Reviews
‘Imaginary’ (2024) Review: Fun— But For All the Wrong Reasons
Like burnt baked goods, there’s always someone out there willing to eat this. And I strongly feel that Imaginary’s failures make it a perfect feast for the so-bad-it’s-good crowd. It’s uber-camp, whether it’s intended to be or not, and it needs to be appreciated for its one strength. It’s cheesy, it’s deeply flawed, and if that’s not your thing, measure your expectations going into the theatre this weekend. But it is absolutely worth watching if you are delighted by schlocky horror movies and can see this with some friends.
In horror philosophy, two questions have plagued us for ages now. Which came first: the Halloween Horror Nights attraction for the Blumhouse movie, or the actual script? And is it bad that I sense it’s the former? Despite its pervasive online ad campaign, the actual premise of Blumhouse’s newest venture Imaginary may have eluded you, so here’s a quick catch up. The film follows Jessica, a children’s author and artist whose life seems to be turning up sunny from her gloomy past.
She’s married, has two new stepchildren, and is moving back into her childhood home. But when her new stepdaughter Alice comes up with an imaginary friend, Chauncey the Bear, Jessica slowly starts to remember the real circumstances that tore her out of the house and away from her family, and rediscovers what really lured her back there decades later.
A Halloween Horror Nights House Gone Big Screen
But what is Imaginary really? What is its voice as a film? If the surface level is to be believed, Imaginary wants to pull on horror wellsprings you remember for inspiration and find a place among the memorable supernatural franchises of the 2010s. And it might just be one of the more memorable Blumhouse films I’ve seen recently, but for all the wrong reasons.
It’s the Wish Upon kind of reason, if you haven’t guessed by now. Fans of Wish Upon need to see this.
There are references (because it never detaches itself far enough to feel like an homage) to Insidious, IT, Coraline at one point, and The Conjuring movies throughout— come to think of it, it would be harder to find modern horror movies this doesn’t have a link to, since it seems to have assimilated a lot of other films cultural DNA wholesale, like The Blob smushing over a pedestrian and sucking it up into its gooey center. Imaginary ends up being less than the sum of its parts though, because it seemingly doesn’t know how to use what its absorbed. And in a way, it uses them so poorly it ends up being a masterpiece of errors.
Outside of its abnormally great opening scene, the movie is a perfect synthesis of having all the ingredients for a cake and somehow coming out with a giant, misshapen, burnt scone. Its dialogue is chewy and overcooked, with exposition filled lines that smell like a strong distrust of the audience’s intelligence. Characters state things we have clearly seen mere seconds ago, and by the fourth or so time it happened I had to relinquish myself and let it absorb me. Its attempts at humor are perplexing at points, and it even manages to sucker punch you once in a while with a line baffling enough to steal laughs unintentionally. It misses so many shots that ricochet back into being entertaining that you can’t help but have fun with it, and I even started to wonder if it was somehow intentional. The laughter in the theatre was admittedly kind of contagious on my screening’s part, so it helped.
Good Performances Bogged Down By Everything Else
Keep in mind, I don’t think anyone here is a bad actor. DeWanda Wise is clearly talented, and even has a few standout moments where she nails the role; she absolutely nails it as a classic horror movie mom, trying to endear herself to two kids who have just only begun to escape a pretty messed up home life. But everybody in this film is let down by its script, which paints all the characters into little archetypal boxes we’ve seen before, and then flanderizes those same archetypes.
Carrie star Betty Buckley gives the film’s crown jewel performance when it comes to this. She has been gifted the role of “creepy side character who is secretly an occult expert” and wears the part like a glove. She gets to chew the scenery so much with her final act monologue that it’s like watching a zebra carcass get ripped apart by a pride of lions in their prime (which is a visual far gorier than anything we get in this movie, kills-wise, if you’re expecting anything other than a CGI puddle of blood then expect less). I’m wholly convinced she knew what she was given was bad and made the best of the situation; bravo to her for the 180-degree turn in how enjoyable she made it.
