Following the funeral for their friend who died in an auto accident they survived, pals Tilly, Monica and Peter (Anna Bullard, Annie Hamilton and Rory Alexander) escape to a farmhouse owned by Monica’s grandparents. Quaint, cozy and desolate/rural, the place offers much-needed solitude.

But, hey, who invited the masked killer? I’m no psychologist, but I do know this: The way to process trauma is not to throw more gasoline on the fire.

From awkward passes to alcoholic tendencies, the three friends of Dark Windows speak realistically and act realistically, which is to say they also react realistically. These characters are depicted as just all-around normal people. That’s refreshing for a horror film, particularly for a slasher, which tends to treat its players as stereotypes.

Their pain is real — not just physical, but emotional, adding all the difference. Conceivably, this one could happen. I’d call it a mature slasher if that didn’t sound like such a preachy fun-sapper. So I’ll do the Hollywood pitch thing and say it’s … oh, I Know What You Did Last Summer meets The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Sound good? Dark Windows is great, actually.

Economically staged without sacrificing quality on any level, it’s a gem from Norway, although in English. Aside from Hamilton (The Wolf of Snow Hollow), the young actors were unknown to me, all to Windows’ favor — unlike, say, its moniker, straight from the Spooker GeneroTitle-a-Tron (patent pending).

Norwegian-born helmer Alex Harron (Leave) impresses with an outsider approach to an all-American subgenre. He casts a pallid mood and remains in control of it throughout. He also offers an excellent jump cut; you’ll know it when you see it. And please do see it. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Maternal instinct proves fertile ground for horror in Laura Moss’ Birth/Rebirth. On one hand, a socially awkward pathologist (Marin Ireland) goes to strange lengths to conceive, for even stranger reasons. On the other, a nurse at her hospital (Judy Reyes) has a 6-year-old daughter until, suddenly, she doesn’t. Even more stranger circumstances bring the women together — in a twisted approximation of the modern family.

The blinder you are going in to Birth/Rebirth, the better it plays. Let’s just call it a dead-serious take on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, surrounding an ongoing experiment into cellular regeneration using fetal pig tissue. Fresh from this summer’s The Boogeyman, Ireland is an actress I’ll watch in anything, so that she excels with chameleon-like skills as the film’s Victor Frankenstein analogue is practically predestined.

Other than an unmannered performance from 8-year-old newcomer A.J. Lister, the real revelation is Reyes (2022’s Smile). Best known for nursing duties on eight seasons of the TV sitcom Scrubs, she not only scores equal billing as a co-lead, but emerges as Ireland’s equal, seizing the opportunity she’s rarely afforded. Reyes is terrific as the mother so stuck in the initial phase of grief, she soon submits to requests of Ireland’s morgue-dwelling “mad scientist princess bitch” after initially finding them so repulsive.

Although the ending is abrupt, Birth/Rebirth is absorbing for the whole and a near-stunning directorial debut for Moss (wonderfully notorious for their 2016 trilogy of Porn Without Sex shorts), operating with appropriately cold, clinical precision. Multiple scenes would cause David Cronenberg great delight and mainstream audiences great distress. You know where you fall. —Rod Lott

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If you dig Bigfoot movies, but wish they contained more marital strife, good news: Jon Garcia, the director of an actual movie called Sex Weather, gives you Summoning the Spirit.

Seeking a new start post-miscarriage, spouses Dean (Ernesto Reyes, TV’s American Gods) and Carla (Krystal Millie Valdes) buy a cozy house amid 5 acres of forest. While he dictates chapters of Oregon Trail historical fiction into a handheld recorder, she gets to know the locals, a bunch of New Age woo-woos with names like River and Clear who say they were called here “by the spirit.”

Living on a farm, these neighbors call themselves The Mountain People. They worship “the giants in the forest.” They have a podcast. They conduct daytime orgies. Regarding the latter, Dean asks, “Did you do stuff? Like sexy stuff?” And despite all evidence within the previous 75 minutes, Dean is shocked — shocked, I tell you! — by the realization The Mountain People are a cult.

