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.
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.
Sean Byrne bursts onto the Australian horror scene with a bubblegum-pink gem of sadism and suffocating tension that redefines torture porn.
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.
Genki Kawamura adapts *The Exit 8* video game with more loops than a politician’s campaign promises. Will it escape the purgatory of J-horror, or is it doomed to linger in its own terminal?
A supernatural canine stars in a film that barks up the wrong tree. *Claqueta Ácida* dissects this rural dud with the precision of a scalpel in a slaughterhouse.
Panos Cosmatos delivers a visual orgy of revenge, acid, and chainsaws that makes Tarantino look like an altar boy. There’s no redemption here—just charred flesh and demonic synthesizers.
Apollo and Emma were living a fairy tale until folk horror reminded them that babies aren’t always what they seem. Or are they?
Paco Plaza delivers a Galician thriller with more bile than brilliance, where Luis Tosar shines amid a limp script and violence that leaves you wanting. Revenge or just routine?
Juanma Bajo Ulloa returns with a gothic thriller that reeks of scorched celluloid and dried blood. Does *Evil* escape the folklore of domestic terror, or does it drown in its own symbolism?
Srđan Spasojević serves up a depravity feast swinging between gratuitous shock and social commentary. Genius or pretentious trash? Claqueta Ácida dissects it with surgical precision.
David Cronenberg turns a traffic accident into a carnival of flesh, metal, and perversion. Art or autopsy? Here’s the acidic verdict.
Adrian Chiarella delivers this 'Australian exorcism' that hovers between gothic pretension and unintentional absurdity. Art or autopsy of a soulless script?
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. 💀
*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?*
When the corn turns red and Frendo the clown sows terror with a grin from ear to ear. Eli Craig grows horror in a rotten cornfield: a killer clown, insufferable teens, and a harvest of clichés.
Fabrice Du Welz and his shadow ballet in the Belgian underworld. Du Welz delivers a gothic thriller teetering between visual virtuosity and baroque excess—155 minutes of nightmare and obsession.
Madison travels to Thailand in search of "authenticity" and ends up in an Instagram thriller where likes taste like blood. Art or self-promotion with filters?
Curry Barker delivers this 'masterpiece' of teenage obsession with more holes than a Swiss cheese. Love or stalking? The line was never this blurry (or this poorly lit).
