It’s hard to believe in David Gordon Green, let alone any follow-up to William Friedkin’s traumatizing classic. Unlike horror franchises with a gratuitously marketable villain — like Halloween, Friday the 13th or C.H.U.D. — The Exorcist has to make do with a concept. And you can’t exactly trademark demonic possession, hence the wave of exorcism films that erode the legacy of the original. (Hell, just Google “the exorcism of” and you’ll stumble upon so many uninspired films, you’ll question why it took until 2021 for someone to finally produce The Exorcism of God.)

Even though The Exorcist influenced a heap of bargain-bin fillers, you also could argue it’s responsible for iconic flicks like Hereditary, The Evil Dead and Amityville Karen. It makes sense The Exorcist series persists. What doesn’t make sense, however, is putting Green at the helm of its revival — even more so after the director proved his recent Halloween trilogy should’ve ended before we endured two half-baked sequels. Unfortunately, The Exorcist: Believer doesn’t rid Green of whatever curse haunts him.

Thirteen years after his wife’s death, Victor (Leslie Odom Jr., Glass Onion) struggles to raise his daughter, Angela (Lidya Jewett, Black Panther), in a secular household. At the same time, devout Baptists Miranda (Sugarland vocalist Jennifer Nettles) and Tony (Norbert Leo Butz, 2010’s Fair Play) prepare for the baptism of their daughter, Katherine (newcomer Olivia Marcum). The week before the ceremony, Angela and Katherine disappear for three days when they ditch school to try and commune with Angela’s mother. Once found, the two act out by wetting their beds, masturbating during a Sunday service and psychically levitating furniture. (You know, teen stuff.)

Notice anything missing from that premise? Maybe, I don’t know, an exorcist? Ann (Ann Dowd, Compliance), a would-be nun turned nurse, plays the new Damien Karras. She even has a compelling background, as the shame of an abortion before her confirmation sets her up for a redemption arc. Tragically, Green makes no conscious effort to explore this beyond rushed exposition dumps.

What the filmmaker misses — and will probably keep missing — is what most imitators fail to capture, too. The Exorcist doesn’t earn its staying power through the gratuitous and demonic possession, but with compelling characters. In Believer, Green and co. almost get it with Victor and Ann’s background, but they repeatedly avoid exploring people in favor of cheap thrills and frankly boring sequences. At the same time, they reaffirm the idea of faith (specifically, Christianity) so much, there’s no room for doubt to emerge as a meaningful theme.

Beyond revenue, it’s hard to imagine what gave Green (or anyone involved with this garbage fire) the confidence to move forward with Believer. It’s as if the demon of boring horror requels — let’s call it “Pasnoozu” — has grown more powerful.

Granted, Believer is so bad, it might make the rest of the trilogy better by extension. After all, when the bar’s so low it’s basically in hell, 2025’s The Exorcist: Deceiver can’t be worse, right? Right?! —Daniel Bokemper

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Horror hasn’t needed a hand for the past decade. Thanks to the likes of It Follows, The Babadook, Hereditary and too many more to reasonably list, the genre has been recognized lately for what it’s always been: clever metaphors that speak to our experience. It’s just a little less exploitative now. And, by extension, a lot harder to get a foot in the door.

Fortunately, Talk to Me from Danny and Michael Philippou (aka YouTubers RackaRacka) has pretty much nothing to do with feet. Still, despite exceptional acting and a refreshing take on possession, the film’s premise is spread too thin to be an instant classic.

As Mia (Sophie Wilde) grieves the death of her mother, her best friend, Jade (Alexandra Jensen), invites her to a party with their friendly neighborhood drug dealers. Naturally, this means Jade’s little brother (Joe Bird) tags along. Tragically, the gathering isn’t just a bunch of harmless Aussie teens doing whippets. Their drug of choice is instead an amputated, embalmed hand that lets a ghost possess anyone who holds it. The catch? Exposure to the hand for more than 90 seconds risks long-term possession.

Talk to Me shines in its possession sequences. The film showcases menace, perversion and everything else fucked-up from the great beyond in its first act. Powerful and involved performances ground this otherwise hokey jaunt through the backlog of vengeful spirits. Bird and Otis Dhanji stand out, the former becoming some kind of prophetic passenger from hell who’s eerily similar to Harvey Scrimshaw in The Witch.

Mia’s desperation and compulsion for the hand realistically carry the plot. Unfortunately, the film lets the rules of the hand overshadow an otherwise tragic and emotionally jarring arc. It doesn’t seem to realize its power comes from of its compelling cast of characters. Instead, Talk to Me backpedals into conventional approaches as soon as it loses anything more to say about addiction. To put it bluntly, it feels like the filmmakers understand addiction — maybe they even watched Requiem for a Dream — but they weren’t confident enough that it could sustain a full movie.

Instead, the Philippous lean hard into the franchise paint. Which mostly makes sense. It would be almost a shame not to explore the iconic hand in some other way, but that’s the beauty of a cursed object: You can move it into any number of situations and chances are, its presence alone is enough to justify what transpires. Instead, the protagonists can focus more on their very real, compelling problems, rather than how the thing — be it a monkey’s paw or a demonic puzzle box — connects to some ancient power.

Talk to Me is solid and its already announced sequel should be, too. Hopefully, the filmmakers will be more hands-off when it comes to the human drama already baked into the story. —Daniel Bokemper

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Word of Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu remake whets most of our appetites. But before we get a taste of Bill Skarsgård’s bug-eyed Count Orlok, André Øvredal (The Autopsy of Jane Doe) seeks to drench us with his unintentional appetizer, The Last Voyage of the Demeter.

