Fleeing an abusive relationship, Portland restaurateur Kate (Beth Dover) jumps states and lifestyles, volunteering for a three-month stint as a fire tower lookout in the forests of Idaho.

Like a certain big-city, alcoholic writer transplanting the fam to overlook an empty Colorado hotel for the winter, Kate is out of her element, but insistent the silence is what she needs. Until the silence gets the best of her and brings out the worst in her. As a retired doctor in town (Dylan Baker, Trick ’r Treat) warns, “There’s no peace in nature.”

That one line serves as Outpost’s thesis, which writer/director Joe Lo Truglio sees through to its end. Yes, Joe Lo Truglio, the bug-eyed goofball of TV’s The State and Brooklyn Nine-Nine. As his fellow comedians have proved in recent years, from Jordan Peele’s Get Out to Zach Creggar’s Barbarian, funny guys have a knack for cracking the code of horror. I don’t know how or why they do, but to work, both those genres require perfect timing. Lo Truglio proves he has that.

Visually confident and with excellent support from Blood Diamond’s Ato Essandoh and My Friend Dahmer’s Dallas Roberts as Kate’s fellow rangers, Outpost is a pleasantly unpleasant surprise. Even for the desensitized, some scenes of terror land with the force of an ax. Although its ultimate destination is preordained (thanks in large part to its marketing), some of the turns it takes can shock.

Lo Truglio casting his wife in the lead role may have been a budgetary necessity, but Dover more than earns the showcase. Her name unknown to me until now (I never watched Orange Is the New Black), she qualifies as a revelation as Kate, a complicated character who’s believable even when she’s not all that likable. Their movie sure as hell is. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Desperate for inspiration after a flop, manga creator Jung Ji Woo (Sung Joon, The Villainess) visits Gwang Lim Mansion, a supposedly cursed apartment building. Some people, like first-time writer/director Jo Ba-reun, might call this a Ghost Mansion. (It’s also known as The Grotesque Mansion and, yawn, The Night Shift.)

As the caretaker shares, the place was an orphanage, until the day all the kids perished in a fire. Even since, the rooms are home to strange occurrences, five of which constitute this solid South Korean horror anthology.

For example, a novelist finds his creative juices sucked dry by the distraction of ghost kids and their damn, dirty, discarded tennis shoes. A pharmacist using the place for trysts with her boyfriend learns she’s dating the wrong man — as in, definitely married and possibly a murderer. And a heist is planned on a cult’s rumored safe.

Ghost Mansion’s most successful tales stand tall, back to back and right in the middle. In one, a lonely real estate agent lives with his sex doll and, this being K-horror, a hair-clogged sink. Immediately following, a student back from abroad crashes with a childhood friend with pustules all over his face and mold wallpapering the place. Junji Ito would be proud.

Each neatly compact, the stories don’t wear out their welcome. Even those steeped in Korean folklore and traditions translate with no problem. Rarer, the framing device comes fully formed and built with cleverly curated bits of overlap. hard to believe this is a freshman outing for Ba-reun as a writer, but especially as a director.

Oh, yeah: Several parts are authentically freaky, too. —Rod Lott