Produced by Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice, Bernie Bellew, Danny Boyle, Alex Garland, etc.
Main cast: Ralph Fiennes, Jack O’Connell, Alfie Williams, Erin Kellyman, Chi Lewis-Parry, etc.
Cinematography by Sean Bobbitt
28 Years Later: Bone Temple (2025) is not a film that eases you in. It grabs you by the throat and refuses to let go, piling atrocity upon atrocity until meaning begins to seep through the blood. This is apocalyptic cinema as ritual punishment, and under Nia DaCosta’s direction, it becomes something ferociously alive.
At the calm, moral centre of the chaos standsRalph Fiennes, delivering a performance of astonishing gravitas and unexpected tenderness as Dr. Ian Kelson. In a world rotted by infection and cruelty, Kelson represents something almost radical: goodness without irony. Fiennes plays him not as a saint, but as a weary human being who still believes care, cure and compassion matter, even when the world insists otherwise. His presence anchors the film, giving its excess a conscience.
Opposing him is Jack O’Connell’s Jimmy Crystal, a vicious cult leader whose charisma curdles into something genuinely frightening. Crystal preaches violent “charity” in the name of Satan, offering salvation through brutality, and O’Connell leans hard into the performance’s ugliness. Leading his young, droogy, Savile-esque followers, he wages war not just on human survivors, but on the infected as well, collapsing any moral distinction between mercy and massacre. It’s a performance that feels designed to make your skin crawl—and it succeeds. Alas, Spike (Alfie Williams) gets caught up in Jimmy’s insanity and the sense of fear for him reigns throughout.
DaCosta directs with visceral energy, staging sequences that are frequently jaw-dropping in their gore and sadism. This is not a film particularly interested in an actual plot, clean narrative arcs or deep psychological excavation. Instead, Bone Temple unfolds as a succession of brutal set-pieces, each more punishing than the last. Some viewers will undoubtedly find it too much—too loud, too violent, too relentless.
But that relentlessness is also the point. What makes 28 Years Later: Bone Templeso compelling is how it mashes thematic power with B-movie exploitation ultra-violence. Beneath the spray of blood and bone is a furious meditation on false charity, moral absolutism, and the terrifying ease with which cruelty dresses itself up as righteousness. It’s ugly, abrasive, and often overwhelming—but it’s never empty. Indeed, if there is a more stylish and powerful scene in cinema all year than the ‘Number of the Beast’- Iron Maiden-soundtracked-fiery-ritual-sequence then I can’t wait to see it.
Ultimately, this is apocalypse horror as endurance test and sermon, and while it won’t be for everyone, I found it exhilarating. In its refusal to soften its blows, 28 Years Later: Bone Temple (2025)earns its place as one the most savage entries in the franchise, so far.
Cast: Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Margot Kidder, John Saxon, Marian Waldman, Andrea Martin, Art Hindle, etc.
Cinematography by Reginald H. Morris
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Black Christmas (1974) remains a cornerstone of cult horror, steeped in creeping dread thanks to director Bob Clark’s unnerving ability to build eerie atmospherics. As a series of obscene phone calls begin to plague a sorority house, the film patiently tightens the noose, revealing that a psychopath is homing in on the “sisters” with sinister intent. Even as the police attempt to trace the calls, Clark toys with perception, suggesting that nothing—and no one—is quite what it seems.
Beyond its surface-level shocks, Black Christmas reveals a surprisingly progressive and unsettling thematic undercurrent. The film’s menace is deeply entangled with ideas of toxic masculinity: male entitlement, surveillance, and violence seep into almost every threat faced by the women. The killer’s obscene phone calls aren’t just frightening—they’re exercises in domination, attempts to invade private space through verbal abuse and sexualised rage. Even ostensibly “normal” male authority figures are depicted as dismissive, incompetent, or quietly threatening, reinforcing the sense that danger is systemic rather than anomalous.
Most striking for its era is the film’s pro-choice stance. Jess’s determination to have an abortion—presented as a firm, rational decision rather than a moral failing—grounds the horror in real-world anxiety. Her boyfriend’s furious reaction exposes a fragile masculinity rooted in ownership and expectation, aligning emotional coercion with the film’s broader atmosphere of male control. Horror here isn’t just the killer in the attic; it’s the social pressure bearing down on women’s autonomy.
Familial breakdown also looms large. The sorority house functions as a fractured surrogate family, one that offers warmth and camaraderie but ultimately fails to protect its members. Traditional structures—parents, police, institutions—are either absent, drunk, or found wanting, leaving the women isolated within spaces that should be safe. This erosion of trust amplifies the film’s dread, making the violence feel inescapable.
The ambiguous ending remains divisive. By denying the audience catharsis or moral resolution, director Bob Clark leaves the horror unresolved, lingering long after the credits roll. For some viewers, this refusal to “close the case” is profoundly unsettling; for others, it risks dissatisfaction, as the absence of narrative justice feels incomplete rather than subversive. Yet it’s arguably this very lack of closure that cements Black Christmas’s power. The evil isn’t vanquished—it’s merely unseen, waiting—an idea that would echo loudly through the genre and unsettle audiences for decades to come.
