he’d like to be. His message is, therefore, quite muddled, which dilutes the impact somewhat.

The Green Inferno is a strange film. It’s very unsettling in parts, and there are some great moments of genuine horror – a plane crash is stunning and well-orchestrated, while one character’s death by ants is brilliantly disgusting – especially considering it’s a step up for Spy Kid Daryl Sabara, after he was beaten to death with a branch in Rob Zombie’s Halloween remake – while the premise itself is thought-provoking and topical. But the execution is all over the place, and the toilet humour really doesn’t work considering the gravity of the situation. However, there is still a lot to like here, and diehard fans of Roth won’t find their delicate sensibilities too troubled.

For the rest of us, The Green Inferno represents something of a welcome departure for the otherwise one-note director. It isn’t perfect, but it’s a step in the right direction and, hopefully, it will eventually get the attention it deserves.

Rating: 7 out of 10 stars

Kicking off with a great jump scare that sets the tone for what’s to come, As Above, So Below is shot like a pseudo-documentary, detailing not a haunting, or anything particularly scary, but a search for the so-called Philosopher’s Stone (of Harry Potter fame), underground in the catacombs of Paris.

Weeks’ Scarlett is following in her recently-deceased father’s footsteps, alongside a ragtag bunch of scared Americans and smug Parisians, all of whom contribute more energy and charisma to the proceedings than any of Scarlett’s self-indulgent monologues.

After being tipped off about a secret entrance to the tunnels – by a mysterious hipster who vanishes into thin air immediately afterwards – the group sets off to uncover the truth, entering a place from which, they are warned, people do not return.

This should give some indication of how unintentionally hilarious As Above, So Below is. Played entirely straight, certain lines and moments are inescapably laughable, particularly the constant reiteration “the only way out is down”, which makes less sense the further they venture.

There are some creepy moments, such as a telephone eerily ringing, and the jump scares aren’t quite as obvious as they could’ve been. There are a couple of decent, gory shocks towards the end, too but, mostly it consists of people crawling around and screaming at nothing.

The idea is that everyone is haunted by something from his/her past, but this isn’t so much established as hammered into our skulls, while a sequence involving a tomb and a dead body is so Indiana Jones, it’s a wonder the man himself doesn’t pop up to educate these kids on the proper archaeologist conduct.

Lead actress Perdita Weeks has several costume dramas to her name, which may partly explain why her delivery is so hoity-toity, upper-class English throughout. Considering she spends the majority of the film delivering lines to camera, it becomes increasingly annoying and it’s difficult not to hope she perishes down below.

Director Dowdle has several horror credits, of varying quality, including the dreadful Devil, Quarantine and cult hit The Poughkeepsie Tapes. As Above, So Below represents a certain amount of growth as, alongside his brother Drew on script duties, he utilises an impressive setting to deliver if not a huge amount of scares, a decent degree of intrigue. Unfortunately, it all goes very Indiana Jones, with a dash of Relic Hunter for good measure – only this lot aren’t as interesting.

In an introductory interview, we learn Scarlett is a super-smart professor who, in spite of her age, has about a million PHDs to her name. It’s, therefore, understandable that she could, feasibly, figure out centuries-old scripture and decipher what clues are hidden where, but the speed at which she manages to do so – while stuck hundreds of feet below ground, no less! – is laughable, and at times downright insulting.

As Above, So Below is a mainstream horror flick, but do we really have so little faith in the multiplex crowd that we cannot allow for anything to be left a mystery? Or for the protagonist to be wrong more than once? It’s mind-numbingly stupid just how quickly Scarlett manages to find her way through the maze-like catacombs, how obvious everything is to her and how easily she figures the supposedly impenetrable puzzle out. Sadly, this robs the film of all scare potential because there’s simply no struggle.

Although the film boasts a wicked, real-life setting and some brilliantly claustrophobic moments, there’s an over-reliance on fleeting glimpses of shadowy, figures and jump scares that make it feel like just another paranormal instalment. It’s a shame, because the catacombs are wonderfully creepy and it stands to reason that one would probably end up going a bit mad while stranded down there.

The found footage angle doesn’t help either, as, aside from Scarlett being insufferable, the trusty Go-Pros attached to everyone’s helmets allow for multiple angles, leading to questions of how we could possibly be watching the stream from a variety of sources. It requires a massive suspension of disbelief that isn’t possible when the tone is so all over the place.

The film is presented as a documentary at first, so perhaps it’s intentional, but if this is the finished product, whoever put it together has a lot to answer for. Given the incredible surroundings, a straight feature film would’ve been a much safer bet, not to mention, arguably, a hell of a lot scarier too.

Although it utilises its location well, much like the tunnels themselves, As Above, So Below is full of interesting twists and turns that lead precisely nowhere.

Rating: 5 out of 10 stars

Starring Gunn regulars Nathan Fillion and Michael Rooker in lead roles, as local cop Bill and his arch-nemesis Grant respectively, Slither follows the inhabitants of the small town of Wheelsy, who find their quiet little home mysteriously overrun by gooey, disgusting, slimy space slugs – all of which are wonderfully realised, thanks to a delicious combination of expert practical effects, puppetry, animation and well-blended CGI.

Grant is the first to fall victim, his body swelling and erupting in hideous boils until he resembles a certain, very famous Troma antihero, who’s close enough to Gunn’s heart that one of his characters here is actually interrupted while enjoying his first appearance on film. Although Grant’s wife Starla (played the reliable Elizabeth Banks) senses “a change in him”, it’s a while before the rest of the town catches on.

Toxie is just one of the many nods for genre fans that give Slither an overwhelming sense of heart, the kind one wouldn’t expect it to have, given how disgusting it is in parts. This is one of those rare treats, though – a genre film made for fans, by fans. And, although its premise is somewhat silly and the laughs come hard and fast, it’s also tense, loaded with great jump scares and ingrained with a wonderful sense of dread throughout.

Gunn cut his teeth in Tromaville, so to speak, and it’s therefore not surprising that his sci-fi/creature feature hybrid is charmingly goofy and relentlessly entertaining throughout. Likewise, it’s also bloody, gory and stomach-churning in equal measure, with the writer/director showing off a real flair for visual effects and inventive set-pieces. One scene, which takes place in a barn and concerns a woman who has ballooned, Willy Wonka-style, is particularly noteworthy for just how awe-inspiring it is in scope and nastiness.

Paying homage to classic horror, the tentacles sprouting from Grant’s chest are reminiscent of The Thing/Alien, but the production design is so impressive and Rooker’s central performance so strong that it doesn’t really matter. There is enough of Gunn’s vision on show that it never feels as though he’s aping those who came before. Although the way in which the seed is spread is a little bit rape-y, especially when Grant is bent over a screaming woman, it’s all so over the top and silly that it couldn’t possibly be construed as exploitative.

The horrible local Mayor, Mac Ready, played by the hilarious Gregg Henry, provides most of the laughs by flat-out refusing to believe anything untoward is going on, in spite of Grant’s considerable change in appearance, which he explains away as both a “bee sting” and “Lyme disease”. Mac Ready itself is just one of a million lovely touches, another being a heart-warming moment at bedtime, as two young girls read Goosebumps books before being ravaged by space slugs.

