🍷 Elitist cinephile and insufferable academic. Devoted to the Nouvelle Vague and obscure Romanian cult directors. Deeply despises popcorn.
"¿Has visto La Noche del Cazador? No. Entonces no hablemos."
Bilibili turns one of the pillars of Chinese xianxia literature into an assembly line of 20-minute episodes where animation technique competes in precariousness with the script.
A biting review of 'Un amor' (2023) that dissects direction, performances, and production miseries with the cynicism of Claqueta Ácida.
Thomas Kail translates Disney animation into live-action with Dwayne Johnson in a soulless digital photocopy devoid of adventurous spirit.
A corrosive critique that exposes the void of Mayday, the worst collaboration between Reynolds and Daley-Goldstein. 9.50€ wasted.
A 103-minute satire that turns Wile E. Coyote into a pathetic lawyer; the worst mix of cartoon and bureaucracy I have ever witnessed.
Snatch revisited with sarcasm: Ritchie blows up clichés, Brad Pitt insists on an impossible accent, and the audience pays €9.50 for a mountain of noise and style.
A biting review that dissects the mediocrity of Bloodline, the latest Blumhouse entry that promises blood but delivers routine.
A scathing critique that dissects the cosmic horror of Event Horizon with erudition and biting sarcasm.
Industrial claustrophobia and pure physical terror. A merciless critique of Ian Holm's CGI and the cheap nostalgia that stains the franchise's return.
Haneke dissects fascism with a silver scalpel in stark black and white. Cold, cruel, and essential. 9.2/10, but don’t you dare watch it on a Sunday.
Isabelle Huppert in a role that burns. Haneke turns the conservatory into an emotional slaughterhouse. Pain, silence, and a mother worse than hell itself.
A scathing takedown of *World War Z*—where the undead run faster than the script’s IQ, and Brad Pitt’s heroics are the only thing more predictable than the zombie horde’s lack of originality.
A razor-sharp evisceration of *Nightcrawler*—the film that exposes journalism’s dark underbelly while making you root for the monster.
Christopher Nolan’s *The Odyssey*: A cinematic masterpiece—or a bloated vanity project drowning in its own pretensions?
Javier Attridge turns the Chilote myth into a college term paper with delusions of cosmic horror. Spoiler: the only monster here is mediocrity.
Parker Finn recycles the same old formula in this pointless sequel that mistakes psychological horror for a PowerPoint presentation of jump scares. Naomi Scott shines, but the script is a zombie wearing an Antonin Artaud mask.
Maggie Gyllenhaal drags Frankenstein into the 1930s: more makeup than meaning, a romance that burns neither hot nor cold, and an edit that feels like it was sliced with nail scissors. Passed with flying colors… if the colors were all the same shade.
Kubrick drags us to the Overlook, where madness and terror take the wheel—no ghosts required.
A scathing review of *Minions & Monsters*, laced with irony and the bitter aftertaste of disappointment
The Claqueta Ácida review of A Ghost Story, a film that explores existence and human connection.
Raúl Cerezo delivers a Spanish Gothic thriller that reeks of mothballs and sweat. Psychological terror or nursing home nightmare? Let’s dissect it.
Gerard Johnstone delivers a horror-comedy with more jokes than scares and a cast that barely keeps the furniture from collapsing. New Zealand, where’s your gothic soul hiding?
John Carpenter weaves a fog that wavers between atmospheric suspense and unintentional ridiculousness. A gothic horror masterpiece or an unofficial prequel to *Scooby-Doo*?
A scathing, cinematic vivisection of Exhuma—a descent into mystery and the kind of unknown that leaves you smelling like a haunted crypt
Baltasar Kormákur drags the hunt thriller into the realm of the one-take shot and Icelandic Nouvelle Vague. Charlize Theron shines, but the script limps like a wounded stag.
Oliver Laxe delivers a hypnotic masterpiece where the Moroccan desert becomes a character in its own right—sweaty, hallucinogenic, and transcendent. Raw, filthy, and pure cinema. 9/10.
Pixar sacrifices its soul on the altar of the algorithm with this fifth installment: Woody and Buzz become carnival attractions in a theme park called 'Nostalgia™'.
A scathing review of the 1986 Spanish film that dissects the darkness of the human soul—without anesthesia.
David Cronenberg delivers a masterpiece of body horror that transforms Jeff Goldblum into an insect with a human soul. Revolting, poetic, and profoundly heartbreaking.
Santiago Fillol serves up a rotten meat platter in 'Slaughterhouse': visual ambition, ravenous actors, and a script bleeding out across the Pampas. Is this art—or just a slaughterhouse of ideas?
Nicanor Loreti turns the zombie apocalypse into an Argentine style exercise: cheap, effective, and oozing more personality than a barbecue in Constitución. A masterpiece? Hardly. An instant cult classic? Probably.
Julia Ducournau delivers a teen drama with body-and-soul pretensions, but all she manages is a poorly healed tattoo on the arm of French cinema.
A scathing, no-holds-barred review of *Luger*, the Spanish film that dares to challenge morality.
Monty Python drives a dagger into religious sanctimony with a comedy so razor-sharp it still stings 45 years later. Blasphemy or brilliance? You decide (but we already know the answer).
*"Bad Haircut" takes home Best Film at the third edition of the Valladolid International Fantastic and Horror Film Festival, while the jury and critics remain deeply divided over the film’s quality.*
A recap of the festival’s second day, featuring *Horror and Love*, *Quantum Rave*, *Pinocchio Unstrung*, and *Frankie, Maniac Woman*—a night packed with terror, madness, and enough emotional whiplash to make a rollercoaster jealous.
