Reviews
‘The Snake Woman’ Review: Politics and Schlock in British Horror
When thinking of political horror, what comes to mind? Is it the capitalist blue-skulled aliens of Carpenter’s They Live, or perhaps the sinisterly center-left surgeons of Peele’s Get Out? Whatever it is, it probably is not femme fatale snake-human hybrids—until now.
The Snake Woman is an extremely obscure British horror flick from 1961. Despite its painfully dry pacing and more-than-occasional silliness, the film houses some ahead-of-its-time commentary on women’s mental health and the dangers of pseudo-science. Whether this was intentional or just a by-chance byproduct of attempted brainless schlock, The Snake Woman remains fascinating in today’s climate.
The Strange Premise Behind The Snake Woman
Directed by Sidney J. Furie from a screenplay by Orville H. Hampton, The Snake Woman tells the story of an 1890s doctor who tries to cure his pregnant wife’s unnamed mental illness by giving her snake venom. The townsfolk believe that the child might be demonic, and oh boy are they right. Years later, deaths by snakebite begin to pop up around the area. Maybe the baby did not just grow up into a woman, but a snake woman.
The movie itself is perfectly fine. Nothing to write home about, its execution is dry, if occasionally silly. If it were a little more polished, who knows? Maybe this could have been a Hammer-adjacent classic.
The acting is funny enough to ease viewers through the dry plot points. Everyone plays it up like crazy, and while the large chunks of talking can get tiresome, watching Brits yelling at each other in overdramatic amazement about snake curses is pretty fun. There is also some jaunty flute music!
Technical Limitations Date the Film
Probably the biggest issue with The Snake Woman is the filmmaking itself. The shots are uninteresting, the low-budget effects pretty lame by old-school monster movie standards. During the 1930s horror cycle, they might have held up, but by 1961, they just look outdated. However, as is typical with creature features of the time, there are some hilariously lackluster death sequences.
Let’s be real: not all 60s creature features can hold up to The Birds. You’re not gonna turn to The Snake Woman for intelligently executed scenes of arthouse horror. You stick it on to see some fucking snakes!
While you may not get the knee-slappingly schlocky death scenes of other films of the era, there is fun to be had in The Snake Woman. The titular woman is (somewhat disappointingly) not a snake-human hybrid, but rather a human cursed from birth who can “turn into” a snake. And by “turn into,” I mean quick-cutting from her to a slithering snake. It’s pretty funny, and the ridiculous death scenes make for top-notch—if fleeting—fun.
Unpacking The Snake Woman’s Accidental Feminist Themes
While feminism was nothing new to horror cinema by 1961 (see 1942’s Cat People for a great example), a random supernatural snake movie is probably the last place one would think to find it. But, shockingly, The Snake Woman could secretly be ahead of its time with some of the topics it tackles. The real question, though, is not whether or not this is political, because it inherently is, but how intentional that was.
The Snake Woman’s core premise, remember, concerns a pregnant woman who, because her husband deems her mentally ill, is given a radical, pseudo-scientific treatment against her will. This can obviously be read by modern audiences as a parable about what was dubbed “female hysteria” at the time, conjuring the specter of lobotomies, shock treatments, and other horrors prescribed for women suffering from depression—or common pregnancy symptoms—in the 1950s and ’60s. The movie serves as a cautionary tale for men making assumptions about women’s mental health.The townspeople who allow this to happen are cursed, and the patriarchy pays in blood for how the mother of the “snake woman” was treated.
The Femme Fatale Trope and Its Complications
Of course, the feminist leanings of The Snake Woman are complicated by the fact that the snake woman herself is a deadly femme fatale. While this archetype has been reclaimed as an empowering paradigm for feminist agency, it was initially born out of post-war fears about women’s independence, and had not yet shaken its problematic origins by the time the film went into production. So, while the movie can be read as a feminist allegory, this may have been far from the filmmaker’s intentions—or not crossed their minds at all.
The same can be said for The Snake Woman’s messaging around quack science. The snake venom used to “treat” a pregnant woman is the root of all the movie’s terrors. So, is it warning audiences of pseudo-science danger? Or, more likely, was it intended to simply be a dumb, cheaply made folk horror film about a killer snake lady?
Probably the latter.
Haunted house stories are a staple in the horror genre. But it’s not often that a haunted house film digs its way under your skin and stays there long after the credits roll. Enter Recluse, celebrating its world premiere at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival.
A Disturbing Return Home Fuels Recluse’s Story
Joan Wyatt, a young and troubled audio engineer, is called back to her childhood home following a bizarre accident in which her father, the famous artist Lawrence Wyatt, was engulfed in flames and left in critical condition. Joan has been estranged from her father for quite some time, so when his longtime housekeeper Lydia leaves a voicemail telling her that he likely doesn’t have a lot of time left, she ignores it. But then Lawrence himself calls, telling Joan that he’s been seeing her mother—who disappeared when Joan was a child—around the house.
Joan arrives to find Lydia armed with a crossbow to ward off Lawrence’s obsessive fans. Her father is bed-bound with severe burns, and is being cared for by a hired nurse around Joan’s age named Emily. Lawrence, who notoriously experimented with psychedelics and occult practices during his career, is barely coherent and keeps his face concealed underneath a crude plaster mask. He keeps asking about his “little spider.” It’s disturbing and deeply upsetting, especially since Joan already has a lifetime of trauma associated with the house. Now that she’s back, she begins to suspect that these “ghosts” aren’t metaphorical. Lawrence was not a good man… but something even more sinister may be lurking in the house.
Henry Chaisson Reinvents the Haunted House Formula
Recluse, written and directed by Henry Chaisson, is a masterfully crafted debut feature that takes familiar elements of the haunted house genre—like a remote mansion as the setting, traumatic family secrets, and supernatural mischief—and twists them into something fresh and, well, twisted.