The attention to detail is impeccable, from the lively, imaginative script to the SFX to even the setting itself. The location is perfect for just such an invasion, but the townspeople aren’t caricatures and it’s difficult not to hope they overcome their enemy. However, the genius of Slither is the special effects, which are truly something to behold, in particular Grant’s transformation which is awe-inspiringly gooey and disgusting.

The gore is gut-wrenching and awesome, each scene bloodier than the last, while the score by Tyler Bates, whose work has featured in Ti West’s The Sacrament, among others, further adds to the campy, B-movie feel. The film never verges on exploitative, even when it’s nasty and gross – it’s all in good fun.

Slither is in a similar vein to the fantastic Tucker And Dale Vs. Evil, which dealt with comparable themes, disestablished well-known genre tropes and employed an equal amount of gore and laughs, also to great effect. This is a different beast, though, because the tone is goofier and it isn’t so much a blockbuster takedown, as an homage to a time of movies, supposedly, long since past.

Considering comedy-horror is such a maligned crossover, it’s even more impressive how well Slither mixes the two opposing genres together, while blending in along well-chosen elements of sci-fi and creature features. Described on IMDb as a mix of The Blob and classic Romero, Slither defies easy classification, instead choosing to take the best elements of a wide variety of different influences to create something truly unique and wonderful.

A must-see, genre fan or otherwise, that’ll leave you thinking twice about stepping on the next slug that crosses your path.

Rating: 8 out of 10 stars

Presumably thanks to a bigger budget, and with even more freedom to let loose, returning director Ferrante relocates the action to New York City, where horrible storms that might just bring sharks along with them are par for the course – indeed, weather broadcasts, hilariously hosted by real-life weatherman Al Roker, punctuate the proceedings in an attempt to create an air of realism. Ian Ziering returns as overly-earnest hero Fin, opposite his rapidly-melting wife Tara Reid, whose best moment comes when she goes full Ash with a circular saw after losing her hand to a hungry shark.

This time around, any semblance of a plot is, understandably, done away with in favour of increasingly bizarre cameos – Andy Dick as a police officer! Kurt Angle as a fireman! Perez Hilton as, er, himself! – and more nods than you could shake a chainsaw at – there is, quite literally, an alligator in the subway joke – but it’s all in good fun, and for the most part, although the sharks look utterly rubbish, they do pack quite a punch. Or bite, rather, as the phrase “tongue in cheek” doesn’t even begin to cover a film like this, and such is its charm.

At times, there is a little too much emotional, family-orientated exposition, but when the fins start flying, they rarely stop. Thankfully, Reid’s character is relegated to a hospital bed for the most part, so we aren’t subjected to too much of her attempting to stay conscious onscreen, either. Ziering takes it all a bit too seriously, yet again, but his Fin is a decent hero and he’s at the centre of some pretty cool set-pieces, such as the aforementioned subway sequence, and a Frogger-esque, James Bond-style leap across a load of waiting sharks.

Speaking of sharks, The Second One boasts remarkably dreadful SFX – although, to his credit Ferrante sure knows how to frame a shot so as best to over-compensate for a lack of action – with the obligatory gushes of computer-generated water looking particularly terrible. In the few instances where animatronics, or at the very least models, seem to be used, the protagonists’ plight is given more depth and it’s disappointing that more fun isn’t had with these creations. However, it’s all about Fin cutting a shark in half with a chainsaw, or going through one again using the same tool, and supposedly CGI works better for that – he surfs a shark, at one point, too – so the choice is understandable.

Wonderfully-named returning writer Thunder Levin injects his zippy script with lots of side-eyed references and clever nods, but the delivery is, for the most part, clunky especially when certain characters decide to have a heart-to-heart at the most inopportune moment possible. On that note, though, the body count is impressively high and even key characters aren’t safe from the jaws of the airborne fish that, curiously, never seem to be able to sate their appetite. Gorehounds will find plenty of eye-popping blood and guts to drool over, too, even though Ferrante’s reliance on CGI takes away some of the gooiness.

With a title as on-the-nose as The Second One, we know what to expect from Sharknado 2. It’s fun, dumb and the carnage, once it gets going, is pretty relentless. Ziering does a fine job of playing the everyman thrust into danger and forced to play the hero yet again, while an endless procession of blink-and-you’ll-miss-em cameos provide laughs and, in some cases, cheers – who doesn’t want to see Perez Hilton get savaged by a Great White? – while simultaneously fleshing out the otherwise non-existent narrative.

Obviously, it’s not going to be winning any Academy awards, and genre purists may sniff at its rather blatant intentions, but Sharknado 2: The Second One is fun as hell, and unlike many other, much more mainstream, horror flicks that are currently on offer, it does exactly what it says on the tin – and really, who are we to argue with that?

Rating: 6 out of 10 stars

The concept of the purge itself is clever, and potentially terrifying, but it was mishandled before because the film was spent wondering what was going on outside, instead of indoors where the family was stuck. Thus, it amounted to little more than the standard home invasion thriller, only with far less bloodshed. This time around it really is, as the title suggests, anarchy with bodies strewn everywhere and a near-constant stream of bullets.

In spite of this, Anarchy is a sanitised affair – presumably to achieve a lower rating, thereby attracting the multiplex crowd. As a result, although it’s a much rougher watch than its predecessor, it never feels as urgent as it ought to, and in keeping the deaths mostly gun-related, it plays a bit like a video game, too. There are some great sequences, in particular a stand-off on a bridge early on, but these are largely bloodless, with the carnage only hinted at.

When the action dies down, and De Monaco’s script is given room to breathe, Anarchy slows to a snail’s pace. The characters are developed enough that their struggle feels real – although there’s a bit too much “this is my right, motherfucker!” at first – but there isn’t much for them to discuss apart from how the hell they’re going to get off the streets. Disappointingly, the painted-face teenagers who adorn the posters are given pretty short shrift, in spite of a great introduction.

Relative newcomer Frank Grillo’s wounded ex-cop is perhaps the most intriguing character, while Zach Gilford (last seen in the dull Devil’s Due) is an empathetic everyman, but his dilemma with ex Kiele Sanchez doesn’t really deliver. In contrast, Carmen Ejogo and Zoë Soul are both terrific as a ballsy mother-daughter duo. Representing the poor faction, who are either offered up to rich folk or hunted down and massacred during the purge, their struggle is the most involving and they do a good job of fighting back against their oppressors.

Anarchy has a fairly heavy-handed political message about the rich/poor divide, along with government control of the masses (we learn high-ranking officials are immune from the purge, and can pretty much hunt others at their leisure). It’s a frightening idea, and certain key sequences play into it well, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before and without the requisite gore it doesn’t quite work. In particular, De Monaco owes a debt to the Elite Hunting Club, which he apes in one memorable, yet ultimately pointless set-piece towards the end.

Much like the infamous Hostel trilogy, there’s an element of voyeurism here that is quite uncomfortable. De Monaco asks whether it’s ever OK to kill someone, without first figuring out the answer for himself. Grillo’s hardened ex-officer is told, in no uncertain terms, that the purge is for ending lives, not saving them. However, this doesn’t gel with the rest of the film, or the too-neat denouement that wraps everything up just in time for a siren to sound, ending the madness for another year.

