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.
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«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.
Eli Roth turns Slovakia into a backpacker slaughterhouse with this festive gore-fest that reeks of blood, sweat, and adolescent testosterone. Art? No. Fun? Plenty.
Juanma Bajo Ulloa turns mayhem into art with this psychedelic road movie, where the A/C reeks of cheap whiskey and the celluloid sweats testosterone. A cult gem that time hasn’t been able to tarnish.
Dave Franco and Alison Brie sip from the chalice of codependency in this Australian psychological thriller that reeks of emotional sweat and bargain-bin CGI. Art or autopsy of a relationship?
A scathing, no-holds-barred evisceration of Damian McCarthy’s 2021 psychological horror *Caveat*
Lars von Trier drags us into the heart of darkness with *The House That Jack Built*. Can we survive the bloodbath and madness—or will we beg for an intermission from hell?
Shane Carruth turns a shoestring budget into a low-fi garage nightmare that’ll leave you more confused than a cat in a hall of mirrors. Science, betrayal, and bargain-bin sweat in 79 minutes of claustrophobic genius.
Nacho Vigalondo turns time travel into a maze of flesh, blood, and stupid decisions. 92 minutes of low-budget paranoia that outshine the entire *Terminator* saga.
*Demian Rugna delivers a rural horror masterpiece about a demonic possession epidemic in the Argentine pampas that shatters every moral boundary in its path.*
*The most scathing, gut-wrenching takedown of *The Green Inferno*—a film that will make you question humanity (and your own gag reflex).*
Claqueta Ácida’s scathing, sarcastic take on *They Will Kill You*—where Manhattan’s elite throw the goriest housewarming party in cinematic history.
What happens when childhood cruelty runs wild without adult supervision? Eskil Vogt plunges us into a suffocating daylight nightmare with *The Innocents*, a masterclass in psychological horror that spits in the face of Hollywood’s flashy gimmicks. Forget saccharine kid superheroes—here, psychic gifts are filmed with unflinching, skin-crawling realism. We dissect one of contemporary genre cinema’s boldest, most magnetic, and squirm-inducing offerings. A work of art or pretentious discomfort? Step right up and find out. 💀
Robert Eggers made his debut with a rigorous and hypnotic Gothic tale about the religious paranoia of a 17th-century colonist family and the whispers of Black Phillip, the goat who’s either the devil or just really good at small talk.
Demian Rugna revolutionizes paranormal horror—possessions, poltergeists, and all—by transplanting it to a residential neighborhood in Buenos Aires, armed with a devastating sound design that rattles your bones.
M. Night Shyamalan builds a cardboard village with bargain-bin monsters and a twist so stale it smells like mothballs. Roger Deakins lights up the boredom.
A ruthless autopsy of the overvalued work of Paco Plaza and Jaume Balagueró. Is it a revolution in terror or just another passage in the cinematic horror genre that confuses screams with art? We dismantle the myth of the most famous quarantine in Spanish cinema.
Timo Tjahjanto unleashes another hyperviolent bloodbath under the banner of XYZ and Edko Films. Tiger Chen’s return and Yayan Ruhian’s feral mysticism gift us with razor-sharp choreography and a stellar visual package, but the alarming lack of dramatic pacing and a generic script riddled with clichés prevent this fistfest from becoming the instant classic it promised to be. We dissect the film’s physical triumphs and narrative shipwrecks in our latest acidic takedown.
M. Night Shyamalan delivers a beachside thriller that ages worse than its own protagonists—a feast of predictable twists and self-help manual dialogue set against a tropical backdrop.
F. Javier Gutiérrez exhumes rural trauma with cinematography that reeks of dried blood and a Víctor Clavijo who decomposes in real time. A gothic Andalusian horror masterpiece—or just a pretentious stylistic exercise?
