🕯️ Psychological horror critic, acid and elegant. She prefers guilt to cheap jump scares and uncomfortable silence to screaming: she takes apart broken minds, cheating plot twists and needless remakes with a scalpel and impeccable manners.
"The real monster is never under the bed. It's sitting at the dinner table."
We dissect Ángel Gómez Hernández's The Boogeyman, an exercise where domestic folklore disguises itself as a 19th-century medical drama.
A glacial immersion into the bureaucracy of digital guilt under the direction of Oleg Vitvicki.
Ben Affleck directs a claustrophobic thriller where money cannot buy freedom, only the absolute certainty of failure.
Frances Neagley steps into the spotlight on Prime Video in a derivative procedural that swaps bone-crushing physicality for algorithmic inertia. 💀
Acidic analysis of Thiyod: Sming Khwaeng directed by Narit Yuvaboon, Thanadet Pradit and Chalit Krileadmongkon. When myth becomes management.
Explosive action disguised as a thriller, but which actually laments the death of the Navy SEAL myth. Sarcastic, tired, but with flashes of truth.
An acidic analysis of Michael Showalter's Verity. The fantasy of the ghostwriter as a metaphor for the structural violence of the industry.
Two climbers trapped on planks bolted to a Thai mountain: the vertigo works, the characters not so much. Worth watching? With reservations: 5/10.
A scathing critique dissecting James Wan's horror, oscillating between effective scares and scripts that get lost in the darkness.
A French woman with a knife and style: feminist thriller or gratuitous exercise in cruelty? Coralie Fargeat’s debut feature splits opinions sharper than an axe through a skull.
Eight directors, one cursed format, and a script that reads like it was scribbled on a bar napkin. Art or accident? Silvia Mordaz dissects it with a scalpel and acid.
Scorsese and DiCaprio play Hitchcock dress-up, but end up in an asylum of clichés and mothball-scented twists. Masterpiece or pretentious style exercise?
Silvia Mordaz’s scathing review of *The Neon Demon*—a plunge into the fashion industry’s dark underbelly, where style devours substance and sanity.
Michael Haneke dissects the French bourgeoisie with a psychological thriller that stings worse than a switchblade. Or is it just a hall of mirrors?
Tim Burton resurrects his most iconic creature, but the script is a Frankenstein’s monster of stale jokes and half-digested nostalgia. Keaton still rules, but this reeks of easy money.
Silvia Mordaz’s scathing review of *Princess Mononoke*—Hayao Miyazaki’s epic that’s less a film and more a full-contact spiritual exorcism.
Spike Lee tackles *Oldboy* and achieves the impossible: turning a Korean revenge masterpiece into a snoozefest. Josh Brolin suffers, but not as much as the audience. 🔪💔
Gaspar Noé turns a dancer’s rave into a 95-minute lysergic hellscape. Sweat, blood, and a single take so dizzying it’ll make your skull spin. Masterpiece or carnival sideshow?
Jaume Collet-Serra turns a promising slasher into a melting wax theme park. Paris Hilton shines—just not with talent.
Wes Craven unleashes terror’s most stylish monster: Freddy Krueger, the wet dream of the American nightmare. 91 minutes of fresh meat and razor-sharp metaphors.
Dr. Rose Cotter confronts her past in this horror flick that’ll leave you grinning—through sheer terror
A deep dive into the darkness of parenthood and the suffocating weight of guilt
Claqueta Ácida’s most scathing takedown of Darren Aronofsky’s *Mother!*. A genius masterpiece or a pretentious mess? Spoiler: It’s both—like a Michelin-starred dumpster fire.
Vincent Gallo gifts us 90 minutes of excruciating silence, endless shots, and a real-life blowjob no one asked for. Art or autopsy?
*Gaspar Noé gifts us 97 minutes of visual torture in *Irreversible*: dizzying long takes, violence that hurts, and an ending that redeems nothing. Art or sadism? You decide (but we already know the answer).*
A storm, a ship, and a mystery walk into a bar. Spoiler: they don’t leave.
A suffocating and uncomfortable chamber psychological thriller where Elliot Page and Patrick Wilson play cat and mouse in one of the best debut films of the 2000s.
James Wan demolishes the codes of modern horror with 'Malignant', a hilarious, delirious madness that unashamedly embraces Giallo and B-movies.
Grace is back to reclaim a throne, but the script only offers plastic chairs. Is this bloody déjà vu worth the trip? Claqueta Ácida carves it open with a scalpel.
Andy Muschietti returns to Derry to spin the origin tale of Pennywise. Spoiler: the clown remains the only interesting thing in the room.
*The Japanese Whisper No One Asked For (And Everyone Deserved to Ignore). Kiyoshi Kurosawa dives into domestic horror with *Chime*, a series that whispers more than it screams and bores more than it terrifies. Art or visual nap time?*
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.
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.
Bong Joon-ho adapts a book of disposable clones with Robert Pattinson in a frozen planet. Masterpiece or cold calculation? Here's the autopsy.
Hitchcock turns birds into winged assassins in this ornithological nightmare. Masterpiece or feathered panic? Claqueta Ácida dissects the chaos.
HBO served us a feast of family dysfunction, pitch-black sarcasm, and metaphorical corpses. Alan Ball dug a grave so deep we still haven’t climbed out.
Stanley Kubrick dismantles the noir genre with a heist that reeks of gasoline and betrayal. 83 minutes of surgical precision, actors sweating ambition, and an ending that tastes like ashes. A masterpiece or a cold stylistic exercise? We dissect it here.
A scathing review of HBO Max’s *The Penguin*—the desperate attempt to glorify Gotham’s ugliest villain.
Bustillo & Maury dive into a secluded French lake to film one of the most visually complex and intriguing horror propositions in recent memory.
A review of Antoine Fuqua’s ambitious musical biopic about Michael Jackson. A dazzling technical and choreographic spectacle that stumbles when it comes to addressing the real shadows behind the myth.
A review of Ryan Coogler’s Southern Gothic vampire thriller—a stunning aesthetic spectacle that stumbles into self-important dramatics and hollow pretension.
🔔 Want an alert when there is something new?
New reviews, articles and interviews.
