Recovering drug addict Massimo (Michael Klug, House of Black Wings) credits his girlfriend (Christine Nguyen) with his sobriety. They’re madly in love and destined for a wonderful life together … until the “millennial soy boy” (to quote his racist stepfather) gets bitten by a vampire, which fucks everything up.

Look, if Monte Light wants to call Blood Covered Chocolate an homage to the 1922 classic Nosferatu, he has every right. This is his movie, after all. But I found it to be original (or as original as one can get within the vampire genre) — very much its own thing, Lynchian light zaps excepted. Garlic, sunshine, crucifixes — all mean diddly squat in this overall impressive indie.

Doing a 180˚ from 2020’s Space, Light shoots Blood Covered Chocolate in crisp black and white, with the occasional nod to color in kaleidoscopic-pattern cutaways, Zoom calls, cartoon clips and tinted scenes. Most visually arresting among the latter floods the screen’s left side blood-red as a shadow of a vampiric hand (the most overt Nosferatu reference) slowly nears Massimo’s oblivious mother (Debra Lamb, Deathrow Gameshow), who’s standing in the frame’s grayscale right. In addition to flashing to public-domain works from Fritz Lang and Max Fleischer, Light cribs the iconic floating-head-and-spine monstrosity from the Indonesian oddity Mystics in Bali.

A staple of Fred Olen Ray and Jim Wynorksi erotic comedies (including the recent Bigfoot or Bust!), Nguyen uses her Blood Covered role to her advantage, proving she can act. She still has to take her clothes off, but for once, that’s secondary. I wish Klug were as skilled, but I found his affectations in timing and delivery awkward. Luckily, this flick flows fast, like a bladder draining a liter of water. Balls are required to begin your closing credits with the words “YOU HAVE JUST EXPERIENCED” filling the screen, but Light earns it. —Rod Lott

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First-time actor Thomas Parigi plays the title role in The Strange Case of Jacky Calliou, a young man orphaned by a car wreck. He lives with his grandmother (fellow neophyte Edwige Blondiau) in the French Alps, where she makes a most meager living as a “magnetic healer.” From achy body parts to depressed farm animals, she’s got the touch; she’s got the power.

After he expresses interest in learning her trade, the old woman passes away. But after reviving a bird, Jacky accepts his hands indeed are imbued with the gift. Thus, he takes on his gammy-gam’s last client: a beautiful young woman (Lou Lampros, The French Dispatch) whose right shoulder bears an inexplicable patch of what looks like a Petri dish’s worth of mold spores.

Is Jacky a healer or enabler? Great question, acknowledges feature-debuting director Lucas Delangle, whose script with Olivier Strauss takes deft, measured steps to approach the edge of answering without quite stepping foot on or over it. That’s by design, and as is common in folk horror, this ambiguity is one of its strengths. Not only are we left to gauge the reality of the Caillou power, but how deeply Jacky and his grandmother believe in it. (Lest we ruin it, let’s not even touch the issue of village sheep brutally murdered in the dead of night.)

Chilly in look and feel, Jacky Calliou (as it’s blandly titled on home turf) employs the slow-burn technique that earns every reward, which it turns over to the audience. Majestic setting aside, nothing about the film is showy; Delangle asks for patience and gets it without the viewer even noticing the point at which he or she yields. Although this Strange Case is hardly for everyone, anyone curious how Blood on Satan’s Claw might play like in contemporary times, here comes the evidence, ready to make the hair on your back stand up. —Rod Lott

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High-octane folk horror, this ain’t. The hype around more subdued flicks like Skinamarink suggests we may be in for a wave of slow scares drenched in a monstrous molasses. While Mark Jenkin’s Enys Men isn’t an outright bore, it painfully misconstrues meandering for tension building.

On a Cornish island in the early ’70s, Mary Woodvine (2011’s Intruders) plays an unnamed volunteer studying a mysterious flower. Weeks of noting “no change” wear on the woman until time begins to fold in on itself. Chance encounters, stomping nuns, smiling miners and a short-lived romance with a mustached boatman converge in a soft remake of “The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill” from George A. Romero’s Creepshow. (Without any lunkheads, unfortunately.)