De Monaco adopts a shaky, handheld style that lends a lot of urgency to the proceedings, and the moments when the protagonists are stuck outside, on the streets of downtown LA, are the most tense and frightening. There are certain scenes that are quite disturbing, such as a group of people being ploughed down by rapid gunfire from a man in a truck, with an American flag branded baseball cap planted proudly atop his head. There is a message about America’s weapons’ laws here, but it’s not terribly clear on which side of the fence De Monaco falls as guns are often used for good, for want of a better term.

Anarchy is at its most effective in its depiction of how otherwise normal people turn so easily on their loved ones. These are the moments when we, as an audience, are forced to ask ourselves what we’d do in the same situation. There are a lot of great ideas at play, but few of them land because the violence isn’t gory enough to really disturb, and the predicament of the central characters isn’t quite desperate enough to elicit our empathy – even though a final act killing seeks to shock us into submission.

Unlike its predecessor, The Purge: Anarchy won’t leave you wanting to purge. It’s definitely an improvement, and it asks a lot of important questions, but the filmmakers’ stance is never clear so in the end it all feels a bit hollow and fruitless. Perhaps a third instalment will flesh the concept out further.

Rating: 6 out of 10 stars

Kevin Smith is not a name usually associated with horror, but his first genre effort is refreshingly honest and inventive, succeeding thanks to a killer cast of old reliables – including Michael Parks in a standout performance – and some talented newcomers who are well able to be gagged and shrink-wrapped to crucifixes, among other things.

The premise concerns a hardcore religious group, known as the Five Points Trinity Church, operating from the backwoods town of Cooper’s Dell, where three unlucky teenagers venture after meeting a woman online who offers them sex. When they arrive, Melissa Leo’s uncomfortable, strait-laced preacher’s daughter greets them. They are subsequently drugged and caged, before being forced to witness the murder of a fellow “gay” in front of a congregation of believers, all of whom think homosexuals are responsible for the inevitable extinction of the human race.

Red State is a remarkably tense, clever little film with which Smith manages to showcase his innate understanding of the language of real people, alongside an uncanny knack for spotting what is deeply creepy and unsettling about too-strongly-held religious beliefs. A staunch supporter of Michael Parks, Smith often argues the man should be in everything – he’s the bad guy again in his upcoming Tusk – and he does some of his best work here as the charming, manipulative, but ultimately evil Pastor Cooper.

Everything about Cooper, from his mannerisms, to his southern lilt, to his imposing demeanour is on point and, although slightly older, he is a menacing presence, whether tinkling a piano or brandishing a machine gun. The centrepiece of the film is a sermon, which captures his charm, energy and ruthlessness in one extended, nail-biting sequence culminating in the cold-blooded murder of some poor soul, and the ease at which the family accepts this man’s fate represents what is truly terrifying about the subject matter.

Far more blood is shed later, during a well-executed shootout between the family, and Goodman’s rough, tough cop. However, although it delivers some impressive carnage and gore, it doesn’t stick in the brain as much as that first kill. A twist ending is hilariously obtuse, but strangely satisfying – rumour has it Smith envisioned it going entirely in another direction, but it fits the story better as is.

This isn’t the director’s first foray into religious doctrine and over-zealous preacher types. Dogma, one of his most famous flicks, dealt with similar themes. Smith’s low budget, indie credentials work to his credit here, as he perfectly captures the sun-scorched Southern landscape and its’ often lost inhabitants. The three protagonists are doomed, but not necessarily for the sins the Church thinks they’ve committed. Likewise, Goodman’s cop is a frustrated, tortured man, struggling with his own demons.

The tagline may be “Fear God” but the message seems to be that we should fear each other, because people commit the real crimes, not any higher power. After all, the boys are dumb enough to trust someone they meet online, to their detriment, while the local sheriff perishes because Cooper knows he’s secretly gay and threatens to out him to his wife.

The only disappointing aspect of an otherwise starkly brave, very honest film is when Smith, who also penned the snappy script, feels the need to explicitly state that the Five Points Trinity Church are not the Westboro Baptist Church, in a lame move that betrays his outspoken, opinionated public persona and taints the otherwise flawless narrative. This is Parks’ film, though. He delivers a revelatory performance as the twisted Cooper, the simple line “I fear God” uttered with such conviction one wonders if he’s going to impale himself on the crucifix before anyone else gets a chance.

Red State lives or dies on this central performance, and Smith chose wisely with Parks. However, Goodman comes into his own also, delivering an impressive final monologue that does his character and the story justice. The grainy, shaky cam style which Smith has adopted here suits the premise well, imbuing the events with a real-world, news-brief quality that makes them even more stomach-churning.

Of course, Smith can’t resist forever, as he cameos off-screen as the prisoner in the next cell to Cooper, who matter-of-factly tells him to “shut the fuck up” mid-song. It’s a typical end to a not-so-typical Kevin Smith film that proves there’s a lot more to the director than dick and fart jokes.

Rating: 9 out of 10 stars

The film utilises a dual narrative to introduce the protagonists – a brother-sister duo, a refreshing change from the usual dynamic – and to flesh out their back-story, thereby eliminating the need for heavy exposition. As the story progresses, the two narratives – one past, one present – gradually inter-splice until they come together completely.

Doctor Who alum Karen Gillan is Kaylie, a twenty-something who, as a child, witnessed the murder of her father by her brother, Tim (likeably nervous Brenton Thwaites). After a decade in a mental institution, Tim is ready to readjust to normal life, but Kaylie reckons they’ve got unfinished business. She thinks the mirror that hung in their father’s office is really to blame while Tim is convinced her grief forces her to remember things incorrectly, in order to cope with the trauma.

Oculus is interesting because it places Tim as the audience-insert, questioning Kaylie’s outlandish views on the supposedly haunted mirror. Much like know-it-all horror fans, Tim has an explanation for everything, and it’s only when he is forced to question his own idea of reality that he begins to listen. Kaylie is an utterly self-assured, strong female lead, and Gillan handles the sometimes difficult role with ease. Indeed, the film is at its most frightening when her perception of reality begins to unravel.

There are two, wonderful gross-out moments, but otherwise this is played straight, as a spooky, old school paranormal flick complete with everything one could ask for – objects moving by themselves, plants dying on cue and light-bulbs that just won’t stay lit. The problematic idea of a haunted mirror is given more weight and depth with a lengthy list of gruesome deaths, supposedly as a result of its malevolent spirit.

There’s a good sense of foreboding throughout, and the varyingly effective jump scares are well-placed. The atmosphere is creepy, and the mirror itself is well-designed. The Newton Brothers’ score is slightly heavy-handed at times, with even the dreaded screeching violins utilised to signal when a shock is coming. This robs the film of some scare potential as horror aficionados will sense the frights are afoot anyway, due to the by-the-numbers narrative, while the multiplex crowd will be on guard thanks to the music cues.