Standout performances from wise-cracking Margot Kidder, ethereal Olivia Hussey, and the intensely unsettling Keir Dullea elevate the material. Revisiting the film after a twenty years hiatus, I felt the fear factor is occasionally undercut by arguably silly humour and moments of heightened over-acting. Yet, its influence is undeniable—paving the way for filmmakers like John Carpenter, who would refine and surpass its template with the classic Halloween (1978).
In the languid drift of autumn, when Halloween’s shadow lengthens and winter begins its slow, expectant inhale, the world seems to slip into a more suggestive register—one where every rustling leaf feels like a whispered omen. It is, of course, the most appropriate season to surrender to the year’s latest horror releases, as though communing with these cinematic phantoms might prepare us—spiritually, aesthetically—for the deeper darkness to come.
Which basically means I have been catching up with some 2025 horror film releases I missed at the cinema during autumn. A couple of these probably warrant more in depth solo reviews, but as I edge closer to old age and the reaper’s scythe, I am economizing somewhat.
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Black Phone 2 (2025)
Scott Derrickson and co-writer C. Robert Cargill deliver a sequel to The Black Phone (2021) with Mason Thames, Madeleine McGraw, Jeremy Davies, and Ethan Hawke reprising their roles from the first chiller. I actually enjoyed this one more than the original, which despite the clunky set-up, finds the siblings and others trapped in a teen camp hit by a blizzard. They find themselves hunted and haunted by both The Grabber (Hawke) and other ghostly spirits haunting the area. Derrikson throws a lot of horror tropes and the characters (literally in certain scenes) at the walls, and much of it sticks. Having said that, I still don’t think The Grabber is the scariest villain ever committed to screen, despite Hawke’s presence. (Mark: 7.5 out of 11)
Companion (2025)
Companion (2025) feels like Garland’s Ex Machina (2014) colliding elegantly with Fargeat’s feral Revenge (2017)—a sunny day-horror fable that hides its nastiest surprises in plain sight. Its twists are sharp, its aesthetic confident, and its ideas far more ambitious than its modest surface first suggests. I would have admired it even more were it not, on occasions, completely dumb. Plus, the occasional drift into a comedic register undercuts its more incisive moments. The beautiful Sophie Thatcher once again commands the screen with the same riveting presence she brought to Heretic (2024). Mark: 8 out of 11.
Graduation Day (1981)
Thanks to Bobby Carroll’s site for reminding me about slasher film, Graduation Day (1981), as I had completely forgotten about it. High quality kills and gore mask a screenplay which has more nudity than character development. Yet, I am a sucker for these 1980’s exploitation flicks and this is a watchable one. Mark: 6 out of 11
Good Boy (2025)
An low-budget horror film triumph with Ben Leonberg directing his own dog, Indy, a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, as the only witness to nasty spirits threatening his owner. The film emerges as a formal tour-de-force, whose meticulous composition and deliberate pacing elevate its simple premise into something unexpectedly resonant. Its visual precision and rhythmic control shape an atmosphere of dread that feels more sculpted than sensational, grounding the film in an emotionally impactful narrative about loyalty, vulnerability, and the unsettling spaces between trust and fear. For all its craft, and impressive animal direction, the film doesn’t quite sustain a relentless menace throughout. But, it remains a memorable feature debut from Leonberg and Indy the dog. Mark: 8.5 out of 11.
Presence (2025)
In Presence (2024), David Koepp and Steven Soderbergh demonstrate just how potent a one-location horror film can be when discipline and imagination converge. The entire piece unfolds like a controlled exhale: a slow-build structure that trusts the audience to lean in, and a drifting, almost contemplative camera that adopts the ghost’s POV to quietly—sometimes imperceptibly—reveal fragments of the story. Instead of overplaying its hand, the film slow-drips its plot elements with an elegance that keeps tension suspended in the air, letting unease pool in the corners of an otherwise ordinary space. By the time it reaches its finale, Presence (2024) delivers not only a surge of emotional and thematic clarity but two genuinely surprising twists—earned, unsettling, and executed with the kind of precision that affirms both writer and directors’ mastery of the form. Mark: 8.5 out of 11.