The monster designs and costumes used in this movie are quite good, but extremely underutilized, especially when there are as many jumpscares as there are here. The film’s climax contains a predictable if not respectable twist, one that is immediately reversed with an even more predictable and not at all respectable rugpull. And for the last thirty minutes, everybody seated for this film poured out into the halls of my local theatre with chatter and laughs.
Like burnt baked goods, there’s always someone out there willing to eat this. And I strongly feel that Imaginary’s failures make it a perfect feast for the so-bad-it’s-good crowd. It’s uber-camp, whether it’s intended to be or not, and it needs to be appreciated for its one strength. It’s cheesy, it’s deeply flawed, and if that’s not your thing, measure your expectations going into the theatre this weekend. But it is absolutely worth watching if you are delighted by schlocky horror movies and can see this with some friends. Happy watching, bad horror fans!
Luz: The Flower of Evil is a movie simultaneously charged with and mired in ambition. It’s genuinely comical how overly ambitious of a first-time film it is for writer-director Juan Diego Escobar Alzate: a microbudget, shot on location in the mountains of Colombia, character driven psychological horror film meant to explore the very nature of good and evil while also tackling cults and misogyny.
So, it’s shocking how much of it works. Not all of it works, not at all, but it is cohesive enough to serve as a surprising experience with the colorful aesthetic it employs and incredibly dark places it goes to.
What Is Luz: Flower of Evil About?
After the death of their mother Luz, three sisters in a rural cult community find their faith waning. The three are the centerpiece of an elaborate theology crafted by their cult leader father, a man who is becoming more difficult to deal with by the day. So, when he brings a mute boy into town, chaining him up and claiming he’s the people’s messiah, an already tense situation devolves into outright madness. What ensues is the slow dissolution of the cult, and the torturous end of an already fractured family.
Let this usual synopsis section also serve as a content warning: the film does depict sexual violence very early on, about 25 minutes into the film. It’s not Irreversible levels of horrifically long, but it’s also not particularly brief and still graphic content by its nature. It can be difficult to stomach, so I’m mentioning it now for those who would rather avoid that sort of thing.
A Ponderous Arthouse Folk Horror About Good and Evil
The film has shocking moments, but it’s not very interested in shock value. This is first and foremost a slow burn, a piece of arthouse folk horror that is more about bleeding out than it is about a violent demise. The most obvious comparisons are to The VVitch and Midsommar, but even that feels like an inappropriate mix, even when it leans towards Aster’s commercial darling or Egger’s colonial nightmare.
Fundamentally, Luz is a study about people who mythologize suffering and cruelty and excuse it as being driven by outside spiritual forces rather than their own decisions. It’s about deconstructing harmful religious and cult mentalities, and it wears its philosophy on its sleeve (aggressively so). Alzate creates a visually and textually fascinating meltdown of his characters and the community they find themselves within.
I would say it’s a “descent into madness” if it didn’t feel clear that the characters were already in a tailspin right at the film’s outset. The script, especially through its second act, starts to feel repetitive and a little simplistic, with a somewhat anticlimactic ending and dialog that starts to feel less naturalistic and more tedious. But it’s an interesting dissection of a family, even if it’s rough around the edges.
Hyperreal Sense of Color, But Shaky Directing and Writing
The film’s most obvious and striking feature is its hyperrealist palette, bearing a rich Technicolor aspect that permeates throughout the entire runtime. Colorist Felipe Martinez U paints the mountainous countryside with such vibrancy, a simple but very effective contrast to the dying days of a cult the story centers on; bleak, muddy times, punctuated by vibrant nature all around. Aesthetically, it’s pretty clearly visually inspired by the early works of Pedro Almodóvar and the visual warmth of Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man.
Even the naturalistic tendencies of Terrence Malick make an appearance here, though how much of that is just in the gorgeous location scouting and how much is actually emulated by Alzate is up for debate. All around, the film lacks polish. The camerawork is amateurish in some ways, slightly cramped and occasionally uninspired in its framing. Sometimes the oversaturated look of the film can feel a little saccharine and heavy, but the pop of color here feels purposeful enough that I can forgive it as being highly stylized rather than trying to mask the weak points of a first-time director.
