For every Cinema Paradiso, there’s a film primed to make us regret ever watching movies. Since 2016, Damien Leone has seemingly gone out of his way to put that “honorary” distinction on the Terrifier franchise. And he does a pretty damn good job at it. Still, pushing the grotesque envelope can only go so far until it eventually busts. With Terrifier 3, Art the Clown (David Howard Thornton) makes a tragic misstep from shockingly scary to schlocky slapstick.

After his head’s cut off by Sienna (Lauren LaVera) at the end of Terrifier 2, Art’s reanimated corpse reconvenes with his first victim turned disfigured villain, Victoria (Samantha Scaffidi), at an insane asylum. (Conveniently, she also gave birth to his head at the end of the second flick.) The starstruck lovers seal their union by ceremoniously bashing in the brains of an unsuspecting Chris Jericho.

Five years later, Sienna’s released from a trauma center to the care of her aunt (Margaret Anne Florence) and uncle (Bryce Johnson). She quickly reconnects with her niece, Gabbie (Antonella Rose), while trying to do the same with her similarly scarred little brother, Jonathan (Elliott Fullam). At the same time, Art and Victoria resurface to dismember families and blow up some children. You know, the usual.

Terrifier 3 isn’t outright bad. The kills seem somehow more brutal and deranged, and Leone’s choice to set the film during Christmas seemed like an easy way to frame Art’s violence toward children. It’s a setup that yields some entertaining payoffs, like when the clown toys with a drunken mall Santa at a dive bar. Yet these fun sequences ring hollower when the narrative that facilitates those scenes feels like an afterthought. Bone Tomahawk provides enough evidence that intense gore — even when it seems to be the entire point of a movie — doesn’t require a weak and uninspired plot.

Which begs the question: Why create any continuity for Terrifier at all? It ultimately feels like the best vehicle for Art was All Hallows’ Eve, Leone’s 2013 anthology film that used the clown as more of a chilling concept and occasional slasher villain. If the intent is to make Art into a lawless agent of chaos, Leone’s tale of angels versus demons seems like a horribly messy distraction.

That said, Terrifier 3 is still a gorehound’s smorgasbord. The supposedly gruesome opening scene, however, feels a bit overblown. Yes, it’s grizzly, but it feels like extremely familiar territory for anyone who’s watched 15 minutes of either previous film. And by the time we get to the real show stealer, a chainsaw massacre in a coed shower, its effect almost seems muted by what came before. The practical effects are still impressive, but beyond lingering on the brutality for a bit longer than usual, it doesn’t really feel like leap into a horrifying new direction. It’s more like a gentle shuffle.

As it stands (or hobbles), it feels like Terrifier has run its course. Art is still legitimately creepy, but he’s starting to resemble a black-and-white crutch for Leone. With the next installment alleged to be the last, it’ll be interesting to see the filmmaker try a bit more than excessive blood and guts. Because, ultimately, the gory torture porn is about the only thing that distances Terrifier 3 from a Lifetime original movie. —Daniel Bokemper

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Since 2012, the V/H/S franchise has emerged as the definitive, modern horror anthology series. (Sorry, The ABCs of Death, we hardly knew thee.) Unfortunately, save V/H/S/2 and V/H/S/94, few of the collections have offered a compelling reason to rewind and rewatch. Sure, we might revisit “Storm Drain” and “Safe Haven,” but one compelling segment never single-handedly saves an entire film. The series’ latest entry, V/H/S/Beyond, doesn’t feature the best shorts across the entire franchise. It does, however, offer one of the most cohesive experiences yet.

Framed by a mockumentary directed, written and starring Jay Cheel (Shudder’s Cursed Films), the anthology’s interludes explore the viability of two tapes allegedly containing proof of extraterrestrial life. It dials down the intensity of the previous films’ frame narratives, but it’s nonetheless memorable and interesting. It also wraps up with a confusing, albeit creative and stomach-churning climax.

The shorts themselves offer a mix everything. While loose sci-fi seems to be the connective thread, most feel like they could’ve easily been plugged into one of the previous entries. That said, it’s nice to have them all in one flick, even if only a few reach very far “beyond.”

Jordan Downey’s “Stork” and Justin Martinez’s “Live and Let Dive” are the most thrilling entries by a mile. “Stork” is a zombie-filled police raid oozing with [REC] residue. “Live and Let Dive,” on the other hand, pushes the boundaries of found footage through an intense sky-diving sequence. However, its luster wanes a bit, as Martinez overexposes his monsters despite an extremely short runtime. Virat Pal’s “Dream Girl” falls in a similar camp, though what could’ve been the most substantial short quickly descends into a hollow — and hard-to-see — splatter fest.