Restless (2024)
Really good independent British thriller with Lyndsey Marshal as a nurse, Nicky, who finds herself terrorized by 24-hour partying thug neighbours. Writer-director Jed Hart creates great empathy and identification with the situation and it’s a shame decent British films like this get short shrift at the multiplexes. Nicky’s spiral into insomnia-driven madness is compelling as her desperate attempts to sleep give way to vengeance. But the film’s final act tonal turn denies us a full-on descent into suburban hell, for something amenable but unfortunately less twisted. Mark: 7.5 out of 11
The Rule of Jenny Pen (2025)
The Rule of Jenny Pen is an original, weird, and powerful shock of a film — a mash-up of psychological thriller and nursing-home horror that lands far more often than it stumbles. Its greatest strength is, without question, the towering performances at its centre. Geoffrey Rush and John Lithgow, two masters of calibrated gravitas, turn the film’s cat-and-mouse mind game into a gripping acting showcase. Together, they elevate the film’s themes of aging, vulnerability, and institutional neglect into something both unsettling and strangely beautiful. The plotting, however, does get a bit sticky toward the end. The final act jars slightly, causing me confusion in an otherwise tight psychological narrative. Still, even as the story wobbles a tad, the film’s originality, eerie tone, and powerhouse acting keep it compelling. Mark: 8 out of 11
The Woman in the Yard (2025)
The Woman in the Yard (2025) rises on the strength of Danielle Deadwyler’s commanding lead performance. As a mother trying to protect her two children from a funereal spirit lingering in their backyard, Deadwyler grounds the supernatural dread with raw emotional honesty. The child actors match her with a believable, lived-in family dynamic that makes the haunting feel all the more personal. Where the film falters is in its structure. The script leans heavily on crow-barred flashbacks that interrupt rather than enrich the unfolding tension. A more linear approach could have built a stronger emotional momentum, allowing the story’s grief, guilt, and mental illness to accumulate naturally instead of stuttering backward at key moments. (Mark: 6 out of 11)
Together (2025)
Together (2025) gets an immediate boost from the casting of real-life couple Alison Brie and Dave Franco, whose natural chemistry gives the film an authentic emotional core. As a pair trying to rebuild their relationship after moving from the city to a rural small town, they convincingly inhabit the tensions, resentments, and unspoken fears that surface long before the horror does. Their incompatible expectations feel lived-in — and once they tumble into a sinkhole and the strange bodily transformations begin, that emotional groundwork makes the nightmare hit harder.
I loved the trailer for this film, which promised a truly skin-crawling descent into body-horror chaos. The final product, while atmospheric and often engrossing, doesn’t fully deliver on that promise. It pulls back when it could push further, leaving some of the more disgusting, surreal possibilities off-screen. But the ending — bold, surprising and unexpectedly poignant — is a fantastic payoff. Even if the film doesn’t always reach the extremes it teases, Together still manages to leave a memorably twisted impression. Mark: 8.5 out of 11
Cult Film Review: Ms. 45 / Angel of Vengeance (1981)
Directed by Abel Ferrara
Written by Nicholas St. John
Produced by: Richard Howorth, Mary Kane
Main cast: Zoë Tamerlis (Lund), Albert Sinkys, Steve Singer, Jack Thibeau, Peter Yellen, Darlene Stuto, Helen McGara etc.
Cinematography by James Momel
In its latest 4K restoration, Ms. 45—Abel Ferrara’s 1981 revenge thriller—has never looked more electrifying, or more disturbing. A stunning new rendering of Ferrara’s gritty vision, Ms. 45 showcases New York City in all its stark, seething chaos: a place of beautiful ugliness, where the streets pulse with danger, desperation, and decay. The film, originally shot on 16mm, feels both of its time and eerily timeless, especially now in ultra-high-definition, where every grainy detail of Ferrara’s oppressive, neon-lit streets shines in a raw, unapologetic manner.
At the heart of this urban nightmare is Thana (Zoë Lund, credited as Zoë Tamerlis), a mute seamstress whose world shatters after she is brutally assaulted by a man on her way home, then attacked again in her home. Her muteness is both a powerful thematic element and an artistic choice, amplifying her trauma, her rage, and her vengeance in a way that spoken words never could. Thana’s descent into violence is stark, visceral, and unrelenting, making her a strange kind of anti-hero in this world of moral decay. Ferrara’s direction is clinical, cold, and absolutely uncompromising—each frame holds a sharp, almost surgical precision, magnifying the madness of her mind and the city itself.
What truly elevates Ms. 45 beyond its genre limitations is the electric performance of Zoë Tamerlis/Lund. At just 17 years old when the film was made, Lund’s portrayal of Thana is nothing short of revelatory. She is the beating heart of this disturbing narrative, lighting up the screen with a fierce, magnetic presence that could have easily made her a Hollywood star—had the industry been ready for her. While many of the supporting cast either cannot act or over-act, Lund’s both vulnerable and terrifying, her expression often the only indication of her character’s state of mind. Her journey from victim to vengeful force is tragic, yet always compelling.
Had Lund chosen to pursue a more conventional career, she would likely have ascended to Hollywood’s A-list—her look was captivating, her screen presence undeniable—but the indie, underground scene was where she truly thrived. In Ms. 45, she is a tragic figure of youth lost to the violence of the world around her, and in the midst of it all, she shines, her performance capturing the raw, cathartic essence of a girl pushed too far. Further, Lund’s performance peaks in one of the most iconic sequences of the film—Thana’s nun fancy-dress shootout. Drenched in blood and surrounded by chaos, she dissects the partygoers in slow-motion with a terrifying calm, her eyes wide with cold sorrow. It’s a juxtaposition of innocence and savagery, like a child playing with fire and discovering its destructive power. Kudos to the deranged soundtrack here which really ramps up Ferrara’s nightmarish vision.
