The first jolt comes not quite an hour in, as Carol shuts the closet door and, for a split second, sees the shadow of a man reflected in its mirror. Later, she imagines someone assaulting her in bed. Jessica Harper is the American ballet student who transfers to a German dance academy that turns out to be a front for a coven of witches. In its lurid way, the matriarchal premise was decades ahead of its time.
Directing in a time of personal turbulence, del Toro paints life at the orphanage as both futile and distressing, represented by the large, undetonated bomb that has half penetrated the ground in the middle of the courtyard. It prickles the skin with creaky doors, sinister whispers and a dexterous handle on shadow and light.
Donald Sutherland and Brooke Adams are vibrant as the token normies trying to hold on to their souls. Centered on a rescue team sent to retrieve a possessed spaceship from the brink of what just might be hell, Paul W. Early on, a traumatic recording of the previous crew tearing themselves apart teases the horrors ahead. Right from the start, there are warning signs that courting this particular femme fatale might be trickier than Oliver anticipated: Cats freak out in her presence.
Come to find, Irena turns into a leopard when aroused. The script introduces an arcane superstition, but our imagination does most of the work. But that was just the appetizer. The sequel makes the earlier film look restrained, from its seething protagonist β a parking attendant played with mentally damaged sweat-soaked conviction by Laurence R.
Harvey β to the now 12 characters he traps in an East London garage so that he can conjoin them and create the ultimate in barf-bag mutilation. The answer is that Tom Six very cannily taps not just our disgust but our voyeurism, our desire to see the unseeable. Over the decades, horror subgenres have become codified through repetition, scaring and surprising in the way they bend the rules set by earlier iterations.