Christian and Justin Long’s (yes, that Justin Long) “Fur Babies” is perhaps the furthest removed from the overarching theme, but emerges as the most deranged and delightful segment. Imagine if Dr. Moreau and Annie Wilkes from Misery started a doggy daycare business. This inherently goofy premise goes full Tusk, yet unlike Kevin Smith’s podcast-inspired horror, doesn’t overstay its welcome.

V/H/S/Beyond saves the best for last with Kate Siegel and Mike Flanagan’s “Stowaway.” It’s an intriguing look into obsession that features a final shot and prosthetic not far off from the creature effects of 2014’s Spring. It’s also so damn sad, pulling at an emotional cord that most V/H/S stories don’t even consider, let alone try to approach. Even so, “Stowaway” still feels like it could’ve benefited from an extra few minutes and clearer camera work, though addressing the latter could infringe on the short’s level of intimacy.

If anything, V/H/S/Beyond hopefully sets a new standard for what the franchise can be. It sits in that funny space where it doesn’t blow past all other entries, but offers a variety not seen in the previous installments. If you can only pick one anthology film to fill out your Halloween movie marathon, you should just rewatch Creepshow. Though V/H/S/Beyond would be a solid second choice. —Daniel Bokemper

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More often than not, found-footage films are the Twinkies of horror: They might satisfy at first and indulge a surface-level curiosity, but many ultimately feel airy and provide little to meaningfully digest. Plus, if you deal with any motion sickness, watching is bound to make you hurl.

But in mimicking reality, found footage has a chance to resonate with and even haunt us. (And no, not in the same way The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity managed to fooled many of us with solid guerilla marketing.) Joel Anderson’s Lake Mungo dodges the pitfalls of the genre through intimacy and a surprising normalcy.

“Normal” in the sense that the family at the center of the mockumentary, the Palmers, feel tragically real. During a typical Australian night swim at a local lake, Mathew Palmer (Martin Sharpe) loses track of his sister, Alice (Talia Zucker, HBO’s Winning Time). Hours later, emergency responders recover her bloated corpse.

Her dad, Russell (David Pledger), identifies the body as her mom, June (Rosie Traynor), can’t bring herself to look at Alice’s cadaver. She doesn’t have to wait long to see Alice again, however, as her daughter’s specter starts showing up in random photos taken a few months after her death. This kick-starts an exploration of Alice’s fears, hidden life and premonition itself.

Lake Mungo isn’t completely free of structural hiccups. Though shocking, some of the twists in the third act feel a stretched thin and more inflated than Alice’s washed-up body. However, not fully embracing found footage, save its climax, breaks what might others be a linear and jump-scare-reliant jaunt. It has some abrupt and tense sequences, but thanks to the strength of the narrative and proximity we have to the Palmers’ plight, these otherwise low-reaching moments feel earned. It also helps that Lake Mungo features a corpse that puts The Ring’s Samara to shame.

Some nagging issues aside, Lake Mungo rises above the tide with how it wrestles with the inexplicable. The Palmers’ desperation to have some kind of closure feels palpable and genuine. Although the mystery they unwind may feel a little cruel and confusing, it’s not mean-spirited or needlessly provocative.

For example, Russell explains after identifying Alice’s body, car issues forced he and June to drive back to their home in reverse. It’s not scary, true, but it’s a telling metaphor that speaks to how understandably someone in their shoes just want to turn back the clock. To reject the tragedy that they just endured. And at that same time, to be pulled by unknown force back to a twisted form of Alice’s presence.

Another refreshing element of Lake Mungo is that it’s not a typical ghost story. It toys around with something paranormal, but it rebukes all of the expected explanations. For instance, Alice isn’t literally haunting, proven by mostly compelling evidence. (The film sort of drops on the ball on this with its final frame, though not so outlandishly to completely throw apart the point its making.) Instead, it explores something darker and begs an uncomfortable question: What if the ghosts that haunt us don’t belong to anyone, but emerge solely from our own fears of mortality?

Hailing Lake Mungo as timeless would be too generous, though it has plenty to set it apart from the cinematic cloth its cut from. It’s examination of what we might do when loss become too much feels reasonable, and exceptional editing paired with surprisingly strong sound design keeps it from collecting too much dust. And even the arrangement of its plot is suboptimal, Lake Mungo is a damn good advertisement for life jackets. —Daniel Bokemper

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Not sure about buying that creepy fixer-upper? It’s tough. Yes, someone will almost certainly decorate the banisters with your vital organs. But just look at the size of that courtyard!

Like seriously, the setting of Damian Mc Carthy’s Oddity is one of the most ideal horror locations since Fede Alvarez’s Don’t Breathe. On top of it all, Mc Carthy makes the most out of this inevitably haunted house with a modern ghost story that’s as deliciously cheesy as it is entertaining.