Ms. 45 is NOT a film for the faint of heart or the easily offended. It’s violent, raw, and unapologetically brutal, with moments that will leave you questioning your own reaction to Thana’s vengeful spree. There is something deeply primal about the film—the way it feeds off its viewers’ discomfort, forcing them to confront Thana’s rage. It’s a film that revels in its own madness, and yet somehow, Ferrara and Lund manage to make revenge feel like an art form. It’s as stylish as it is savage, as haunting as it is exhilarating.
In conclusion, Ms. 45 is a genre-defining thriller, a masterpiece of violent cinema that has lost none of its power with time. The 4K restoration is a perfect showcase for Ferrara’s vision, and Zoë Lund’s performance is a revelation—her beauty and intensity burn through the screen, making you wonder what might have been had she chosen a different path. But for those of us lucky enough to witness this film in all its gritty glory, it’s impossible not to see her as a true underground legend. Whether or not you’re ready for it, Ms. 45is visceral, stylish, and uncompromising cinema—one that will stay with you long after the credits roll and that evil saxophone soundtrack beat fades out.
Halloween Review Special: Werewolf Films – Part #2
Happy Halloween again! Part 1 of my Werewolf film reviews can be found here on this link. So, on with Part #2 with all films marked out of 11!
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS ***
Ginger Snaps (2000)
Ginger Snaps (2000) is a rare and refreshing take on the werewolf myth, shifting the focus to the female experience with wit and bite. As the awkward Bridget, Emily Perkins gives a wonderfully grounded performance, desperately trying to save her sister Ginger after a fateful wolf attack. Cleverly linking the lunar and menstrual cycles, the film transforms body horror into a sharp coming-of-age allegory. Smart, sexy, and darkly funny, it’s packed with gallows humour, fantastic gore, and a subversive energy that makes it one of the standout horror films of its era. Mark: 9 out of 11
Howl (2015)
Howl (2015) is an underrated British werewolf gem that feels like Dog Soldiers (2002) set on a train — claustrophobic, gritty, and laced with dark humour. Ed Speleers plays a weary, beta-male guard whose routine night shift derails into a fight for survival when the train breaks down in the woods. As tensions rise among the stranded passengers, he’s forced to find his courage against something far more terrifying than “leaves on the line.” Mark: 8.5 out of 11
The Howling (1981)
Joe Dante’s The Howling (1981) may now feel almost plotless in retrospect, but it remains a deliriously inventive slice of horror cinema. The film thrives on unforgettable set-pieces and grotesque energy — from a chillingly unrecognisable Robert Picardo as the predatory Eddie Quist to Elisabeth Brooks’ hypnotic, sensual menace. Dee Wallace delivers a strong turn as the quintessential scream queen, leading to an unintentionally funny change at the end, while Rob Bottin’s groundbreaking transformation effects still stand among the genre’s finest. Mark: 8 out of 11
Red Riding Hood (2011)
A messy yet oddly entertaining blend of Twilight-style romance, fairy-tale gothic, and werewolf whodunnit. Amanda Seyfried glows at the center of the melodrama, giving the film more heart than it deserves, while Gary Oldman chews through his lines — and the scenery — with the gusto of a man earning a very comfortable Hollywood paycheck. Mark: 5.5 out of 11
Silver Bullet (1985)
Silver Bullet (1985) carries many of the familiar hallmarks of Stephen King’s storytelling — small-town paranoia, moral rot beneath the surface, and a sense of homespun Americana under siege — but lacks the sharpness of stronger King adaptations. While it holds a nostalgic charm for 1980’s horror fans, thanks to its mix of pulp, sentimentality, Gary Busey-on-butane, and Corey Haim’s spirited performance, it’s far from essential and not one of my go-to werewolf films. Mark 6.5 out of 11
Teen Wolf (1985)
I’m ashamed to admit I’d never seen Teen Wolf (1985) until now — but it’s a charming coming-of-age comedy that finds Michael J. Fox as Scott Howard, a teenager who discovers a very hairy family secret. Scott juggles puberty, romance, bullies, and basketball glory. The adults are enjoyably eccentric, but it’s James Hampton as Scott’s warm, understanding father who grounds the film with genuine heart. Mark 7 out of 11
Werewolves (2024)
Werewolves (2024) boasts an intriguing premise — scientists racing to cure humanity of a wolf-mutant virus unleashed under a supermoon — and delivers plenty of muscular action-horror energy. Frank Grillo anchors the nocturnal mayhem with his trademark grit, like a U.S. Statham. It’s entertaining, but the world-building feels rushed, as if we’ve dropped into the sequel to an origin story that doesn’t exist yet. Mark 6 out of 11
Werewolves: The Beast Amongst Us (2012)
Werewolves: The Beast Amongst Us (2012) is an entertaining but clearly made-for-TV creature feature that feels like a bargain-bin mashup of Stephen Sommers’ The Mummyand Van Helsing — all gothic flair and monster mayhem, but without the budget, stars, or polish. Still, its pulpy enthusiasm and old-school monster-hunting energy make it a mildly fun watch for fans of B-movie beast action. Mark 6 out of 11
Werewolves Within (2021)