Shot on 16mm film, two things should be clear about Enys Men before you nod off. First, it obviously looks old. It feels a little less superficial than the digital filter applied to Ti West’s The House of the Devil. Primary colors pop and certain images — like the bright red generator — appropriately remove the dingy coastal town from reality. Second, Jenkin’s camera is crank-operated, so slow pans and dramatic zooms are about the only “special effects” you’ll see.

And for the most part, that’s okay. The director makes up for it with some creative sound design. A rock hurled down a mineshaft ricochets like a marble in a wet pan. Meanwhile, a seagull breaks water to the sound of shattering glass. It’s an intriguing, mind-bending touch, but it doesn’t really cut through the slog.

Arguably, Enys Men is supposed to be sedating and hypnotic. But where Jeanne Dielman (the winner in Sight and Sound’s recent Greatest Films of All Time poll) has a point to its repetitious malaise, Jenkin’s thesis is less clear. Woodvine’s thousand-yard stare helps sell her character’s stasis, and not much else. Ambiguity is priceless in the right story. But here, it’s hard to believe Jenkin knew where he was going until it’s too late. —Daniel Bokemper

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I’ve not seen Anthony DiBlasi’s 2014 film, Last Shift, so I’m uncertain why he felt the need to remake it. I’d be shocked, though, if the original were as accomplished and spiderweb-sticky as Malum.

At the Lanford Police Department, it’s the first night for rookie officer Jessica Loren (Jessica Sula, 2016’s Split). At her request, she’s working the graveyard shift, in honor of her late cop father (Eric Olson). Before his tragic and unusual death, he was something of a reluctant hero after saving three young women from a cult leader (Chaney Morrow, 2021’s Wrong Turn reboot) whose homicidal followers fed their victims to pigs.

But who said those women wanted to be saved?

With hauntings and hallucinations galore, Malum (that’s Latin for “evil”) is one of those movies constantly toying with what’s real and what’s not. In the wrong hands, that can grow annoying to a viewer, but DiBlasi has a firm hold on the material and what works for each scene. This allows him to go whole-hog — pun not intended, but perfectly perfect — with fake-outs that keep Jessica and her sanity in a prolonged state of anxious doubt.

Although the ultimate reveals of the story hardly arrive as surprises, getting there is all the fun. With Clarke Wolfe (Deathcember) particularly, eerily convincing as one of the cult members. Given the loyalty nonsense she spouts, Morrow’s maniacal grin and visage, and the story and setting, Malum plays like Charles Manson’s Assault on Precinct 13.

DiBlasi impressed me with his first film, the 2009 Clive Barker adaptation Dread. With Malum, he’s a step away from joining horror’s big leagues. It boasts real scares, Hereditary-level disturbing imagery and, of course, the end credit “and introducing Yahtzee the Pig.” —Rod Lott

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Befitting the inescapable social media and selfie culture it derides, the British-made Followers is instantly forgettable. Like a Snapchat, you watch it and — #poof! — it’s gone, snuffing itself out.

Although I hate to speak ill of the end, I doubt that’s what the late Marcus Harben had in mind for his first feature. He knew how to go about it, though, for economy’s sake: as found footage.

To view Followers is to be forced to, er, follow the YouTubed antics of the idiotic, immature, obnoxious Jonty Craig (Harry Jarvis, The Dare). Cap askew, the 19-year-old documents himself getting on the nerves of his college housemates — and hopefully into the bed of comely roomie Amber (Erin Austen, 2021’s The Kindred).

Jonty’s M.O. of pranks and other “influencer” BS undergoes a content overhaul when they discover the house is haunted. From a ghost in a laptop to all-out poltergeist havoc on the kitchen cupboards, Jonty’s thrilled for the exponential boost in likes and subscribers. Hell, he even gets sponsored!

Followers has the makings of a raucous, vicious satire, but not the drive to take the proper piss out of anyone. Too toothless to function as a comedy, too by-the-numbers to be scary, the movie Harben left is half-cooked — full of ideas without quite bringing a single one to fruition.

Unless one of those ideas was to have viewers abhor its lead character, in which case, well done, good sir. —Rod Lott

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