The design of the spirits is irritatingly bad, with glowing eyes making their presence comical instead of frightening. As more are revealed, the sense of foreboding is diminished. If they weren’t glimpsed properly, the threat would be more significant because fear of the unknown is much scarier than the all-too-familiar, Asian-style ghoul – à la Samara, who is still the most obvious character basis. Overall, the visuals are intermittently strong but there isn’t anything particularly fresh or inventive on show here.

Oculus is, at its heart, a character study of a family torn apart by mental illness, driven by a haunted mirror. It’s at its most frightening when the father (Rory Cochrane) is torturing his wife (Battlestar Galactica legend Katee Sackhoff), while the kids stand by, unable to help. Annalise Basso and Garrett Ryan do well as Kaylie and Tim’s younger counterparts, but they are given an abundance of screen-time, with too long spent discussing, and getting to, the murder instead of actually showing it.

In these moments, the house feels like a prison, claustrophobic and maze-like. When the action moves into the present, all sense of spatial awareness is lost, making it difficult to grasp how big the building is, or even where the rooms are in relation to each other. The great location is wasted as Kaylie and Tim move around blindly, somehow managing to constantly lose each other instead of just staying together as they keep promising. The idea is that they’re losing all sense of reality, but it’s headache-inducing instead of cleverly disconcerting.

Although there’s a great streak of black humour running throughout – with most of the laughs provided by Kaylie – and the atmosphere is tense and creepy, where Oculus ultimately falls apart is in its final act, when the two narratives join together. An arguably open-ended denouement hints at a sequel, where perhaps the premise will redeem itself.

A high-minded concept with a poor execution, Oculus is a lively horror film that falls apart in its final moments, and whose premise is best enjoyed with a complete suspension of disbelief. Best watched in the cinema, or with a group of friends, where the reactions of others will fill in the many, many blanks.

Rating: 7 out of 10 stars

Director Gareth Edwards, whose impressively low-budget debut Monsters marked him as one to watch, reckons there’s life in the old lizard yet. The most surprising thing about his Godzilla is that he makes a damn good case for him, in spite of the fact that he’s clearly getting on a bit – net nerds are already referring to him as Fatzilla – and at one point even needs a nap.

The premise is suitably simple: Bryan Cranston, and a disgraceful wig, stars as a tortured father, haunted by the loss of his wife and convinced that something more sinister than an accident at a nuclear power plant killed her. When he and his son (a buff yet vacant Aaron Taylor-Johnson) discover he was right all along, it’s a race against time to save the world from the threat of not just one scaly, prehistoric creature, but three.

Godzilla could’ve easily been an overly earnest, military-porn-stuffed bore, but even though it takes itself very seriously indeed, the film zips along at a decent pace for most of its two-hour-plus running time. Although Taylor-Johnson is completely unbelievable as a leading man, let alone a bomb disposal expert, he takes a beating well and his desperate journey to rescue his family (including a criminally underused Elizabeth Olsen) is filled with pathos and well-established tension.

Of course, he isn’t the star here, the titular creature is, and what’s immediately striking about Godzilla is the care and attention that has gone into crafting it. From Alexandre Desplat’s wonderfully evocative score, which plays over a nifty title sequence and alludes to classic ‘zilla flicks throughout, to the detail Edwards has put into his much-loved creation, it’s obvious this is a passion project, not a money-spinner.

Edwards sought to create a creature feature in the spirit of classics such as Jurassic Park and Jaws – both of which are referenced – which teased their money shots throughout, but this is entirely its own beast. Godzilla himself isn’t glimpsed until about an hour in, with just a flick of the tail here, or a shot of his impressively spiky back gliding through the water there, until he finally makes his roaring, stomping, jaw-dropping debut. Funnily enough, he’s most spectacular when emerging from clouds of smoke, in awe-inspiring sequences that must be seen to be believed.

The realisation of the creature, and indeed his two, winged foes, is some of the finest CGI committed to celluloid. This Godzilla feels three-dimensional, even in 2D (the film is much too dark for 3D, and is best viewed in stunning IMAX) with every scale, every tooth and every movement beautifully represented. He looks like a real, prehistoric animal. His almighty presence is felt throughout, without the need to have him stomping on cars, like the cartoon-y 1998 incarnation, and when he is shown, it’s truly awesome.

Considering the film is driven by both character drama and monster madness, it’s disappointing that Godzilla’s female stars are relegated to one-dimensional roles. Sally Hawkins’ overly-British scientist warns the military that blowing Godzilla up isn’t an option, but it’s only when her male associate (a terrific Ken Watanabe, who gets the best line with the simple “let them fight”) points out the same that anybody listens. Creature features are generally a bit of a boys club, but it’s sad to see viable female characters dismissed as little more than background noise.

Thankfully, this is the only real issue with a thrilling, at times worryingly realistic, and bravely dark, modern outing for everyone’s favourite, storeys-tall scaly monster. Though it sags slightly in the middle, and it may not appease the multiplex crowd as, unlike fellow kaiju-themed blockbuster Pacific Rim, it opts for a more emotive, much smarter narrative; Godzilla should satisfy purists and newbies alike.

A remarkable sophomore effort from Edwards in which every cent of his massive budget is obvious onscreen, with enough classic nods to make fanatics cheer, and a meaty, well-paced narrative, Godzilla makes an impressive case for smart, modern creature features, where mankind’s foolish belief that nature can be controlled backfires to spectacular effect. He may be getting a bit too old for this shit, but Godzilla still packs a punch like no other.

Rating: 8 out of 10 stars

Blair’s Dwight begins the film a broken man, homeless, alone and scrounging for food and showers wherever he can. Upon hearing that his parents’ killer has been released from prison, he springs into action, acquiring a weapon and doing away with the man in viciously bloody fashion in a dingy pub toilet – the first of many gory sequences which punctuate the film’s deliberately slow, tense narrative flow. Satisfied that justice has been served, Dwight cleans himself up and sets out to reconnect with his sister, completely unaware that he’s set a terrifying sequence of events into motion, by attracting the attention of his victim’s bloodthirsty, hooligan family.

Although it clocks in at less than two hours, Blue Ruin feels much longer than it is, in spite of an utter lack of exposition, which adds to the tragic plight of its central character. Dwight is not the typical revenge-seeker to whom we’ve become accustomed. He’s pathetic, cowardly and desperate. He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, at one point even requiring shooting lessons from an old high school friend because he’s never actually used a gun before. In spite of his shortcomings, however, Dwight is an incredibly sympathetic protagonist, thanks in large part to a stunning central performance from virtual unknown Blair, who injects his anti-hero with a sense of urgency, hopelessness and desperation with which it is all too easy to identify.

Supporting characters are few and far between, but Amy Hargreaves does well in her small role as his long-suffering sister, and Devin Ratray provides a welcome respite from the downbeat tone as Dwight’s likeable, kind old friend who shows up at just the right moment. Their relationships, which are fully fleshed out and seeped in history, give the story some much-needed heart, and they feel utterly real.

Considering this is the writer/director’s second feature, following the entertaining, yet disjointed Murder Party, the amount of skill on show – from everything to the stunning, lovingly-shot cinematography of Saulnier’s native Virginia, to the blackly comic script and gut-wrenching moments of violence – is truly remarkable, and showcases his burgeoning talent. Saulnier already feels like an old reliable, a master of suspense and tension, who understands the subtle nuances of familial relationships and the desperate lengths otherwise normal people go to in order to right a wrong. Comparisons to the Coen brothers are unavoidable, given the subject matter and tone, but they are lazy and do a disservice to the originality and strength of this incredible film, which belongs to Saulnier and Blair.