Werewolves Within (2021) has a sharp, witty script packed with humour and clever twists, but its over-the-top direction and eccentric ensemble make it hard to fully connect with. Sam Richardson shines as the affable Forest Ranger caught amid a group of oddball townsfolk — and a monster on the loose. Fast-paced, funny, and gory, it plays like Tremors set in the snow — just without the magic that made that classic so effortlessly great. Mark 7 out of 11
Wolf (1994)
Wolf (1994) suffers from an under cooked corporate-werewolf concept that never quite decides if it wants to be a horror film, a romance, or a satire — and ends up failing at all three. Jack Nicholson and Michelle Pfeiffer, both usually magnetic, seem oddly disengaged under Mike Nichols’ overly restrained direction. The film has flashes of intrigue and style, but it lacks bite; James Spader, simmering with sleaze and menace, could have stolen the show if only he’d been let off the leash. Mark: 6 out of 11
Wolfcop (2014)
WolfCop (2014) is a gloriously bonkers B-movie romp about an alcoholic small-town cop, Lou Garou (Leo Fafard), who becomes a werewolf and stumbles into a plot of witchcraft and sacrifice. Director Lowell Dean brings wild energy and gleeful chaos to the mix, delivering gory action and sharp humor that far outshine the film’s modest budget. It’s ridiculous, rowdy, and an absolute blast from start to finish. Mark: 7.5 out of 11
The Wolf Man (2010)
The Wolfman (2010) is a stylish, brooding gothic remake elevated by Rick Baker’s stunning creature effects and an atmosphere dripping with fog, blood, and tragedy. On rewatch, it’s far more enjoyable than it first seemed, with Benicio Del Toro and Emily Blunt grounding the film’s emotional heart while Anthony Hopkins bellows through his expositional monologues with Shakespearean gravitas. The production design, lighting, and Danny Elfman’s sweeping score are all superb, but the film’s flaws are clear — studio meddling and re-shoots leave the opening character setup feeling rushed and the narrative uneven, hinting at a richer version lost to the editing room. Mark: 7 out of 11
For fans of Upgrade (2018) and The Invisible Man (2020), Wolf Man may feel like a missed opportunity. Those films balanced high-concept storytelling with sharp social commentary, whereas Leigh Whannell’s latest effort feels more like a half-formed howl in the night. See my full review here. Mark: 6.5 out of 11
The Wolf of Snow Hollow(2020)
The Wolf of Snow Hollow (2020) delivers an effective monster story filtered through Jim Cummings’ uniquely neurotic, darkly comedic lens. Cummings stars as a frazzled small-town cop juggling alcoholism, a dementia-stricken father, and a teenage daughter — all while a vicious creature tears through the community. It’s an offbeat, entertaining indie horror with sharp writing, emotional bite, and a fantastic twist buried in the chaotic narrative pile-up of its finale. Mark 8 out of 11
The Wolfman (1941) / Frankenstein meets The Wolfman (1943)
Lon Chaney Jr. has always been my favorite tragic werewolf — a figure of deep sadness and empathy rather than pure monstrosity. I grew up watching those classic Universal horror films, and his portrayal of Larry Talbot still resonates as one of cinema’s most heartbreaking depictions of the cursed outsider. There’s a weary humanity to Chaney’s performance, a sense of a man doomed to repeat his suffering under the full moon, forever torn between guilt and fate.
While the scripts in those early Wolf Man films are often simple and melodramatic, their emotional weight endures thanks to Chaney’s sincerity and Jack Pierce’s groundbreaking makeup effects. Pierce’s work transformed the genre, creating an iconic design that remains unmatched in its tactile, hand-crafted artistry. Together, Chaney and Pierce gave the werewolf myth its soul — one that was less about savagery, and more about the tragedy of being human within a cursed lunar cycle. Mark: 9 out of 11
Halloween Review Special: Werewolf Films – Part #1
Happy Halloween! As loyal readers of this blog will know I am a massive horror film fan. Therefore I have focused August’s viewing on the Werewolf sub-genre and present some short reviews of some of my favourites and some not so good. As usual all marked out of 11!
Werewolf films have long captivated both filmmakers and audiences because they tap into primal fears and psychological complexities that transcend genre. At their core, these stories explore the theme of transformation—both physical and psychological—which resonates deeply with viewers. The metamorphosis from human to beast is not just a spectacle of horror; it’s a metaphor for the loss of control, the unleashing of suppressed desires, and the tension between civilization and instinct. This duality offers rich narrative terrain for directors and screenwriters to explore identity, morality, and the boundaries of human nature.
Psychologically, the werewolf embodies the Freudian concept of the id—the raw, instinctual part of the psyche driven by aggression and desire. The human persona represents the ego, trying to mediate between the id and the constraints of society, or the superego. When the transformation occurs, the id overwhelms the ego, resulting in violent, animalistic behavior that defies social norms. This internal conflict is dramatized through the werewolf’s struggle to reconcile their human conscience with their monstrous impulses, making the character both terrifying and tragically relatable.
