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.
Claqueta Ácida’s scathing review of Roman Polanski’s *The Ghost Writer*—a political thriller that grinds patience into dust with the enthusiasm of a tax audit.
Anne Hathaway and Ewan McGregor lead this claustrophobic descent where the unknown isn’t a monster—it’s reality itself unraveling at the seams. Mitchell proves once again that the most terrifying horror is the kind that festers in the intimate.
Silvia Mordaz’s scathing review of *The Neon Demon*—a plunge into the fashion industry’s dark underbelly, where style devours substance and sanity.
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?
A scathing look at Ryan Coogler’s latest cinematic gut-punch
Claqueta Ácida dissects Alejandro Amenábar’s *Thesis*—the film that turned cinematic violence into a psychological autopsy of the human soul.
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.
The most scathing, unfiltered roast of *Spider-Man: Brand New Day*, the latest installment in the Wall-Crawler’s saga—now with 100% more existential dread and 0% less corporate cowardice.
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.
Gore Verbinski turns an AI apocalypse into a neighborhood vaudeville with Sam Rockwell and Juno Temple. It works—until it drowns in 40 minutes of futuristic sermonizing.
A scathing review of *Whistle: The Deathly Hiss*, the horror flick with a cursed whistle that’s about as fresh as a week-old corpse
The grim reality of redemption. Raúl Arévalo’s *Too Late for Wrath*—a merciless twist on survival and vengeance.
Almodóvar turns holiday grief into an intimate, visually stunning, and emotionally raw drama. Bárbara Lennie shines, but the script stumbles in the third act. 8/10.
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