Sasha Frolova Leads an Exceptional Ensemble Cast
Sasha Frolova stars as Joan, delivering a performance that is both believable and compelling. She’s easy to root for throughout the film, especially as she contends with her father’s unwaveringly loyal housekeeper Lydia, brilliantly played by Toby Poser. Mia Vallet’s portrayal of Emily is also noteworthy, commanding attention from her first appearance all the way to the end. Kimball Farley plays Lydia’s son and Joan’s friend Todd with the perfect balance of levity and tension. Frankie Seratch is enjoyable to watch as the opportunistic nepo baby art dealer Tom. Rounding out the cast is Xander Berkeley as Lawrence; even from behind a mask, his performance is intense and chilling. Berkeley even provided some of his own art to be used in the film.
Sound Design and Cinematography Create Unrelenting Terror
The cast is far from the film’s only strength, though. Sound design by Matthew Rollins will have you death-gripping your seat in the best way, and serves as an integral part of the story itself. Production designer Yulanda Yo-Rong Shieh and art director Ana María Kalvo absolutely nailed the set and made the Wyatt family mansion simultaneously sprawling and claustrophobic.
Finally, we have the beautiful and (appropriately) haunting cinematography by Bryce Holden, supported by the editing prowess of Nik Voytas, Josh Lobo, and Henry Chaisson. Not only did they maintain an air of unrelenting suspense throughout the entire film, but they also executed some of the most disturbing and bone-chilling jump scares I’ve seen in recent years.
Seriously: One of those jump scares made me feel physically ill. You’ll know it when you see it for yourself.
Recluse had its world premiere at Tribeca Film Festival 2026.
One of my favorite special interests is the Mormon-millionaire-real-estate-tycoon-owned Skinwalker Ranch. Mormon millionaire Brandon Fugal has crafted a wonderfully apophenic history in his post-Bigelow ownership. His perfectly curated release of pseudo-information through the lens of a History Channel TV show did wonders not just for his wallet but for docu-dramas as a whole. Fugal did what The Curse of Oak Island could have only wished to accomplish. BUT, three years before Joseph Smith’s teachings made their way to the Uinta Basin, a group of filmmakers set out to capitalize on one of America’s strangest phenomena. Skinwalker Ranch is a film that is as perplexing as it is insufferable.
Skinwalker Ranch: Missing Children, UFOs, and Found Footage Chaos
In 2010, Hoyt’s (Jon Gries) son disappeared in a blinding ball of light. Some time later, Modern Defense Enterprises sent a team of experts to Hoyt’s property to study what happened to Cody (Nash Lucas). Upon arriving at the property, MDE sets up a reality-TV-like number of security cameras in the hopes of finding anything. But what they found may just make them wish they hadn’t set foot on this property.
The Real History Behind Skinwalker Ranch Lore
As stated, the story of and behind Skinwalker Ranch is one of my favorite bits of Americana. From the Sherman family’s story, through Robert Bigelow’s ownership, all the way to its current Mormon occupation, the history behind Skinwalker Ranch runs deep. Dire wolves, dino beavers, and disappearing orbs, oh my! Whether you believe in the stories or not, Skinwalker Ranch is one of America’s biggest pieces of lore.
One of my favorite theories is that a resource-observing beacon was placed by, for lack of a better term, aliens when Pangea existed. Throughout the years, the dissolution of Pangea shifted the location of where the aliens placed the beacon to what is now considered the Mesa on the northern portion of Skinwalker Ranch’s property. The said beacon could very possibly be what causes the mysterious 1.6 GHz signal on the ranch, or why there are so many UAP sightings around the Mesa.
How Skinwalker Ranch Wastes Its Fascinating Premise
Now, I know all of this has been discovered post-Skinwalker Ranch (movie), but Hunt for the Skinwalker and Skinwalkers at the Pentagon, by Colm Kelleher and George Knapp (and James T. Lacatski for Pentagon), had already been released. Dino beavers on Skinwalker Ranch had already been discussed. The true terror of Skinwalker Ranch had been disseminated by three highly regarded UFOlogists. So, for writer Adam Ohler (and story by Devin McGinn, Steve Berg, Ken Bretschneider, and Murphy Michaels) to craft such a plain story that doesn’t even scratch the surface of what makes Skinwalker Ranch even slightly interesting is confounding. It feels as if the writer/story creators heard the term “Skinwalker Ranch” and decided to focus on that, and that alone. Skinwalker Ranch has zero world-building, and hopes that the title is titillating enough to get someone to click ‘play’.
The singular great aspect about Skinwalker Ranch is the casting of Jon Gries (Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite) and Michael Horse (Deputy Hawk in Twin Peaks). Gries does enough carrying in this film to make up for dropping that winning pass. And it’s just wonderful to see Michael Horse in a film, even if he’s cast as a token Native American whose only purpose is to make the writers feel better for capitalizing on Native American lore. Besides that, the acting in Skinwalker Ranch is beyond atrocious. In fact, the acting feels so unnatural that I honestly thought the team from MDE was going to turn out to be the aliens that kidnapped Cody. Turns out, the story doesn’t even attempt to be 1% as clever as that.
A Massive Found Footage Failure
Skinwalker Ranch not only fails at being an interesting sci-fi horror flick, but it also fails at being a found footage flick. Full of awful CGI, bad acting, and an even worse script, Skinwalker Ranch exists as nothing more than a time waster. In fact, Travis Walton’s experience in Fire in the Sky would be more entertaining to take part in than watching even two minutes of this film–I’d rather get dry probed by the Hyperboreans than ever think of this movie again.