The tension between animal and human also reflects broader cultural anxieties. Werewolf films often surface during times of social upheaval, when questions about identity, repression, and conformity are especially potent. The creature’s split identity—man or woman by day, beast by night—mirrors the psychological fragmentation many experience in modern life. For filmmakers, this duality offers a visual and thematic playground: the grotesque transformation scenes, the haunting aftermath, and the moral ambiguity of the protagonist all contribute to a compelling cinematic experience. For audiences, the werewolf is not just a monster—it’s a mirror, reflecting the parts of ourselves we fear, repress, and sometimes secretly crave to unleash.
American Werewolf in London(1981)
One of the greatest lycanthrope films of all time. Full of iconic scenes, scares, gore, jokes, sex and an incredible lunar-inspired soundtrack. John Landis, in a directorial purple patch at the time, managed to combine horror, comedy, mystery and a moving love story to memorable impact. Rick Baker’s make-up effects literally transformed further the art and craft of practical special effects going forward. Mark: 10 out of 11
Bad Moon (1996)
Truly dreadful film with a script that fails on most levels, notably logic. The beast is not only the werewolf in the guise of Michael Paré’s Uncle Ted, but also toxic masculinity. Single mum, Mariel Hemingway and her son spend most of the film failing to guess who the big bad wolf is until it is nearly too late. Mark: 3 out of 11
The Beast Must Die (1974)
So bad it’s almost good! The British studio, Amicus Productions, wolf-dunnit, even has the audience take a “werewolf break” where they get 30-seconds to work out who the monster is. Calvin Lockhart, Michael Gambon, and Tom Chadbon et al chew up the scenery, washing it down with bloody terrible effects. The budget was so low they had to use German Shepherd’s with mock fur as the werewolves. Mark 6 out of 11.
The Company of Wolves (1984)
Neil Jordan’s artful adaptation of Angela Carter’s short stories is a richly atmospheric triumph of mood. Though the film’s episodic structure and bookending narrative can feel a touch uneven, Jordan’s poetic direction and Carter’s dreamlike sensibility merge into something intoxicatingly strange. An excellent ensemble of character actors brings the fable-like vignettes to life, with Angela Lansbury delivering a particularly commanding and memorable turn. Mark 8 out of 11
Cursed (2005)
Wes Craven’s 2005 film The Cursed is a case where the behind-the-scenes turmoil proves far more frightening than the movie itself. A troubled production that saw Craven effectively abandon ship midway through, and it bears the scars of hasty reshoots and studio meddling. What emerges is a patchy, uneven werewolf tale with flashes of potential buried beneath the chaos. Still, a young Jesse Eisenberg lends surprising depth to the material, offering a glimpse of quality amid the hairy dross. Mark: 4 out of 11
The Cursed (2021)
Sean Ellis’s The Cursed (2021) delivers a potent blend of gothic grandeur and visceral horror, transforming familiar werewolf and Gypsy tropes into something deeply atmospheric and unsettling. With its striking visuals, meticulous period detail, and haunting score, the film conjures an eerie, painterly world where the sins of the past literally come back to bite. Beneath the blood and fog lies a thoughtful allegory about greed and the gentry’s theft of land, lending the stylish horror a surprising moral weight and emotional resonance. Mark: 8 out of 11
The Curse of the Werewolf (1961)
Hammer’s The Curse of the Werewolf (1961), is anchored by a powerful, brooding performance from Oliver Reed in his breakout role. A staple of my childhood viewing, it’s a film that surprises with its thoughtful set-up—using its Spanish setting to critique class divisions while evoking real empathy for Reed’s tragic, cursed Wolfman. The gothic atmosphere and emotional depth elevate it above typical monster fare, and Warren Mitchell’s turn as a Spanish watchman adds an unexpected and delightful touch of humour amid the savage murders. Mark: 7.5 out of 11
Dog Soldiers(2002)
Neil Marshall’s Dog Soldiers (2002) is an absolute gem of British horror and easily one of my favourites of the genre. Set in the misty isolation of the Scottish Highlands, it combines gritty military camaraderie with ferocious werewolf mayhem to brilliant effect. Kevin McKidd, Sean Pertwee, and Liam Cunningham are all superb, grounding the film with sharp performances that balance humour, heart, and genuine terror. Funny, moving, bloody, and properly scary, Dog Soldiersis a masterclass in doing a lot with a little—its creature effects and atmosphere are astonishing given the budget. A true modern classic that respects the genre with intelligently terrifying monsters and the film still howls with lunar power. Mark: 10 out of 11
Produced by Troy Lum, Andrew Mason, Pete Shilaimon, Mickey Liddell, Chris Ferguson & Brian Kavanaugh-Jones
Main Cast: Hassie Harrison, Josh Heuston, Rob Carlton, Ella Newton, Liam Greinke, Jai Courtney etc.
Cinematography by Shelley Farthing-Dawe
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Set amidst the golden beaches and deep blue sea of the Gold Coast, Australia, the film begins with boat captain, Tucker (Jai Courtney) springing a shocking and literal tourist trap. The film then moves onto establishing a fledgling romance between surf drifter, Zephr (Hassie Harrison) and local office clerk, Moses, (Josh Heuston). What then follows is a brutal and gory thriller which had me on the edge-of-my-popcorn throughout. It also once again proves that human beings are more of a threat than the actual big fish in the sea.