Where most filmmakers feel the need to fill in the gaps with pages and pages of dialogue, Saulnier revels in the silences, allowing the material to speak for itself as the tension is ratcheted up to oxygen-stripping levels of unease. Even so, the film has a lot to say about violence and the nature of revenge. The ending, in particular, could’ve easily succumbed to genre conventions but it is bravely harsh, cementing the fact that this is a story rooted in the bitterness of reality. The overly-hyped sequences of grisly violence add to this idea, with one particular sequence, involving Dwight’s foiled attempts to remove an arrow from his leg, almost played for laughs as it reveals just how utterly shambolic the protagonist is at sorting out the mess he has created.

A dark, blackly comic revenge thriller that utilises elements of horror and family drama, and is equal parts gory, poignant and moving, Blue Ruin is an incredibly assured, remarkably poised, understated piece of work from newcomer Jeremy Saulnier, which showcases a stunning central performance from virtual unknown Macon Blair, and will hopefully find the audience it deserves, on DVD. Seek it out immediately.

Rating: 9 out of 10 stars

The French subtitles signal the first red flag, along with the strong 18-certificate rating for “real sex”, but the admittedly simple premise soon makes both points moot, as the film reveals itself to be far more than the sum of its parts, with the palpable tension unraveling at an agonising pace against a backdrop of lush, untouched countryside.

The hero of the piece is Franck (Deladonchamps, all adorable naïveté in spite of himself), a young man who goes to the lake for the same reason everyone else does. After becoming enamoured with the dashing Michel (Paou, rocking a ‘tache of which Tom Selleck would be envious), he stumbles upon a murder and, unable to confess to anyone, subsequently becomes the killer’s lover, thereby saddling himself with a horrible secret he must keep from the nosy local police and new friend Henri (d’Assumçao, wonderfully out of place and bemused throughout) who quickly notices something isn’t right. It’s a remarkably simple setup, which allows for many, many, many scenes of gratuitous male nudity (some of which may be too much for some to stomach), as Franck struggles with his conscience alongside his feelings for Michel. But, scratching beneath the surface, the fact that everything is shot in such an unapologetic, uninhibited manner is incredibly brave, and the sex scenes add an unavoidably realistic edge to the proceedings, also.

Although most of the action takes place in daylight, the film is incredibly dark and atmospheric, the tension built ever so slowly throughout, with scene after scene of seemingly innocuous conversations and romantic encounters, before everything is suddenly ratcheted up in a finale sequence that, both frustratingly and rather cleverly, leaves the conclusion up to the imagination.

The central performances carry the narrative, and sometimes clunky dialogue, so that the pace keeps moving along nicely even when nothing is really happening. A sharp edit would’ve made certain sequences a bit punchier, but overall the film is well-shot and the scenery is gorgeous throughout.

There’s no score to speak of, with only the wind rustling through the trees at certain key moments to signify how isolated the spot, and indeed Franck, is – a nice touch, considering how the lake is a character in itself, equal parts beautiful and ominous.

Everything is incredibly understated, but the premise is chilling in its simplicity and its realism. The murder itself isn’t even the centrepiece. It happens quickly, is vicious and quite shocking, adding to the idea that anything can happen in this setting, without anyone knowing or even caring.

The concept itself is quite novel, even in horror, which often deals with taboo subjects that other genres won’t touch. The only other film of note that dealt with similar themes was 2004’s Hellbent, which told the story of a gay-hunting serial killer, symbolised as the devil.

Naturally, Stranger By The Lake is a far less in-your-face affair (although there is an awful lot of dick, as is to be expected) and it’s stronger for it. A stark, strange and very scary little film, that will puzzle, frighten and shock, it is well worth a look, especially as a palate-cleanser.

Rating: 9 out of 10 stars

Every once in a while, a gem presents itself out of nowhere, shutting up even the most cynical fan. 2012’s Elijah Wood shocker Maniac was a case in point and arguably the best example to date as it managed not just to stake a claim for the original film –and for giving certain, noteworthy movies the remake treatment, instead of just the obvious choices – but by actually surpassing what came before it.

Thankfully, yet still somewhat shockingly, Jim Mickle’s We Are What We Are – a remake of the so-so 2010, Spanish language thriller Somos Lo Que Hay – is more of the same, a surprisingly effective, thrilling, frightening and very well made film that far surpasses its predecessor’s more modest intentions, without succumbing to the usual Hollywood conventions of more gore, more jump scares, more everything.

Following the cannibalistic Parker family, We Are What We Are opens as the matriarch dies of an unknown illness in the street, leaving her two daughters (played by relative newcomers Julia Garner and Ambyr Childers, both excellent) to take over and support their twisted father (the superbly frightening Bill Sage). The action moves to the backwoods of rural America, with the family following ancient customs, as opposed to just killing and eating people for fun/out of necessity.

Michael Parks, whose most recent genre stint was in Kevin Smith’s religious shocker Red State (which this film echoes in part), is the local doctor who notices something fishy is going on, while another relative newcomer Wyatt Russell is the law enforcement agent in training who takes an unfortunate fancy to the eldest daughter.

A solid cast of strong, capable performers (most of whom are relatively new faces) ensures this isn’t simply being a by-the-numbers cannibal shocker. The action is rooted in normal, everyday routine, with most of the horror coming from inside the family as Sage’s demented patriarch struggles to control his wayward daughters.

The cinematography is absolutely gorgeous throughout, the small town shot like it’s a hellhole in the middle of nowhere, where there’s no escape, even from the neighbours. Everything is rain-drenched instead of sun-soaked as it was with the original which lends a darker, far more hopeless edge to the proceedings.

Although it’s divided up into days, giving the narrative less fluidity, the remake is a lot rougher, grislier and at times more obvious – not necessarily to its detriment, either – than the original film. There are far more shocks and scares to be had here, especially in the long-awaited, suitably disgusting, dinner sequence and the tension is palpable throughout, especially when the kids try to make a run for it at one stage.

The fact that the Parkers are a well-liked part of the community, right down to a kindly neighbour who pops in to check on them from time to time, somehow makes them more frightening. And, although much is shown – flashback sequences to flesh out their back-story are a bit too expository, and unnecessary given how strong the story is in its own right – the word “cannibalism” isn’t spoken once, only shown in text in a book, which furthers the creepy atmosphere.

A climactic dinner sequence is incredibly tense, wonderfully gory and incredibly shocking, while the ending, much like the original film, is suggestive but not enough of a cliff-hanger to feel as though a follow-up is necessary, or that the whole story isn’t being told. It’s wrapped up the same way as it begins, with intrigue, mystery and suspense.

As remakes go, We Are What We Are is easily one of the strongest in recent memory. In fact, it’s an incredible film in its own right – smart, tense, and very, very scary with memorable performances and a doom-laden, gloomy, hopeless atmosphere epitomised by constant, and at times, torrential rain.

