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.
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.
Bong Joon-ho adapts a book of disposable clones with Robert Pattinson in a frozen planet. Masterpiece or cold calculation? Here's the autopsy.
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?
Hitchcock turns birds into winged assassins in this ornithological nightmare. Masterpiece or feathered panic? Claqueta Ácida dissects the chaos.
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
Richard Donner delivers a horror classic with more fangs than a vampire at a clearance sale. Damien Thorn: the most evil kid since cinema discovered that evil smells like sulfur and cheap hair gel.
A scathing critique of the Icelandic film that will leave you speechless
Dario Argento turns horror into a psychedelic light show drenched in gore. Claqueta Ácida dissects his masterpiece: *art or a technicolor nightmare?*
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?
Max cracks the secret code behind the stock market in this 1998 fever-dream of a film—where math and madness collide like a Molotov cocktail in a petri dish.
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.