Dangerous Animals (2025) consistently delivers thrills thanks to Nick Lepard’s witty, nasty script and two standout performances. Hassie Harrison shines as a gutsy fighter who refuses to play the victim, while Jai Courtney both embodies and skewers the Aussie male stereotype in a scenery-chewing turn sharper than a shark’s jaws. His hulking frame, blunt verbals and piercing looks emulate a predatory fearfulness throughout creating one of the most memorable screen villains in recent years.
After watching the trippy Kafkaesque Nicolas Cage beach thriller not long ago, The Surfer (2024), I found Australian toxic masculinity once again raising its head with blood and bite in the Jaws-meets-Silence of the Lambs suspense thriller. Dangerous Animals (2025) isn’t without minor plot snags, but ultimately Lepard’s twisted script ensures we care about the leads, weaving a believable romance amid tense shark attacks and sea-sprayed suspense. Director, Sean Byrne, orchestrates the shark and human action brilliantly on a relatively low budget, ensuring the result is a lean, bloody, and entertaining ride that bites down hard and doesn’t let go.
Gradual but excellent progress has been made on the post-production. Editing and the musical score have been completed so the film should be ready by the end of September 2025 for submission to festivals.
A trailer will be released soon. In the meantime, I commissioned some film and character posters. See above and the slideshow below.
Logline
Banished to the “suicide shift” for breaking spirit call centre regulations, CARMILLA FERRY, now deals with the most tortured of souls moving from this world to the next. After being blasted by her line manager on the phone, Russell, Carmilla is feeling even more isolated and demoralised than usual. After a series of heart-crushing calls, culminating in a particularly stressful shift, Carmilla is then faced with the most heart-wrenching call of all.
Cast: Billy Barratt, Sora Wong, Jonah Wren Phillips, Sally Hawkins, Sally-Anne Upton, etc.
Cinematography by Aaron McLisky
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
It’s become something of a cliché to lament the state of theatrical cinema: superhero fatigue, endless sequels, spin-offs and reboots, streaming overflow. Original stories—particularly in multiplexes—feel increasingly rare. Yet one genre has bucked the trend and, against all industry logic, placed original visions front and centre: horror. In an era of IP dominance, horror’s persistence as the great innovator is growing. It thrives on shadows, but in today’s cinema landscape, it’s also the brightest light.
Across the last few years, titles like Barbarian (2022), Pearl (2022), Skinamarink (2022), Nope (2022), Talk to Me (2023), Infinity Pool (2023), When Evil Lurks (2023), Late Night With the Devil (2023), Totally Killer (2023), Heretic (2024), Longlegs (2024), Sinners (2025), and the soon-to-be-reviewed, Weapons (2025) have proved again and again that audiences crave fresh nightmares. Even 28 Years Later (2025), though technically part of an ongoing series, represents a rare franchise event grounded less in brand synergy than in directorial reinvention and raw cultural appetite.
Unlike superhero spectacles or sci-fi epics, horror thrives on modest budgets and audacious ideas. A film like Skinamarink (2022), shot for a reported $15,000, can turn experimental textures into a viral theatrical moment. Personally, I found this film difficult to digest, however, the more commercial, Talk to Me (2023), made for $4.5 million, earned nearly twenty times that worldwide. These aren’t just hits; they’re validations of originality as a business model.
Horror is also a proving ground where young or unexpected filmmakers leap into the cultural spotlight. Zach Cregger (Barbarian (2022) twisted narrative structure into something memorable. The Philippou brothers Talk to Me(2023) translated YouTube viral adrenaline into terrifying cinematic language. But, what of their latest film, Bring Her Back (2025)? Well, for me they have surpassed their debut feature not only in genuinely sickening moments of dread, but also in terms of powerfully emotional horror scenes.
The narrative of Bring Her Back (2025) begins as it means to go on with a rapidly series of unsettling scenes. After discovering their father dead in the shower, 17-year-old Andy (Billy Barratt) and his partially sighted step-sister Piper (Sora Wong) are placed in the care of Laura (Sally Hawkins). Laura is an eccentric former counselor living on the outskirts of town and suffered the loss of her teenage daughter to drowning. In her home, the siblings encounter Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips), a mute foster boy who seems terrified of the house’s locked outhouse. Andy eventually realizes Laura’s obsessive behaviour is far more threatening than he could imagine and they are all in danger.
Like Toni Collette in Hereditary (2018) and Lupita Nyong’o in Us (2019), Sally Hawkins delivers a powerfully intense performance that pushes horror into the realm of high drama. She carries the film with raw, nerve-shredding vulnerability, shifting from fragile grief to volcanic fury with startling precision. Every gesture—whether a whispered plea or a full-bodied breakdown—feels lived-in and emotionally scalding, grounding the supernatural terror in something painfully human. Also, Billy Barratt and newcomer Sora Wong offer excellent support as the in-peril ‘Hansel and Gretel’ siblings. Barratt is especially good carrying the audience’s fearful perspective.
