For 63 years, a mountain known as the Forbidden Wall’s been off-limits to climbers — not that anyone in recorded history reached its peak. Oh, they’ve tried, but never completed the treacherous task. Somewhere along the way, they fell victim to an evil aural presence that drove them insane enough to unhook their gear and take the Nestea plunge.

Now, the tribal council in charge of the sacred chunk of rock has voted to allow half a dozen of the world’s greatest climbers to give it a go. This time, it’s personal — at least for chill dude-bro Sean (Marc Hills, Blood, Beach, Betrayal): His gramps was the last to attempt the climb. You’ll repeatedly hear this story — and more! — in the exposition dump that constitutes the first 25 minutes of The Sound. 

The expedition’s boss is our antagonist. We know this because his name is Colton. Played by Nicholas Baroudi (The Hating Game), Colton arrives like he’s Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross, spouting such tuff-boss speech as, “I’m the boss, end of story. Don’t like it, there’s the door, I got 30 other people ready to take your spot.” (I’m paraphrasing, barely.)

We also meet the tribal chief (Wayne Charles Baker, Pathfinder), whose character is so stock, it could make soup. (Sample condescending dialogue: “The ravens told me you were out for a walk.”) The chief gives Sean a bonus task: “Seal that evil in forever.” Replies Sean, “What am I supposed to do? I’m just a rock climber.” Well, dumbo, for starters, you’re the one going up there.

As Jerzy Skolimowski did with 1978’s The Shout, sophomore writer/director Brendan Devane (The Canyonlands) faces a peculiar creative dilemma: When your story hinges on a sound that kills, how do you represent that for your audience? Or do you at all, leaving it to their imagination? 

Not crafting a picture of nuances, of course Devane gives sound to, well, the sound. It’s a hodgepodge of voices and feedback and assorted auditory racket — nothing special or all that menacing. But sound design is the least of the film’s troubles. I mean, what do you think will become of the guy named Lucky? (Should you be waffling, would it help if I mentioned he’s not white?)

Although giving speaking parts to real-life pro climbers (like Alex Honnold of the Oscar-winning doc Free Solo) is a nice, respectful gesture on Devane’s part, these remarkable athletes aren’t remotely skilled as actors. His decision to center the movie around Hills is almost as baffling; as Sean, the guy has presence — but one best described as “sleepy.”

Then again, Hills is asked to breathe life into dialogue that wouldn’t take spark with strike-anywhere matches. Take, for example, Sean’s mid-cliff convo with fellow climber Kristin (Rachel Finninger, Monstrous) after the acoustic from Abaddon again rears its fury:

Shaun: “I felt it in my head. Which means it can be in anyone’s head. It can be in your head.”
Kristin: “Are you, you know, you?”
Shaun: “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

Of all the script’s figurative missteps, the biggest and most brainless is what happens — or who pops up, really — in the finale. It’s so wrongheaded, I’m tempted to reveal it, yet mere words wouldn’t do the jaw-dropper justice.

And popping up elsewhere in cameos, thirtysomething’s David Clennon and Tenacious D’s Kyle Gass appear via FaceTime. On the bright side, The Sound features some great photography when it’s not obviously on a set. —Rod Lott

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What are you afraid of? Outpost 37 wants to know. Wrapping around the five stories of Phobias, the government testing facility conducts experiments of extracting fear and turning it into a gaseous weapon. Anthologies have had dumber setups, but the well-crafted Phobias pays its more mind.

Have your dictionary of choice handy, because the segments arrive with the names “Robophobia,” “Vehophobia,” “Ephebiphobia,” “Hoplophobia” and “Atelophobia” (and I swear I didn’t sneeze while typing those). You’re likely able to guess what the first one is about — and if not, I’ll tell you: A Korean man (Leonardo Nam, The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift) is befriended by an AI entity offering to take care of his racist bullies.

And the other stories, respectively? A jilted young woman (the Pitch Perfect trilogy’s Hana Mae Lee) is astonished to find a car that controls itself. A teacher (Lauren Miller Rogen, Sausage Party) is menaced in her own home by students angry at her extracurricular exploits. A cop (Martina García, ABCs of Death 2) is forever haunted after a child is mistakenly, fatally shot in a police raid. And singer Macy Gray runs an architecture firm — poorly, of course, given the subject matter.