A must-see for even the most cynical, remake-bashing horror fan, it makes a case for more intelligent, challenging reboots in future and is an impressive, very inventive addition to the genre in its own right.

Rating: 9 out of 10 stars

Though they were once feared and lusted after in equal measure, vampires have taken quite a beating in the post-Twilight years but if anyone is going to make them cool again, it’s these guys – hell, Hiddleston’s rock-god is so cool, sometimes he can’t even be bothered to stand up to strum his guitar.

The immediate problem with Only Lovers Left Alive is the two central characters being as cool and gorgeous as they are, as there is a distinct danger of him, and indeed Swinton, fading into the lush, gothic backgrounds (though she stands out more, with her ice-white hair, in the heaving climate of Tangier).

Thankfully a killer script, also by Jarmusch, which is chock full of knowing nods to vampire lore and modern history, keep things ticking along nicely while the central performances are given room to breathe beyond their limited, often pretentious, boundaries.

The premise is simple; after spending an unknown amount of time living apart, Eve goes to visit Adam in Detroit when he complains of loneliness. Everything is going great, blood is in good supply from the local hospital (these are nice vamps, after all), and they are mostly left alone in Adam’s dilapidated mansion on the outskirts of town, where only loyal fan Ian (played by the adorable Anthon Yelchin) visits on occasion.

However, just when things are going a bit too well, and the two seem in danger of lapsing into a coma caused by their own uncontrollable coolness, Eve’s troublesome sister Ava (played by the ubiquitous Mia Wasikowska, stealing every scene she’s in) turns up unannounced to cause havoc, risking the life together that they’ve spent hundreds of years building.

Stylistically, Only Lovers Left Alive is a very interesting film, particularly in its fleeting depictions of the consumption of blood. Shot in lucid, almost slow-motion bursts, fangs are revealed and eyes roll back into heads as though heroin has just been injected, giving the impression that blood may be a drug these characters can’t kick, as opposed to just a life-force. It’s an interesting twist on the typical bite-in-the-neck trope that has become so played out over the years, and it elevates the film from being just a love story, or indeed a character study.

Josef Van Wissem’s stunning, evocative score provides the perfect backdrop on which to hang each scene, humming away in the background, and introducing bursts of noise at certain, key moments, like when Ava turns up, or when a sudden dash must be made when things go wrong.

It’s a bit like Queen Of The Damned – which the film echoes in part because of the vampire/rock star angle – if only it had been scored by Thom Yorke instead of Jonathan Davis, and music plays just as big a role here, with Adam strumming just about every instrument in sight. The central performances are universally strong and believable, with Hiddleston’s charisma taking centre-stage as Swinton personifies the caring, kind life partner role that she very rarely gets to play, thanks to her unconventional looks.

At times, she does look a great deal older than Adam (especially as he resembles a bizarre mix of Jared Leto in the music video for The Kill and an angrier, more gothic Bowie), until John Hurt shows up as her mentor of sorts, injecting the story with more of a sense of history and tradition.

These feel like real characters, with long, interesting lives well lived and actual back-stories, that are perfectly juxtaposed against Ava’s foolhardy, almost bratty younger sister and Ian’s oblivious human. They’re the kind of people we yearn to know more about, but whose inner machinations will always remain a mystery, and such is the strength of this story.

Although it’s a slight case of style over substance, Only Lovers Left Alive is highly enjoyable throughout, and involving to the point that it doesn’t really matter what Swinton and Hiddleston are doing onscreen, as long as they’re there.

Utterly irresistible, in spite of its hipster leanings, this is a step in the right direction for the oft-derided creatures of the night, with a compelling, memorable closing shot that suggests it has much more bite beneath its gorgeous surface than is at first obvious.

Rating: 9 out of 10 stars

When it comes to horror, the idea of doing so is somewhat more of a challenge, as even the shorts that were showcased over last year’s Frightfest weekend were, for the most part, dull and forgettable, even before the credits rolled.

It’s refreshing, then, to stumble upon something that is as shockingly well-made and stylistically interesting as Andy Stewart’s stark, disturbing and very memorable short Split, the second installment in his body horror themed, sort-of trilogy, which makes a significant case for the format in general, and particularly for its use in modern horror.

Split follows in the footsteps of the very well-received Dysmorphia, which itself was shot over just two days, for a meager budget of £160, and which went on to pick up numerous awards on the festival circuit – even being championed by genre darlings Jen and Sylvia Soska, after it was featured before their own American Mary as part of Frightfest Presents in Glasgow.

Described by the Soskas as the “best short film” they’d ever seen, Dysmorphia introduced the body horror theme that Split picks up, and indeed exceeds, in gruesome, gooey glory. Starring American actor Austin Hayden, as the poor fellow who, quite literally, splits before our eyes, opposite Sawney’s Shian Denovan, the film’s modest budget isn’t even momentarily obvious in the remarkably slick finished product.

The premise is simple, yet ultimately terrifying, as Hayden’s unnamed protagonist lies in bed, depressed over his recent split from Denovan’s character, whom, we learn through cleverly inter-spliced flashback sequences, he wronged and ultimately lost during a blazing row. As he awakens to the harsh light of another day alone, he is violently ill, and notices a sore on his chest (which he pops to wonderfully gooey effect), the first of many.

Over the course of the film, more and more oozing, hideous wounds pop up, as the protagonist loses his hair, coughs up blood and, in one particularly gruesome shot, even finds he can pull his skin back to reveal the veins underneath. Though Hayden’s central performance is undeniably great, it’s Grant Mason’s incredible special effects that are the real star of the film.

Boasting a CV stuffed with work on Sleepy Hollow, Bride Of Chucky and The Wolfman, to name but a few, Mason’s disgustingly realistic creations are worth watching the film for alone – every boil, every oozing sore, every drop of blood and pus is perfectly realised, to the point that it almost seems wrong when we don’t get to see each and every one popped and splattered across the screen.

Though there is scarcely little dialogue throughout, the writing and direction, both from Stewart are equally strong, the camera kept claustrophobically close at certain moments, before hanging back to reveal bloodied bed sheets at others. Only one setting is used – a messy apartment – and it is the moments spent in bed, and in the white-tiled bathroom that are the most stark and frightening, as deep reds are contrasted against shocking, pure whites.

The melancholic score drifts in and out depending on the moment at hand, complementing the sadness of the disintegration of the central character. There are many ways to read the film, and it will depend on the viewer how the story is taken, but as a metaphor for the disintegration of a relationship and all of the bad feelings that come with the end of such a strong bond, during which one is incredibly open and vulnerable, it is very strong indeed.

Stewart shows real flair as both a writer and director, while comparisons to last year’s Thanatomorphose seem too obvious, even offensive. Though the body horror theme runs through both, Split manages not to be over the top with its ever-present gore, instead showing certain things, but not everything, leaving the imagination to fill in the blanks. It’s to Stewart’s credit that he allows the story to speak for itself, neglecting to show too much at times when perhaps a higher budget would allow him to do so – or even a feature length film.

Not for the faint hearted (or the weak stomached), Split is a remarkably effective, incredibly shocking, poignant, and disturbing film, making a case for modern body horror, and genre shorts, while showcasing some brilliantly splattery, impressively practical special effects and a heartbreakingly realistic central performance in which the smallest gestures communicate the biggest regrets and sadness.