Hospital director Ted (Gwilym Lee, Bohemian Rhapsody) and his wife, Dani (Carolyn Bracken, You Are Not My Mother), are in midst of renovating their “dream” home. Dani is bludgeoned to death as Ted works a night shift at the friendly neighborhood psych ward. A year later, Ted visits Dani’s twin sister, Darcy (also Bracken), a blind psychic and owner of an oddity shop. After Darcy touches the glass eye of the late suspected killer, Ted’s old patient (Tadhg Murphy, The Northman), Darcy realizes the truth is messier than the crime scene. With a terrifying wooden doll in tow, the psychic resolves to avenge her sister’s murder and arrives uninvited to Ted’s home.

Some may not think of this as a weakness, but Oddity’s biggest hurdle comes from its stiff and long-winded dialogue. It doesn’t help that most of the performances (save Lee’s) can’t muster much to soften that rigidity. Certain exchanges between characters feel like they never quite got out of rehearsal, coming just short of the Stuart Gordon tone Mc Carthy tries to strike.

That said, stilted and awkward deliveries don’t hold the film back too much. In some ways, it lends itself to the idea no one in Oddity should be taken at face value. Even if you predict where the film is going — and you probably will — Mc Carthy keeps us hungry for the killer’s comeuppance with captivating charm. It also manages to pay off its ending, satisfying a seemingly random aside that still has something powerful to say about belief without overtly jamming it down our throats.

Even Oddity’s jump scares avoid falling into an uninspired formula. It feels familiar, sure, but these sequences aren’t concerned reinventing the wheel or making up for a lackluster plot. It almost feels like Mc Carthy could’ve abandoned some of the surprises outright and the film still would’ve landed in a satisfying place. Still, the director gets creative, and the heart poured into Oddity beautifully pulses and twitches on screen.

Oddity refuses to take itself too seriously, not so much leaning on ’80s convention as it is celebrating it. And by doing so, it reminds us that not every horror flick needs to be a jarring mediation of grief or, in the Terrifier franchise’s case, grotesque slapstick. Sometimes, watching someone chased out of a creepy house by a pissed ghost is enough. —Daniel Bokemper

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Don’t let the title fool you. Eighteenth-century fishmongers in Austria weren’t crazy about bathing. They did, however, have an undying fear of Satan and a gross misunderstanding of mental health. In The Devil’s Bath, Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala (Goodnight Mommy, The Lodge) covers just two of the hundreds of tragic, state-administered deaths from this period. The film’s as cold as it is sincere, and keen to illuminate one of the most prolific killers of all: tradition.

You might be inclined to liken The Devil’s Bath to Robert Eggers’ The Witch. And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong, especially given its opening sequence. In rural Austria during the late 1700s, a middle-aged woman plucks a baby from a random farm, carries it to the top of a waterfall and hurls it to its death. Then she turns herself in and is promptly executed.

Afterward, Agnes (Anja Plaschg, aka musician Soap&Skin), is married off by her mother and brother to Wolf (David Scheid), a local trapper. Unfortunately, neither quite fits the good Christian mold. Agnes’ quirks make her the frequent target of village gossip and her mother-in-law’s criticism. Wolf, on the other hand, seems much more interested in his friend, Lenz (Lorenz Tröbinger). Depression overtakes Agnes, and in the absence of any real help, she spirals toward a terrifying fate.

The Devil’s Bath occupies a similar space to Rose Glass’ Saint Maud. It doesn’t have the same God-talks-to-you-as-a-roach fever dreams, but this film hardly needs it. The horror lies in the murmurs of the townsfolk, prescriptive sermons and medical “treatments” in the form of leeches and bloodletting. It’s not so much a slow burn as it is a casual stride toward impending doom. From the moment we see Agnes playing with dead bugs, it’s clear she wasn’t meant long for this world.

Even so, The Devil’s Bath is more than a bleak examination of a helpless figure. It is that, to some extent, but it’s far from unearned brutality. Why Agnes doesn’t — or rather “can’t” — fit in is where the movie earns its runtime. She’s God-fearing, even to the point where her extended prayer time unnerves and annoys her community. Yet even this isn’t enough to steer their ire. An abyssal horn calls out roughly halfway through the film, as if signaling that no amount of church services and festivals overpower collective apathy.

It’s both crushing and cathartic. One powerful shot in particular sees silhouettes dancing around a bonfire. They pass through it, completely engulfed by flames, only to emerge from the other side — born and killed and born again but dancing all the same. For Agnes, the image reveals that freedom only exists through oblivion.

The Devil’s Bath could understandably come off as a little too direct for some. Its cinematography and commitment to historical accuracy keep it interesting, though it won’t leave you scratching your head, either. And in this case, straightforward storytelling works wonders, even if it leads straight to a put in your stomach.

Make no mistake: The Devil’s Bath is well worth a watch. Just brace yourself for the cold shower you’ll need afterward. —Daniel Bokemper

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