Each ends on a note of shock or stress, yet something short of closure. Such is the feeling for the whole of Phobias. More tonally and visually cohesive than most anthologies these days, its bits come courtesy of the directors of Monster Party, Black as Night, Stray and The Astronaut, and in her first at-bat, actress Camilla Belle, perhaps best known as the beleaguered babysitter of 2006’s When a Stranger Calls remake. —Rod Lott

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Aliens in a cornfield? Obviously. Murderous children in a cornfield? But of course. Mia Goth violating a scarecrow in a cornfield? Uh, sure. But a Clown in a Cornfield? Maybe we’re jumping the shark. Wait, that’s been in a cornfield, too?!

While Eli Craig isn’t the first to put horror on the cob, 2010’s Tucker & Dale vs. Evil showed a playful understanding of the genre — not originality — is the director’s strong suit. An adaptation of Adam Cesare’s 2020 novel, Clown in a Cornfield sees Craig drop an original story credit, too. This change in his routine doesn’t quite hit the highs of his first standout film. But in a world where Terrifier’s Art reigns supreme, the Midwestern clown holds its ground.

Looking for a fresh start, Quinn (Katie Douglas, Lazareth) and her doctor dad, Glenn (Aaron Abrams, Code 8), move to a seemingly quiet, rural town. As Glenn discovers the residents’ firm commitment to tradition, Quinn meets a classmate named Cole (Carson MacCormac, Shazam!) and quickly falls in with his group of friends looking to buck the old-fashioned values of Kettle Springs. However, the teens quickly discover the town’s mascot, Frendo, isn’t playing around when it comes to community’s way of life. As Frendo starts to prey on Quinn and her friends, they start to unravel the mystery behind the town’s killer clown.

Unfortunate spoiler alert: Frendo isn’t from outer space. In fact, Clown in a Cornfield is significantly more grounded than you’d probably expect from Craig. While it doesn’t avoid humor outright, it doesn’t really try to channel it either. If it weren’t for casting Will Sasso (2012’s The Three Stooges) as the town sheriff, one could almost argue that Craig decided to take this flick a bit too seriously. Those who expect a return to Tucker & Dale’s uproarious gags — or, hell, even Little Evil’s — might find this clown running out of steam fast.

Granted, what makes Clown in a Cornfield at least somewhat interesting isn’t dependent on humor. It’s his straightest horror film yet, with a bit of classic slasher allusions thrown into the mix. It also dips its big, red shoes into an examination of generational tension. Unfortunately, it doesn’t dig particularly deep into this idea. It just kind of dances around it with about as much strength as a rubber chicken with a broken squeaker.

Which isn’t an entire miss, either. In the era of A24’s elevated horror, Clown in a Cornfield is admittedly very accessible. Similar to Cesare’s book, the movie is extremely easy to grasp. It’s not entirely inconsequential, either, as its romantic subplot is surprisingly deep and fresh. Still, it’s as if we’re trained at this point to expect something more from every horror film that isn’t franchised. And that’s probably unfair, given we need introductory films like this to get younger horror fans to dive deep.

Clown in a Cornfield has its moments, including a fair share of creative kills. Still, if you’re expecting some kind of in-depth dissection or even a few decent gags to wash down the mayhem, this cornfield probably isn’t for you. —Daniel Bokemper

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With Bong Joon Ho’s Mickey 17, Osgood Perkins’ The Monkey and now Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, 2025 is already the year of dual performances. While Joon Ho and Perkins’ scripts couldn’t keep up with their films’ top stars, Sinners offers a complete package that — much in the way of S. Craig Zahler’s Bone Tomahawk — transforms its B-movie premise to an instant classic.

After surviving World War I and thriving in Chicago’s criminal underground, twins Smoke and Stack (Michael B. Jordan, Black Panther) return to their Mississippi hometown with a stolen fortune in tow. They quickly take their little cousin Sammie (Miles Caton) under their wings as they prepare to convert a dilapidated sawmill in a juke joint. The twins reluctantly reignite old flames, assemble a tight-knit group of employees and prepare for a party the likes of which Clarksdale has never seen or allowed. Meanwhile, an Irish vampire (Jack O’Connell, Ferrari) starts building an undead army out of anyone he can sink his teeth into, starting with a couple of Klan members.