The Philippou brothers draw on a potent brew of horror traditions—satanic ritual, grief, abduction, parental abandonment, and matriarchal hysteria—to craft Bring Her Back, a haunting and gut-wrenching descent into obsession. The film thrives on its willingness to plunge into emotional extremity, channeling raw pain into sequences of near-operatic dread. Several knife-in-the-teeth jolts of terror punctuate the story, as everyday necessities such as water, food and parental love are twisted into deathly hazards.
While the script occasionally wavers and certain narrative and backstory elements required sharpening, the thematic and emotional core remains undeniable. At its best, Bring Her Back (2025) isn’t just another exercise in occult horror—it’s a powerful study of grieving obsession, of the lengths people will go to fill a void that cannot be healed. The result is a film that lingers, not only for its shocks but for the raw ache that underpins them.
Produced by Danny Boyle, Alex Garland, Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice & Bernie Bellew
Main Cast: Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Jack O’Connell, Alfie Williams, Edvin Ryding and Ralph Fiennes
Cinematography by Anthony Dod Mantle
Edited by Jon Harris
** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **
We’re foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin’ over Africa — (Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again!) There’s no discharge in the war! — Rudyard Kipling
The opening sequences of28 Days Later (2002), directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland, are some of the most haunting and iconic introductions in cinema—transcending the horror genre to deliver something mythic, mournful, and terrifyingly real. They are masterclasses in mood-building, world-setting, and emotional manipulation, and redefined what the modern apocalypse could feel like on screen. From the terrifying raging simian attacks to the stunning silence of hollow streets and buildings of London as Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakes to an incredibly changed and empty planet. Here Boyle used guerrilla filmmaking as an artistic weapon with digital video blending with silence and dread, beauty and decay, loneliness and rage creating a grimy realism that no big budget blockbuster could replicate.
The opening sequence of the sequel, 28 Weeks Later (2007), was damned good as well, although what followed was not as formidable as the original. If we’re honest it was more of a high-quality straight-to-video effort, especially when compared to the incredible first film. But what of 28 Years Later (2025), which finds Boyle and Garland re-teaming with a stellar cast including: Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Ralph Fiennes and newcomer, Alfie Williams. It opens with yet another impressive opening sequence in 2002, as a family of kids are attacked in their Scottish home. Escaping on frantic foot is young Jimmy who finds his father, the local minister, in his church proclaiming the ‘end of days!’ Move forward twenty-eight years to 2031 and the film joins, interestingly enough, not Jimmy, but a survivor community living in Lindisfarne, a tidal island connected by a fortified causeway.
Focusing on the family unit of twelve-year-old son, Spike (Alfie Williams), and parents, Isla (Jodie Comer) plus father, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), 28 Years Later (2025) marks a ferocious and exhilarating return to the infected-ravaged world. It is not simply a continuation, but a full-fledged reimagining that deepens, widens, and accelerates the mythology, style, and thematic power of the series. It is not just a sequel—it’s an evolution, one that pulses with the blood of Romero’s bleak social horror and the serialized depth of The Walking Dead, while forging its own cinematic identity: brutal, urgent, and conceptually masterful.
From its opening moments, 28 Years Laterplunges viewers into a world far beyond what we’ve seen before. Civilization hasn’t recovered—it has, like the zombies, mutated. The virus is no longer an outbreak or an aftermath; it is an ecosystem. What began as a confined crisis in 28 Days Later, and widened into militarized guilt and familial betrayal in 28 Weeks Later, now becomes a reckoning. Thematically, the film touches on generational trauma, hybrid immunity, rites of passage, euthanasia and the evolution of the rage undead. Jamie trains his son in the art zombie-hunting, before the middle act finds Spike attempting to save his unwell mum. At this time he both matures and overcomes several battles with mutated inhumans.
The visual grammar of 28 Years Laterstays true to the DNA of the series: raw, immediate, and grimy. But it’s also evolved. The digital grunge of 28 Days Lateris elevated with modern tools, while still embracing a handheld, documentary-style urgency. Towns and buildings aren’t just abandoned—they’re fossilized in trauma. New scenes are suffused with ash, dust, decay, blood, plasma and rusted iconography, painting a world that’s both rotting and fighting to be reborn. This is a horror film that smells like blood and diesel. It feels dirty. Every camera move, whip pan and smash cut drags you to hell and makes you feel like your life is in danger.
28 Years Laterdoesn’t just revive a franchise—it transforms it into a towering trilogy of infection, collapse, and spiritual trauma. It draws from Romero’s cynicism, The Walking Dead‘s moral complexity, and its own raw, kinetic legacy to deliver something uniquely powerful: a horror film that is both visceral and cerebral, intimate and operatic. While there are some script and pacing issues toward the end of the second act, Boyle directs superbly. Plus, the film benefits from some memorable performances, notably Comer, Fiennes and young Alfie Williams. Lastly, it has one of the most startling endings to a film I have seen in a long time. It is frankly nuts. Yet, it ensures 28 Years Later (2025) is a modern horror classic, pulsing with urgency, style, and an almost unbearable truth: that the most terrifying viruses don’t infect the body—they infect the soul. Bring on the sequel!
The Cinema Fix presents 