Though pitting it against Eggers’ upcoming flick isn’t exactly fair — Demeter spent two decades in development hell. Plus, the film isn’t even a complete Dracula adaptation. It’s almost obnoxious in how often it reminds us that this feature-length film emerges from just one of the novel’s chapters, “The Captain’s Log.” Unfortunately, this bloodthirsty commitment to adhere to the source material also leaves it writhing in the sun.

Case in point: the movie’s opening sequence. After a constable finds the captain’s journal in the wreckage of the Demeter, Øvredal deploys a voiceover narration pulled almost line for line from Bram Stoker’s book. On one hand, you could argue this solidifies its connection to Dracula. But in execution, it’s script filler. It doesn’t enhance what we see, nor weave its way into what transpires in any imaginative manner. It’s as if Capt. Elliot (Liam Cunningham, TV’s Game of Thrones) has a once-every-15-minutes obligation to remind us that Demeter is indeed, derived from Dracula. (Check out the episode “This Extraordinary Being” from Damon Lindelof’s Watchmen for a great example of how classic prose can be woven into timely, modern storytelling.)

This seemingly small issue detracts from an otherwise compelling tale. Demeter primarily follows Clemens (Corey Hawkins, Straight Outta Compton), a Cambridge-educated doctor who can’t find steady work on account of 19th-century racism. The Demeter’s first mate (David Dastmalchian, The Suicide Squad) reluctantly brings Clemens aboard after the doctor saves the captain’s grandson (Woody Norman, Cobweb).

The ship then sets sail against the warnings of damn-near everyone in Bulgaria. Less than a day in, Clemens discovers Anna (Aisling Franciosi, 2018’s The Nightingale), a stowaway who would make for a far more interesting main character despite Hawkins’ strong performance. From there, it’s basically Alien on a boat.

Demeter oddly takes liberties with Stoker’s text, especially in the conclusion. But the film’s unwillingness to take those same risks where it matters sucks the blood out of a plot that otherwise would be powerful and fresh. Instead, they relegate the most fascinating details into one of Anna’s many exposition-heavy monologues. We frankly have enough stories about Belmonts, Helsings and countless other dudes trying to snuff out Dracula. Why not give a few more women a shot?

That being said, The Last Voyage of the Demeter still manages to do a lot with the coffin it nails itself into. Dracula (Javier Botet, Slender Man) is genuinely creepy with his anglerfish teeth, bright white eyes and towering presence. Like Evil Dead Rise, Demeter doesn’t waste any time establishing that in modern horror, them kids ain’t safe. It also avoids the trap that made the Demeter’s segment in previous adaptations so easy to gloss over. Instead of Dracula just picking off the crew members one by one, he infests them physically and psychologically. It packs in enough Dracula to justify him as more than a regular ol’ vampire without leaning on too many tired conventions.

2023 hasn’t been great to the Count. Demeter doesn’t do too much to correct the course, either. It has its suspenseful moments, but overall, it’s in desperate need of a narrative transfusion. —Daniel Bokemper

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Evil Dead Rise reminds us that when it comes to today’s popular horror flicks, fuck them kids.

Failing to follow up on 2013’s re-imagining before now was a cinematic sin. Directed by Lee Cronin (The Hole in the Ground), Rise is a welcome resurrection of the blood-soaked franchise. But a smooth 97-minute runtime, hilariously gory sequences and delightful new Deadites make this return well worth the decade-long wait.

After a few zoomers get scalped, dismembered and read some of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, the film rewinds a day prior to introduce Beth (Lily Sullivan, 2017’s Jungle). The career roadie takes a break from her band’s tour on account of her unexpected pregnancy. Meanwhile, Beth’s sister, Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland, Blood Vessel), struggles with an abrupt separation while raising three kids.

An awkward reunion at Ellie’s apartment is cut short by an earthquake. The high-rise complex’s parking lot splits open, revealing a vault of religious artifacts — including everyone’s favorite flesh-bound tome. Ellie’s son (Morgan Davies, TV’s The Girlfriend Experience) naturally opens the book. One vinyl recording of a curious priest reciting the magical words later, it’s off to the Deadite Derby.

As the first possessed, Ellie takes the lead as the most fucked-up Evil Dead villain yet. (Linda’s a close second; Evil Ash never stood a chance.) Sutherland’s performance is as mesmerizing as it is maniacal. Her zombified zingers are a welcome return to the series’ marquee campiness, even though 2013’s entry was still stellar without it. Murder Mommy takes the depravity a step further as she tortures and even tattoos her children.

Most of the sequences capture the franchise’s frenetic pace despite the new setting. In lieu of a fruit cellar, Ellie spends a chunk of the film stalking the hallway outside her apartment. The unit door’s peephole sets the stage for a vivid bloodbath that makes the most of the movie’s limited budget. Continually, Evil Dead Rise delivers frights that far outclass movies like It Chapter Two, which had over four times the financial backing.

It’s rare that this film stumbles. The final act is just a little too bloated with callbacks — a group recital of “dead by dawn” is more than enough. Perhaps more egregious is when it diffuses its own dread. A portion of the recording reiterating all of the ways one can’t kill a Deadite is almost immediately followed by several scenes of — you guessed it — doing all of the things that definitely don’t kill Deadites. Though Cronin was likely shooting for comedy with a heaping helping of despair, a slight swap of scenes could’ve given the terror that much more bite.

Ultimately, Evil Dead Rise delivers exactly what the franchise’s faithful could hope for. Those unfamiliar with the Book of the Dead will painfully laugh and piss themselves all the same. Even the most reluctant viewer will spend a weeks trying to get the phrase “titty-sucking parasites” out of their head.

Please excuse me — I gotta go call my mom. —Daniel Bokemper

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