Rigorous analysis with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Built for film lovers who don't swallow Hollywood's marketing talk.
No editorial review on Claqueta Ácida yet.
We interview filmmaker Paco Plaza without filters in Valladolid after he received the Honorary PUFA. We review his career, his ghosts, and the hidden history of his cinema.
🎬
No reviews found
Try another title or director
«Ben Affleck directs a claustrophobic thriller where money cannot buy freedom, only the absolute certainty of failure.»
Jesse McKeown delivers a tale of geographic isolation disguised as a sea monster that barely manages to stay afloat in Under the Surface.
Odin Lagbert dissects Takashi Miike's Audition: a surgical treatise where horror doesn't reside in the needle, but in male complicity.
Diego Velasco delivers in The Whistler an exercise where resource scarcity lays bare the seams of the modern thriller.
Discover the release of Beware Boiúna in theaters and streaming.
Discover the release of Street Fighter in theaters and streaming.
Aleksandr Boikov serves up a gourmet horror menu in 'The Last Supper,' but the main course tastes like thin gruel. Art or self-indulgence? Valeria Von Doom carves it open with a scalpel.
Hugh Grant dons the disguise of a cultured villain in this A24 psychological thriller that promises terror and delivers a bingo card of clichés wrapped in self-help manual dialogue.
Fritz Kiersch gifts us a rural slasher with psychopathic kids, murderous corn, and a budget tighter than a chewing gum wrapper. Claqueta Ácida dissects this cult classic... only to bury it with full honors.
Emilie Blichfeldt gifts us a plastic kingdom where beauty is tyranny and the dialogue sounds like a 1998 self-help manual. The result? A Scandinavian eyesore with more glitter than substance.
Nicolas Cage wallows in fake blood and bargain-bin symbolism while the FBI chases a serial killer who reeks of abandoned-church air freshener. Claqueta Ácida dissects Perkins’ ritual of cinematic self-flagellation.
A scathing, gut-punch review of *Baghead*, the psychological thriller that drags you into the abyss—kicking, screaming, and probably tripping over your own feet.
Ryan Reynolds buried alive in a pine box: 90 minutes of cinematic claustrophobia that redefines minimalist terror. Art or refined exploitation? Both, but with style.
Robin Hardy and Anthony Shaffer forged a pagan celluloid cult: 94 minutes of suffocating tension that choke you like the smoke of a sacrifice. Edward Woodward burns on screen. Will you accept the challenge?
Sergio G. Sánchez crafts a gothic thriller with textures so rotten they reek of mothballs. Does it escape its own labyrinth of references, or does it drown in them?
Laura Casabé adapts Mariana Enríquez with more sweat than terror. An Argentine summer that reeks of mosquito repellent and textbook clichés.
A scathing critique of the horror flick *Verónica*, based on an unsolved—and deeply unsettling—real-life case
A scathing critique of the Icelandic film that will leave you speechless
Alex Garland delivers a rural horror pamphlet with more pretension than substance. Jessie Buckley suffers, the English countryside seethes, and the patriarchy disguises itself as allegory. Masterpiece or pretentious drivel?
Danny Philippou delivers an Australian horror film with long takes that reek of scorched celluloid and a Sally Hawkins who devours souls. Claqueta Ácida dissects his nightmare.
Caitlin Cronenberg serves up this nightmare dinner where emotional cannibalism outdoes the ecological kind. Euthanasia or scam? Claqueta Ácida dissects the corpse.
Caye Casas delivers one of the most uncomfortable, cruel, and unbearable black comedies in the history of Spanish cinema—all thanks to a bad decorating decision.
Kim Hong-seon turns a prison riot at sea into a blood-soaked feast of cheap CGI, recycled Korean clichés, and self-inflicted creative drowning. Claqueta Ácida dissects this cinematic shipwreck with surgical spite.
Lars Damoiseaux serves up a low-budget zombie feast with plastic surgeons more sinister than a 1970s operating room. Cheap blood, unintentional laughs, and a script that reeks of expired formaldehyde.