The final part in the trilogy, Ink, is currently being funded via Indiegogo and promises to ramp the carnage up a further notch – if that’s even possible.

Starring Nickelodeon teen royalty Josh Peck and Alice Eve, the girl who’s more famous for prancing around in her undies aboard the Star Trek Enterprise than anything else, ATM takes place over the course of one, freezing cold, ill-fated night, as three work colleagues find themselves trapped inside the titular structure, and terrorised by a hooded, masked assailant. With a setup as stupidly simple as this one, there’s not really much room for the story to grow and, one would assume, for many scares or much fun to be had.

After the three protagonists have exhausted every possible opportunity to be rescued – from wrecking the bank machine itself in order to rig the alarm, to flagging down a cop car – they begin to turn their attention inwards, turning on themselves and, naturally, each other as old scores are settled and the necessary navel-gazing occurs to make way for an ultimately unfounded belief that everything happens for a reason, and they are therefore all deserving of their fate.

What’s striking about ATM is just how much it does within its own limited confines. The three stars play, essentially, little more than stock characters – Peck is the mouthy asshole, Brian Geraghty the well-meaning nice guy and Eve the eye candy – but none of them really need to be particularly likable, or even very interesting, to inspire some sympathy in what is clearly a desperate, hopeless situation that simply escalates further and further into madness. As the drama unfolds, it feels real, as though it could happen to anyone, at any time.

Though the trailer makes it seem like typical stalk-and-slash, by the numbers fare, ATM manages to make its central scenario seem not just believable, but ultimately quite terrifying, too. The masked assailant, concealing his identity beneath a furry, hooded winter jacket (to signify that freezing to death overnight is a genuine reality) is first shown making his plans at the beginning of the movie, which makes him slightly more of a character than he has any right to be. Nothing is really learned about him otherwise, but that somehow makes him more enticing as a villain.

The film draws comparisons mostly with Adam Green’s far superior Frozen, which also pitched three young people against freezing temperatures, in a seemingly helpless situation. The difference here is that, although escape seems impossible, there is a sense that the circumstances aren’t quite as dire. Some of the characters’ actions don’t quite make sense, for example why they don’t just rush the dude immediately, considering there are three of them and only one of him, but as the tension mounts, even the smallest thing is amplified.

Funnily enough, one of the key moments of terror occurs when the group realises that the locked door they believe they are safely concealed behind is actually open, meaning there is little but glass between them and the stranger trying to kill them. When he does murder someone viciously, and in cold blood, right in front of them, it’s another moment of brutal clarity that roots ATM in horrifying reality – the premise seems stupid, but once everything starts going to shit, it suddenly starts feeling more and more likely.

Considering this is director David Brooks’ first feature, it’s a remarkably restrained, quietly tense exercise in pure, inescapable fear and desperation. Although there is no score to speak of, and the locations are limited to just two (one, really), it feels like a much bigger film than it is, and the central premise is simple, yet strong. Chris Sparling, who also scripted the Ryan Reynolds trapped-in-a-box thriller Buried, manages to indulge in several clichés, without succumbing to the hysterical slasher norm – these may be stock characters, but they all exist in various offices.

Although it was critically panned, and didn’t even receive a UK release, ATM amounts to much more than the sum of its parts. It wraps itself up a little too neatly in the dénouement, but this could easily be chalked up to first-time director’s nerves. A thrilling, interesting and ultimately very clever chiller, it’s currently lurking on UK Netflix, amongst trash that is far less deserving of your attention.

It may not seem like the most enticing prospect, but there are far worse places to be trapped on a Saturday night.

Rating: 7 out of 10 stars

Allison Miller and Zach Gilford play young newlyweds Samantha and Zach who, for reasons over-explained in useless exposition, feel the need to record each and every moment of their new lives together. While on honeymoon, they are led astray by a dodgy taxi driver and, after drinking themselves into oblivion in an underground club, Samantha finds herself pregnant. This is in spite of never missing a Pill, something that is explained away by a doctor in a moment that is trotted out whenever things seem a bit off (which is a lot). It soon becomes clear that all is not right, and as Samantha’s condition gradually worsens, Zach finds himself unable to do anything to help. After watching footage of their honeymoon, he realises that something sinister is afoot, but by that stage, it’s too late.

Devil’s Due is a frustrating entry into the horror pantheon – not least because it’s only the second genre release of the year, after the dreadful Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones. It’s courtesy of the guys behind one of the strongest entries to V/H/S, “10/31/98”, a haunted house-style piece involving overly curious friends stumbling across some sort of Satanic ritual, in which the potential for directors Bettenelli-Olpin and Gillett to make something great was evident. Why, then, is this the best they could come up with?

Devil’s Due isn’t just an ineffective horror film – it’s also lazy, derivative, badly written, badly directed and very, very boring. There are long stretches of time when nothing actually happens, and although the mundane, everyday elements of life are supposed to be what make the moments of terror so shocking, there so few of those that, as a result, the premise doesn’t really amount to much, even in the final moments of carnage.

The format is troublesome, also, especially as there is absolutely no reason for the film to be presented as found footage. It adds nothing, and there is not one original trick employed to elicit scares with it, either. For the most part, it’s the usual business with the camera panning sideways until something scary pops up, which would be fine if we hadn’t seen it a million times before, and better.

Although Miller and Gilford are likeable screen presences, their protagonists are distractingly stupid. Zach doesn’t watch the honeymoon footage for quite some time after the fact, and then loses it along with all of the evidence. Likewise, he consults an obviously odd doctor for advice and doesn’t think to check his credentials, or seek a second opinion. Every single decision that is made is nonsensical, and serves only to move the plot along, which is irritating, because let’s face it, we all know where this is going.

The conception and birth of the Antichrist was dealt with last year in Rob Zombie’s triumphant The Lords Of Salem, and in the case of that film, not only were the crucial moments themselves much better handled, but the atmosphere was creepy, intense and disturbing. Devil’s Due wastes the opportunity, along with many others, to present frightening footage of Samantha being impregnated, and simply leaves her to lay on the floor while her dress blows up a little bit. This may be an effort on the filmmakers’ part to achieve the highly-coveted 15A certificate, but it robs the film of any scare appeal and, crucially, any tension.

There are a few decent visuals – in particular a sequence in a church, during which a priest’s nose starts bleeding profusely before he passes out – but many of the effects are dulled by blurry CGI and bad camera angles. Several cameras are set up in the couple’s house, by the Satanists, which offer a little more space for the found footage angle, but it takes more than a slight suspension of disbelief to understand why, all of a sudden, the feed is coming from a different angle, and a different camera, instead of Zach’s handheld, which was in use only moments before.

Devil’s Due is a disappointing effort from the guys behind one of the strongest segments in V/H/S and it is only for found footage junkies, who cannot get their kicks unless someone is popping out to scream at the camera in an otherwise pitch black room. Otherwise, avoid like the plague and hope this format is finally on its way out (following the next Paranormal Activity addition, due later this year, of course).