Given the film’s primary location and bullet-ridden bloodsuckers, From Dusk Till Dawn comparisons aren’t out of the questions. Honestly, both flicks skew more action than horror, shifting into a gear that overrides terror with tension. But that’s where their similarities end. Sinners plants its own stake into vampire canon with a vibrant cast, an immersive attention to detail and music that will undoubtedly wind up on more than a few Spotify Wrapped lists.

More than a group of quirky, grizzled players thrown together in a life-or-death situation, Coogler invests a significant amount of time in his first act developing his characters. Slim (Delroy Lindo, 2015’s Point Break) and Annie (Wunmi Mosaku, Deadpool & Wolverine) are notable standouts, the former building the film’s historical and musical foundation, whereas the latter drives Sinners’ emotional and spiritual strength. The red-eyed antagonist is more than a run-of-the-(saw)mill vampire, but an assimilator seeking to devour Black culture, music and being.

In creating this monster, Coogler also raises a fascinating question: If the art a community produces is so compelling, what’s stopping someone from colonizing it, recreating it and ultimately perverting it to the point that its original source is basically lost, like the effect created by so much of Elvis Presley’s music. It casts a shadow over Sinners, and while vampire media has more than a few lame and overly convenient tropes, none of them take too much away from the film. Instead, it wields them in a way that illuminates a complex systemic process and makes it accessible. In other words, Sinners is just as much of an effective social examination as it is a high-octane blockbuster. And surprisingly, neither seems to work against the other.

Any doubt Coogler could direct a compelling original film ends with Sinners. While very much not for children, it feels like the kind of horror flick you could captivate anyone with, like Ron Underwood’s Tremors or John Carpenter’s The Thing. In an era of never-ending content and films that wind up on streaming before anyone knew they had a theatrical run, Sinners helps keep cinema’s blood pumping strong. —Daniel Bokemper

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Between 2022’s Talk to Me and 2024’s Oddity, cursed-object flicks might not be back in full force. They are, however, resurging enough for the creepy old shopkeepers to flip the dim lights back on. Unlike the aforementioned films, Osgood Perkins takes a different and comical tact with his adaptation of Stephen King’s The Monkey.

After Petey (Adam Scott, Krampus) fails to return the titular toy due to a stringent return policy and a disemboweled pawnshop owner, he leaves the monkey to his twin boys, Hal and Bill (Christian Convery, Cocaine Bear). Then he walks out on their mom (Tatiana Maslany, TV’s Orphan Black). The boys quickly learn winding up the doll triggers a Final Destination-like series of events that kills someone close to them.

The two try to rid themselves of the monkey and drift apart. But as an adult Hal (Theo James, HBO’s The White Lotus) prepares for one final trip with his teenaged son (Colin O’Brien, Wonka) before forfeiting custody, he encounters a string of familiar and often explosive deaths. It seems somebody is making the monkey drum its sticks once again.

The Monkey sails through its brisk runtime, cutting through would-be lulls with quick vignettes of increasingly outlandish kills. James gives life to an otherwise flat character in Hal, breaking through the deadpan dialogue to produce a standout performance. His dual role as his brother lacks the emotional weight, but still carries its own compelling and maniacal charm. O’Brien compliments James well, grounding realism to the outlandish circumstances that surround him.

Unfortunately, Perkins’ attempt at real emotion doesn’t mesh particularly well with the film’s wackier side. It’s like he’s fighting against himself, bloating the film with gags when the premise is entertaining enough. The grossly unprepared priest and the borderline-creepy babysitter work presumably well in King’s universe, but they fail to jive well in Perkins’.

And that may be what this and the director’s previous work lacks: an artistic impression. While it’s not necessary for every filmmaker to make it painfully obvious they made something, Perkins doesn’t appear to leave any mark at all. For a director that has firmly rooted himself in horror — even to the point of putting his name front and center in The Monkey’s promotional material — he doesn’t leave a meaningful signature. There’s probably a director who has made a point to operate like this, and maybe even successfully, but for Perkins, it just feels uninspired and hollow. Hopefully he can use 2025’s Keeper to establish himself a bit more. Because as it stands, it doesn’t feel like he’s truly emerged as a director.

While it manages to earn a few solid laughs and deliver some — at the very least — interesting deaths, it still feels overly clinical in the wash. Perkins understand dark comedy, sure, but he lacks restraint and subtlety, unintentionally robbing his more poignant and frankly funny sequences of their power. Akin to the director’s 2024 film, Longlegs, The Monkey slips on the peel. —Daniel Bokemper

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