A markedly different slice of sasquatch cinema, Summoning the Spirit dips all its toes into arthouse folk horror while also delivering on the most exploitable part of the film: Bigfoot, of course. You see the beast in the first five minutes — and not in the usual fleeting-tease glimpses. Every time the cryptid shows up, hell is raised and the movie instantly becomes better.

While that’s not enough in the long run to merit a glowing recommendation, it’s enough for a mild one. Plus, the Bigfoot costume is great. Thank God Garcia couldn’t afford CGI. —Rod Lott

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After livestreamer Logan (Tyler Gene) goes missing while looking for a “haunted, mythological creature thing” at North Carolina’s Lake Tomahawk, a group of friends and fellow content creators search for him.

Of course, they have to document it, too — whether that’s out of care or for the clout is up for interpretation. Walking into a restricted area of the woods, the five flirt, argue, theorize, get lost and — eventually — run and scream. This is found-footage horror, after all.

I believe in the hands of a majority of microbudget filmmakers, Logan’s livestreamed prologue would be stretched out to be the whole movie, with each (p)added minute diluting its effectiveness (especially in the use of the buffering symbol at peak moments). Instead, The Wendigo takes the smarter route of going a layer deeper. To its credit, I was absorbed enough in the hunt that I kept forgetting its cryptozoological foundation. Antlers aplenty; no snow.

While the full result is imperfect, it’s start-to-finish better than most, no doubt aided by first-feature director Jake Robinson (also part of the primary cast) wrapping things up after an hour. With the last 15 minutes achieving a mild intensity, he doesn’t give you the chance to become bored. However, the final scene, involving a circle of people, finds him letting go of the restraint he otherwise ably demonstrates. —Rod Lott

Shot on the cheap in Las Vegas subbing for San Diego, Holistay is the third horror movie within less than a year about a double-booked rental home. Diminishing returns apply with this limp, unpolished go-round.

Vacationing from Ireland, a couple played by Erin Gavin (Dread) and Gavin O’Fearraigh arrive first to the cul-de-sac property backing up to a golf course. They barely have a chance to christen the bedroom when couple No. 2 enter, L.A.ers played by Gabriela Kulaif and Steven Martini (Major Payne). Within two minutes of meeting, the pairs agree to share the space.

Not consulted for that agreement? “Some weird guy with a hood” standing outside in the dark — aka a druid — and his banshee companion who dresses like Stevie Nicks. Each appearance is akin to encountering a Renaissance Faire attendee overdoing it. Strangely, Holistay sidelines this threat for most of the movie, as our weekenders safari, shop, nap, talk, drink wine, take pot edibles, talk, hot tub, do “epic” hot air ballooning, talk, read Martha Stewart Living, talk, talk more, discuss fish recipes, talk and all too easily forget about their supernatural visitors.

A glorious exception finds Martini’s East Coast goombah character armed and angrily yelling into the night, “Hello! What the fuck are you? Banshee? Bunch of fuckin’ geese? Huh, punk? Goose! I’m from New York! You want some-a-me?” His hysteria is unintentionally hysterical.

Joining the foursome in overall apathy is Holistay’s director, Electile Dysfunction documentarian Mary Patel-Gallagher in her first narrative feature. She turns her script’s subplots — involving an international fugitive and money stolen from an Alzheimer’s fundraiser — into the plot for a bulk of the time, seemingly forgetting about making a horror film until the end. To some degree, I can’t fault her for that, because otherwise, not much of anything is going on. Now that, I fault her for.

At the climax, she offers viewers a twist they won’t accept because it’s a cheat. While I believe Patel-Gallagher has a counterargument at the ready, I rewatched the pic twice and still contend it’s a cheat, because the person/people in question wouldn’t/don’t act that way in private. Which speaks to an even greater problem of characters’ unnaturalness permeating this thrill-free movie — one in which they don’t even unload grocery bags believably. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.