The fifth day of PUFA 2026 was defined by mind-bending films, existential labyrinths, and the wildest black comedy, featuring titles like *Yesterday Island*, *The Red Mask*, *IAI*, and *Buffet Libre*.
Bruce Wemple gifts us 85 minutes of amateur horror with actors lost in a script that reeks of 90s mothballs. Claqueta Ácida dissects this cinematic corpse.
The fourth day of PUFA 2026 delivered an intense mix of horror, suspense, and mysticism with films like *Grand Ciel*, *El llanto del perro*, *Cruel Hands*, and *Samakdo*. Each brought a unique—if uniquely painful—experience for festivalgoers.
Geno Marx serves up a platter of rotten ribs in 'Babybacks,' a gore-laden disaster with more fat than script. Art? Not even in your wildest nightmares. Fun? Only if you enjoy pain.
The third day of the **Valladolid Fantastic Gateway (PUFA 2026)** was less a film marathon and more a *social experiment*—a rollercoaster where the festival, like a hoarder Frankenstein, stitched together scraps of marginal genius, digital autopsies, and Freudian nightmares to serve up a four-course tasting menu that, as a whole, tasted like *cheap whiskey and expired Xanax*. From the **FUNDOS Auditorium**—a cinema temple reeking of spilled beer and screenwriters’ shattered dreams—to the **Broadway Cinemas**, where the Official Selection tried (and failed) to convince us that psychological horror is still a noble genre, July 6th was a masterclass in how contemporary cinema can be *simultaneously mesmerizing and nauseating*. And no, that’s not a compliment.
The kickoff of the third edition of **PUFA** (*Pucela Fantástica*) at **Broadway Cinemas** proved that horror isn’t just on the screen. From the initial chaos in the lobby to the revelations and ironies of the speeches, the opening day was a rollercoaster of emotions, bottled guts, and pure Spanish fantasy cinema history.
Chicho Ibáñez Serrador crafts this Spanish nightmare where children are the monsters. Corrupted innocence or pure evil? Claqueta Ácida dissects this cursed classic.
Natalie Erika James serves up a chilling dish: a gothic nightmare about dysmorphia and ravenous ghosts. Too pretentious or just macabre enough?
Paco Plaza teams up with Carlos Vermut to deliver his most restrained and stylized film yet. A disturbing yet breathtaking intergenerational duel between Almudena Amor and Vera Valdez, swapping cheap scares for the real horror of time’s passage. We break down why this pivot to "elevated horror" deserves high marks under our microscope. 💀
Kim Ki-duk tears through Korea with *The Island*: a visual poem of violence, silence, and love that hurts more than a thousand razor blades. 9.0 out of sheer exquisite suffering.
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?
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.
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.
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?
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.
*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).*
Stanley Kubrick dissects marriage like a corpse on an autopsy table: with a silver scalpel, candlelight, and a Tom Cruise more lost than a vampire in an IKEA. 159 minutes of icy hypnosis.
Claqueta Ácida’s scathing, sarcastic take on *They Will Kill You*—where Manhattan’s elite throw the goriest housewarming party in cinematic history.
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.
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.
A scathing review of Kubrick’s masterpiece, where ultraviolence meets 60s fashion in a twisted pas de deux.
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.
A ruthless dissection of the 1998 film that will keep you on the edge of your seat—if the edge of your seat were a death trap.
A scathing, in-depth review of *Megalopolis* (2024), Sam Mendes’ ambitious pseudo-epic that aspires to be the "cathedral of cinema" but collapses into a CGI wasteland.
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?
Juanma Bajo Ulloa dissects trauma with a butcher’s knife and frames that reek of mold and dried blood. Claqueta Ácida performs an autopsy on his macabre masterpiece.
A scathing review of the controversy surrounding *Barbie* (2023) and its explosive reception on social media.
*A scathing review of *The Shield*, the cop drama where justice and corruption tangle like a pair of drunks in a back alley brawl.*
Travis Knight directs an ambitious adaptation of the classic Eternia universe, striving to balance cutting-edge digital effects with the heart and soul of the original franchise.
Barbie Ferreira stars in a charming and witty indie rom-com that tackles the creative crises and emotional entanglements of your twenties—with just the right amount of millennial angst and indie-rock pretension.
Alberto San Juan stars in a harrowing, intimate psychological drama about a priest’s moral dilemmas when confronted with the dark secrets of his congregation.
Josh O’Connor delivers a subtle, introspective performance in this heartfelt indie drama about resilience and family healing against endless Midwestern landscapes.
Cindy Campbell and Brenda Meeks are back in another installment of *Scary Movie*, ready to parody A24 and Blumhouse’s latest horror hits—because nothing says "fresh comedy" like recycling jokes from 2003.
David Lynch and Mark Frost gut the American Dream in this surreal nightmare where coffee tastes like blood and pies hide secrets darker than hell itself.
A scathing dissection of Kubrick’s masterpiece, where war’s fury becomes chamber art and institutional black comedy.
Xavier Gens’ Hollywood foray resulted in an entertaining action thriller—brutally butchered by Fox’s censorship claws.
Luca Guadagnino turns tennis into a high-stakes game of erotic and psychological tension in this vibrant three-way duel.
An in-depth review of *Fight Club* (1999). We dissect David Fincher’s cult masterpiece—a scathing take on consumerism, the crisis of masculinity, and human-soap alchemy.
Pascal Laugier returns with a suffocating, unsettling, and razor-sharp hall of mirrors about mental escapism, violence, and the scars of childhood abuse.
