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

Get it at Amazon.

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

Get it on Amazon.