Is Luz: The Flower of Evil Worth the Watch?
In the search for great Latin American horror, Luz was an odd duck to stumble upon to be certain. But I’m a champion of strange birds with a lot of character, so you do the math.
Luz: The Flower of Evil is a struggle of a film, hard to watch at points despite how visually appealing it can be. It’s a brutal, bleak piece of psychological folk horror that certainly has a thin audience and will test the patience of even those the premise appeals to. But it does have as much substance as it does style, even when it treads into murky waters, and for that I think it’s worth the watch.
If you’re not watching Indonesian horror, you’re missing out. The region is producing some of the craziest genre movies around right now, thanks in no small part to the efforts of writer-director Joko Anwar. His latest, Ghost in the Cell, which celebrated its North American premiere at Fantastic Fest 2026, combines everything we love about the filmmaker’s work—supernatural scares, inventive kills, and gnarly gore—along with a strong vein of comedy and political satire.
What is Ghost in the Cell About?
Ghost in the Cell centers around Dimas (Endy Arfian), a journalist whose life falls apart after he tries to run a story on corporate corruption and mysterious worker deaths. Wrongfully convicted of the horrific murder of his boss, Dimas finds himself with a one-way ticket to Cell Block C, where he quickly meets a colorful cast of prisoners—the good, the bad, and the seriously nasty. Among the good guys, there’s Anggoro (Abimana Aryasatya), who is constantly getting into trouble for defending fellow inmates, and Six (Yoga Pratama), who claims he can see people’s auras.
As if Dimas’ situation couldn’t get any worse, his arrival seems to trigger a series of brutal killings in the prison. Bodies are showing up mangled beyond recognition and displayed in positions that wouldn’t look out of place in Hannibal. It soon becomes clear that Dimas isn’t behind the murders, which begs the question: what did he bring in with him?
Anwar Embraces Horror-Comedy Whole-Heartedly
Prison is a scary place, and Anwar makes great use of the setting, with the action moving from the dingy showers where predators lurk to the bleak cellblock where inmates are at the mercy of their captors and the cafeteria where rival gangs eye each other up with ill intent.
But for all the human misery contained within the film, Ghost in the Cell is ultimately a horror-comedy, one that isn’t afraid to lean into broad slapstick and quippy dialogue when it wants to raise a chuckle. The tonal shifts can take a little while to adjust to, especially if your previous experience with Anwar comes from his more serious horror outings like Impetigore. This might be a problem if the film wasn’t actually funny, but Ghost in the Cell has enough laugh-out-loud moments to make you forget about any whiplash.
Ghost in the Cell Is a Genre-Bender to the Max
Comedy isn’t the only new flavor that Anwar has tossed into the mix. In Ghost in the Cell, dance sequences and martial-arts fight choreo sit side-by-side with some of the most extreme gore scenes seen outside a Terrifier movie in recent years. Then there’s the eerie way the spirit presents before it kills (trypophobia sufferers, beware) and the extensive critique of political corruption, power, and inequality. It’s an everything-and-the-kitchen-sink approach that shouldn’t work on paper, but under Anwar’s assured hand, it does.
It helps that for all the slapstick, the film lands a surprisingly earnest message, amplified by its vast ensemble cast. Dimas and Anggoro at times feel like main characters, but everyone in Ghost in the Cell has a big part to play, and that’s the point: in seemingly impossible circumstances, there’s strength in unity.
Ghost in the Cell Is an Endlessly Entertaining Blend of Goofiness, Heart, and Gore
If you’re looking for nonstop scares, you won’t find them in Ghost in the Cell. What you will find is a delightful blend of horror, comedy, and action that is apt to leave you grinning from ear to ear.
The film doesn’t skimp on the gore, throwing flesh and fluids at every surface. But it’s also charmingly goofy, with a cast that doesn’t take itself too seriously and a script that’s all too happy to devolve into a comedic dance scene when it feels like the spirit might strike. In every sense, Anwar is doing the most, and the end result is a film where there’s nary a dull moment in sight.