Rating: 2 out of 10 stars

Brian De Palma’s 1976 adaptation of Stephen King’s debut novel Carrie is considered by most to be a near-perfect horror film, a slice of pure shock that’s still just as effective nearly forty years later. Therefore, the decision to re-make it for a modern audience – complete with iPhones and YouTube and everything! – seems perfunctory. However, with acclaimed director Kimberly Peirce at the helm, many have suggested this could be a brave, boldly feminist re-telling of Carrie.

Unfortunately, to say that Peirce’s Carrie is a useless, completely unnecessary remake would be a massive, earth-shattering understatement. Shockingly, it’s almost worse than anything that’s come before it because not only is it a boring, incredibly slow, and utterly meaningless film, but for the most part, it’s a shot-by-shot, often word-for-word remake of De Palma’s adaptation, which begs the question – why does it exist in the first place?

The premise is assumed to the point that we are expected to fill in certain blanks here and there, but suffice to say the action is pitched in the present day, which means that Carrie is filmed in the shower as she gets her period, and again when she is covered in pig’s blood at the Prom. These two, pivotal, scenes are symptomatic of what is so wrong with this film.

They are mishandled entirely, the first blown way out of proportion in an effort to capture the manic magic of De Palma’s very seventies take, while the Prom sequence plays like a superhero reveal, with the talented Chloe Grace Moretz – who saves the film from being a total dud – twisting her limbs as though she’s been practising for this moment her whole life.

Funnily enough, most of the film plays like a superhero origin movie, which suggests that Peirce may not completely understand King’s very brutal story. Moretz is her reliably excellent self, but she goes a bit Hit Girl towards the end, losing the innocence and naïveté that was so ingrained in an admittedly much older Sissy Spacek.

Likewise, Julianne Moore, though competent, is way over the top as her mother. From poking herself in the leg with a needle to outright screaming and throwing her daughter around at every opportunity, she surrenders to madness and loses what made Piper Laurie’s performance so wonderfully disturbing. Without subtlety, she’s just a crazy, very cruel person, instead of a disturbed, religious fanatic, struggling with her own demons.

There are some nice background players, such as Judy Greer as the kindly P.E. teacher who takes pity on Carrie, or Portia Doubleday as the popular girl who realises the error of her ways. Unfortunately, Peirce is reluctant to make the mean girls as cruel as they need to be, and a sudden change of heart, moments before the pig’s blood is spilled, confuses matters further. There is a sense that Carrie could’ve been a feminist call to arms, but instead no female is allowed to be a victim, or even a villain.

The nuances of De Palma’s shocker are sadly missing, with terrible CGI taking the place of the gooey practical effects that made Spacek’s rampage so terrifying. Though the original wasn’t subtle, it was consistent in its anti-bullying message, whereas its modern counterpart feels too rough at certain points, such as a Final Destination-esque death involving a car windshield, and too soft at others, as in the aforementioned moment when the cruellest girl suddenly changes her mind, for no apparent reason.

It’s unclear whether we are supposed to root for Carrie, or fear her, and the fact that the script is 99 per cent Lawrence D. Cohen’s original screenplay (he is credited as a writer here, too), with a few “modern” touches thrown in, doesn’t ease the feeling that this is just a skeleton of a film, wearing another’s skin while prancing around pretending to be a whole being.

Though it should be judged on its own merits, it’s impossible to separate this Carrie from its predecessor. However, the most frustrating moment comes at the end, which incorporates a bizarre twist involving teen pregnancy, without the money shot for which everyone is waiting. Instead, the film ends just as it began, with a dull, boring thud.

Though it’s sad that this is the final, mainstream horror release of the year, at least 2013 also gave us Maniac, which at least argued that remakes don’t always have to be quite this dreadful.

Rating: 3 out of 10 stars

At this year’s Frightfest, there were several, notable films with a religious angle, from the demonic possession of Daylight, to the dark mass of The Paranormal Diaries: Clophill while, back in 2011, Kevin Smith shocked the world with his take on the concept, Red State, a brutally unflinching look into a terrifying cult of fanatics.

Anthony Di Blasi’s rather brilliant Missionary takes a far less obvious road than its contemporaries, choosing to focus its attention on Mormons and, in particular, one rather disturbed young man (the titular missionary) who uses his religious beliefs to attack, and control, those around him.

It’s a brave idea, one which was inspired by Di Blasi’s discussions on faith with a Mormon friend, who suggested that, though most are fairly low-key, there were certain members of the religion who were ripe for dramatic purpose.

Let’s face it, this could so easily have been a film about the evils of the much-maligned Church Of Scientology but, by focusing on Mormon missionaries, Di Blasi has rooted the premise in reality and, as a result, the events which transpire therein are far more shocking, and disturbing, than they would’ve been if he had chosen a much easier target.

The strength of the film is thanks, in large part, to a star turn from the incredible Mitch Ryan, a relative newcomer who looks like a sort of non-threatening Channing Tatum, and who injects his villain, the terrifyingly calm Pastor Brock, with a cunning cruelty and innate evil that is impossible to resist.

Brock takes pity on single mother Katherine (Dawn Olivieri), who is struggling to make ends meet, with her young son and his absent father. After embarking on an ill-advised sexual relationship with Brock, Katherine realises her error a bit too late and, although she makes several attempts to let him down gently, it soon becomes clear that he won’t be taking no for an answer.

Missionary is a truly remarkable film. Well-paced, well-directed, well-acted, well-written, and oozing with tension and fear, it’s the kind of film that tricks the viewer into a false sense of security by not revealing its true origins until it’s too late.

Much like its seemingly unstoppable villain, the true horror of Missionary is revealed so slowly, it almost makes one’s heart stop with its intensity. The gore is minimal, and there are several, key moments of violence that are interjected so seamlessly into the narrative, they are almost impossible to predict.

Mitch Ryan gives an outstanding central performance, luring the audience in, along with Katherine, so that, once his true intentions become clear, there’s no escape. Though it was originally intended for Pastor Brock to only be pretending to be a missionary, the decision to make him a devout believer instead makes the story terrifyingly realistic. He looks, and acts, like a regular, all-American dude, so when he turns, it’s incredibly frightening.

Di Blasi has made it clear that Missionary is not meant as an attack on the Mormon religion, but instead as a study of how, even the people who seem most trustworthy can turn on us when we least expect it – less of a warning, than a knowing nod to the way in which those who knock at our doors can often be taken at face value when they really shouldn’t be.

As a study of a deranged stalker, the film works very well, but the way in which it is rooted in reality, with the insertion of seemingly innocuous, routine moments, is very clever indeed. Beautifully shot, and with a central character we can really believe in, alongside a disturbing, yet very normal-looking, everyday guy, as the villain, Missionary is the perfect kind of Not Quite Horror film.

It builds everything up so slowly, before hitting us with moment after moment of shocking, weird, disturbing actions that pull the rug out from under us in a spectacular, yet very low key, manner. Some of these moments are so shockingly quiet, almost underplayed, that their horror only becomes clear afterwards.

Definitely one of the standout horror movies of the year, even though it probably wouldn’t even be billed by most people as a genre flick, Missionary is smart, aesthetically gorgeous, tense, thrilling, and very, very scary.

Rating: 9 out of 10 stars